Chapter 35
I'm a storm inside a cage that's built to keep me safe; And I love and hate the keepers of this place…
Vale
Vale spent the morning reviewing recordings from the past week—‘ Poison Saviors’ and ‘Broken‘, that would go on Kieran’s debut album. Each playback revealed layers he hadn’t fully appreciated in the moment, nuances in the vocal delivery that spoke of complete psychological transformation.
This morning’s session had been particularly revelatory.
Watching Kieran perform ‘Poison Saviors’ without hesitation left Vale breathless.
Kieran sang with vulnerability that only came from complete acceptance.
No walls, no protection, no careful preservation of identity separate from what Vale cultivated.
Just pure artistic truth pulled from lived experience, each phrase a confession of how thoroughly he’d been reshaped.
The transformation wasn’t just vocal. It was existential.
Is this what it feels like when the rose finally blooms exactly as you’ve pruned it? When cultivation becomes indistinguishable from natural growth?
It was a success, but underneath the satisfaction ran a thread of something Vale hadn’t anticipated—the strange ache of watching someone become so perfectly what he shaped them to be that they no longer need his hand guiding every petal’s unfurling.
We’re not captor and captive anymore. Not student and teacher. We’re... something else.
“We have that interview scheduled for after lunch,” Vale said, finding Kieran sitting on the floor in the living room with his guitar. “RemixReacts—they’ve done reaction videos to most of your viral content. We should watch their videos before the interview.”
Kieran’s fingers stilled on the strings, eyes flicking between Vale and the laptop. “D-do I have to watch it?”
He’s still afraid of seeing himself through other people’s eyes.
“Yes,” Vale said simply, patting the cushion beside him. “You need to understand their perspective before the interview.”
Kieran’s reluctance was visible in every line of his body, but he moved toward Vale anyway, settling against his side. Vale’s arm came around him automatically, holding him steady.
But as the reaction video began playing with an over enthusiastic animated intro—Vale noticed his hand moving to his mouth, a habit growing increasingly frequent over the past few days.
Vale caught Kieran’s wrist gently, examining his fingernails chewed down to painful-looking nubs. Several showed signs of recent bleeding, his cuticles torn and inflamed from compulsive anxious picking.
“Sweetheart,” Vale said softly, his thumb tracing over damaged skin. “When did this start?”
Kieran flushed, trying to pull his hand back. “It’s n-nothing. Just... n-nervous habit.”
The timing of it lined up with when they started around recording the album—all that sustained emotional exposure required for each take must have left him searching for release in small acts of violence against himself.
His coping mechanisms were adapting, evolving, finding outlets that didn’t require permission.
“We’ll need to address this,” Vale said, releasing Kieran’s hand while filing the behavior away for closer monitoring. “But first, let’s finish watching their reactions. You need to understand their perspective before the interview.”
The video continued, commentary ranging from genuine appreciation to an uncomfortable fascination with what they perceived as Kieran’s mysterious vulnerability. Vale watched Kieran’s expression grow increasingly tense as the reviewers dissected his performances.
“They d-don’t understand,” Kieran said solemnly.
“They don’t need to understand,” Vale replied. “They just need to be entertained. Your job is to give them enough to satisfy their curiosity without revealing anything that could be used against us.”
When Vale reached for the gauze wrappings they’d need for Kieran’s on-camera appearance, he felt his boy’s entire body go rigid with anticipatory terror. Kieran’s breathing became shallow and rapid—a panic response turning the interview from opportunity into painful exposure.
“I c-can’t do this.” Kieran shook his head. “What if they ask qu-questions I can’t answer? Wh-what if I say something wrong?”
“I’ll be right there with you,” Vale said softly, beginning the careful process of wrapping Kieran’s hands. “They wanted an interview with you and your pianist. I’ll be under the mask by your side.”
“Wh-what if they can tell something’s wrong with me?”
“I’ll deflect,” Vale said as he wound the gauze up Kieran’s exposed forearm. “I’ll talk about artistic processes and creative collaboration while Thorn looks beautiful and vulnerable.”
“I d-don’t want to be vul-vulnerable on camera,” Kieran said, panic edging into his voice. “I d-don’t want strangers analyzing me, picking apart everything I say.”
Vale’s hands stilled on the gauze, recognizing the edge of a full anxiety spiral. “Sweetheart, breathe with me. They’re not going to hurt you. I won’t let them.” He placed his hand over Kieran’s throat, applying the lightest pressure he could, just to let Kieran feel his presence there.
Kieran’s eyes fluttered shut as he took a shaky breath in through his nose, releasing it slowly through his mouth as he leaned into Vale’s touch.
There’s my good boy.
Vale watched Kieran on the laptop screen, noting the way his shoulders held tension threatening to escalate into visible panic.
He still looked ethereal under the soft lighting he arranged, wrapped and vulnerable, but Vale could see the rapid pulse at his throat where the wrapping didn’t quite cover and the way his hands trembled in his lap out of view of the camera.
“This won’t go in the video, but I’m sorry, I don’t have anything written down for the name of your pianist, Thorn,” the female host, Marissa, began.
Vale had planned to call himself “Thorn’s Backup”, hidden under his mask, only seen as support and brought out when needed—
“Bloom,” Kieran said softly, still staring wide eyed at Marissa on the screen, looking too frightened to move.
Bloom. As if they were two halves of the same flower. Thorn and Bloom intertwined, each necessary for the other’s existence. The poetry of it was almost painful in its perfection.
He named us. Named what we’ve become together.
“Thorn and Bloom? That’s sick,” the co-host, a small-time indie rapper who went by the stage name RedEye, said.
“Okay, let’s get started!” Marissa launched into an intro, the ring light reflected in her eyes in that sort of eerie, manic way that people seemed to love for some reason.
“Thorn and Bloom, thank you both so much for joining us. Your music has been absolutely everywhere—‘Poison Saviors’ gave us actual chills.”
“Thank you for having us,” Vale said, modulating his voice through the mesh mask to sound more neutral, less identifiable. Kieran managed a nod, but no words emerged. Vale watched him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple moving beneath gauze.
Say something, beautiful boy. They’re waiting.
“Thorn’s a little nervous,” Vale said smoothly, buying time. “This is new territory for him—this is his first interview.”
“Aw, I’m so glad we get to be the first ones to interview you! I’m so curious about the collaborative process, Bloom. Did you only assist on ‘Library Card’, or do you do more behind the scenes of Thorn’s solo videos? What’s the creative dynamic like?”
Vale felt Kieran’s hand brush against his beneath the table, his fingers seeking contact with desperate need. The touch was hidden from the camera but sent warmth flooding through him—his broken boy still reaching for him when fear became overwhelming.
“I do very little,” Vale said, letting his fingers intertwine with Kieran’s. “I handle the technical aspects mostly, making sure we have the right set up, mixing, the boring stuff. Thorn is pure artistry—he writes all the music, all the lyrics, he comes up with everything that matters.”
Kieran’s grip tightened on his hand. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but clear: “Bl-Bloom sees things in m-m-my music that I don’t always see. He helps me...”
Good boy. Describing our methods without revealing anything that could be used against us.
“The guitar work in ‘Library Card’ was incredible,“ Marissa said. “The use of books as punctuated percussion was so, so creative, and correct me if I’m wrong, but that looked like it was all done in one take, correct? How many times did you run through the song to get that timing right?”
Kieran’s posture shifted, just slightly. “It was one t-take, yes. W-we got lucky that day, the f-first take w-was the only one we needed,” he said. A little smile formed on his face.
“Seriously? No way!”
“I keep telling you, M, this kid has, like, a metronome in his head.
You can hear it in the bridge in ‘Poison Saviors’,“ RedEye interjected, playing up some dynamic that established their channel.
He focused his attention on the camera. “Seriously dude, the way you deliver that part, ‘Tick tock, heart stop, paranoia never ends‘, I’ll straight up start mumbling it while cleaning my house.”
Kieran let out a little laugh and blushed. “Yeah, it’s, um, th-this idea of vocals as per-percussion. Most people like vocals to fit with the m-melody of the instrum-ments. I l-like to think of vocals as a part of the b-beat.”
Pride surged through Vale watching Kieran find his footing. This was the artist he’d always known lived beneath the protective barriers, intellectualizing his own authenticity without compromising the mystery that made him compelling.
Look at you, speaking about your art with confidence. This is what you were always meant to do.
“The acoustic elements are fascinating too,” Marissa added. “Very intimate, almost confessional. Where do you record?”
Vale felt Kieran’s hand tense in his.