Chapter 29
Now he sits in shadows, writing letters to the void; About the beauty found in anguish, about being so destroyed…
Kieran
The green room Vander led him to was quiet with thick walls muffling the party noise to something manageable. Kieran sank into a leather chair, breathing without the weight of the entire party watching him exist.
“Here.” Vander handed him the vodka bottle, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”
“I don’t s-smoke,” Kieran said, accepting the alcohol.
“Smart. I should quit, but...” Vander shrugged, lighting up. “You actually sing, I just scream into microphones sometimes. Different priorities.”
The vodka burned going down but left a warmth that chased away the anxiety clawing through his chest. Kieran glanced toward the door every few seconds, expecting Vale to appear with that expression that meant his temporary freedom was over.
“Relax,” Vander said, tracking his restless energy.
“These events always start with producers and managers glued to their artists’ asses.
But as the night goes on and the alcohol kicks in, they wander off to do their own networking.
All the artists end up together, shit-talking our handlers.
” He took a long drag. “We’re just starting early. ”
“What about No-Nox?” Kieran asked, another sip of vodka making his words feel less careful. “He seemed... intense.”
“He’s controversial. Known for pushing artists way out of their comfort zones.
But here’s what I learned early on—if you push back just as hard, he respects it.
Starts treating you like an equal instead of someone to boss around.
” Vander flicked ash into an empty cup. “Only the weak artists end up complaining about him later.”
His arms tingled where the cuts from Vale’s first lesson had long healed. He tried to push back then.
It didn’t work.
“What about working with Vale Rose?” Vander asked, genuine curiosity threading through his voice. “Dude’s got this reputation for finding incredible talent nobody else sees coming. I’ve heard that landing his interest is like winning a fucking golden ticket.”
“He’s v-v-very—” Kieran’s stutter caught harder as alcohol loosened his control. “He’s very d-dedicated to authentic p-performance.”
Vander’s expression shifted. “How does that work? The rapping, the singing, all that spoken word stuff you do—your voice is completely different when you perform.”
“It just h-happens,” Kieran said, taking another drink like he was trying to hide behind the bottle. “It’s the only t-time my mouth w-wants to cooperate with my m-mind.”
“Damn, man. That’s deep.” Vander studied Kieran with new appreciation. “No wonder your performances feel so real. Music is like your native language.”
Music as native language. I’ve never thought of it like that.
He didn’t know what he should say. What was he allowed to say?
Where was Vale?
“Honestly? I was hoping you’d be here tonight.
I didn’t feel like networking with suits, but I wanted to tell you how much I respect what you do.
The honesty, the innovative approach you have—and I never once doubted that seizure in ‘Temple of Flesh’ was real.
It looked like some PA hit the post button too soon. ”
“That’s... surprisingly accurate,” Kieran admitted. “I’ll be honest, I-I-I was scared to c-come in here. I f-feel like I don’t belong.”
Vander laughed and ashed his cigarette on the ground as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table.
“Dude, I still feel like I don’t belong in places like this.
It’s imposter syndrome, you know? Plus musicians aren’t exactly known for being people with healthy coping skills, that’s why all that commotion was happening out there.
Fucking Alex Thayer showed up high. Again. ”
Kieran set the bottle between his thighs. Was that what Vale went to take care of? “I’ve n-never heard of him.”
“He’s not blacklisted exactly, but he’s extremely difficult to work with.
He plays like ten instruments, he had a really short lived indie solo thing, but he freaks out if you breathe in the same space as him.
” Vander shrugged. “Usually you have to get really famous before you have that level of crazy on display, but he must have connections, because he keeps finding work.”
The door opened suddenly and Nox poked his head in. “Vander, god dammit, you’re not supposed to smoke in here,” he said as he walked in.
Vander rolled his eyes, taking a long drag of his cigarette before he stubbed it out on the coffee table. “Sorry, sorry. I was just having a chat with Thorn. I was trying to get to know him before I asked if he wanted to collaborate with me for my solo album.”
Vander Moss wants to do a song…with me? Kieran wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.
“You’re going to have to deal with the brick wall that is Vale Rose for that,” Nox said as he moved into the room, his eyes meeting with Kieran’s.
His gaze made Kieran want to sink into the couch cushions and disappear.
“By the way, Vander, that representative from Gibson I mentioned earlier is at the bar, they wanted to talk to you about some limited edition thing?”
Vander jumped up, “Oh shit! That’s right. Thanks, Mr. Nox.” He headed for the door, then flashed a smile at Kieran. “Dude, I’m serious about a collab. I’d love to work with you.”
Kieran could only nod, feeling his throat tighten like he was about to burst into tears. Someone he spent years admiring—no, idolizing—wanted to write a song. With him. It felt like a fever dream.
The door closed behind Vander as Nox settled onto the couch next to Kieran—too close, close enough that Kieran could smell his cologne. The vodka that had felt warm and loosening now sat heavy in his stomach. He glanced back toward the door. He needed to get up, to go back to the bar and find Vale.
He said to get him if there was someone from Two Suns Studios. Nox is the whole studio. But he’s a big name…am I being rude if I just get up and walk out?
Kieran felt frozen. He needed Vale to tell him what to do.
“You don’t really want to be wearing all that gauze, do you?” Nox asked, grabbing Kieran’s wrist.
“I don’t m-mind it,” Kieran said, trying to pull his arm away. Nox tightened his grip. “P-please let—”
“Interesting aesthetic choice. Are you hiding something under these? Tattoos? Scars?“ Nox’s gaze flicked toward the door, then back to Kieran, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m curious about the technical aspects of your recordings. The acoustics differ quite a bit between ‘Library Card’ and your earlier work, but your voice quality remains remarkably clean. What kind of post-production mixing are you doing?”
Kieran’s throat felt dry. “I don’t—I don’t handle the m-mixing. That’s Vale and Eliza.”
Please let go.
“Ah.” Nox released his wrist and Kieran let out a shaky sigh. But Nox shifted closer until their thighs touched. “So you’re not involved in the technical aspects of your own artistry? Interesting.”
He’s too close. He’s touching me. Why is he touching me? What should I do?
“At Two Suns, our artists have full creative control, you know. Complete artistic freedom.” Nox placed his arm along the back of the couch, not quite touching Kieran but close enough to make him feel trapped.
“I have to ask—is the music you’re performing what you actually want to be performing?
Or is this what Valerian thinks is most.. . authentic?”
The way he said ‘authentic’ felt like he knew more than he was letting on.
Vander said he pushed back. I need to push back…
“I w-write the lyrics. The m-music comes from me.”
“But the presentation? The aesthetic? The methods used to extract that particular level of emotional honesty?” Nox’s fingers drummed against the couch. His other hand brushed Kieran’s thigh as he grabbed the bottle of vodka still held between his legs. “Here, have another drink. You seem tense.”
Kieran shook his head. “N-no than—”
“The thing about artistic development is there are many approaches. Some more... intensive than others. At my company, artists explore their creativity with gentle hands,” he continued without seeming to hear Kieran.
“As long as production stays happy, of course. Would that interest you? Making music on your own terms?”
Nox’s hand found the loose ends of Kieran’s untied tie.
Kieran tried to pull back, but Nox’s fingers were already twisting the silk, winding it around his hand until the fabric grew taut against Kieran’s throat.
“S-stop,” Kieran managed, his hands coming up to claw at the fabric. He looked towards the door again, feeling his lower lip begin to tremble as he tried to tell his body to move, to get up, to do something.
Nox pulled him closer, using the tie like a leash. “That’s not how you keep production happy.”
The room grayed at the edges—not from a lack of oxygen, but from pure panic. This wasn’t Vale’s controlled pressure designed to calm him. This was someone else’s power, someone else’s methods, someone who didn’t know or care about the careful balance between control and damage.
The door burst open, slamming against the wall.
The performer in all white stomped in, popping off press-on nails with sharp clicks and yanking fake eyelashes from her eyes. “Fucking soprano bullshit, I can’t hit those notes and they fucking know it—”
Help me.
She stopped when she saw them. Nox’s position, Kieran’s wide-eyed terror, the twisted tie around his throat.
“Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to—” She hesitated, looking between them. “I’ll just—”
She backed out quickly, closing the door with quiet finality.
The silence that followed felt deafening. Nox’s grip on the tie tightened, pulling Kieran closer as he grinned.
“Now,” Nox said softly, “where were we?”