Chapter 40
I'll never let you go again, I'll never let you leave; We're bound by blood and pain and the lies we both believe…
Vale
Vale’s hands moved on autopilot as he cleaned blood from Kieran’s split knuckles while his mind processed what he’d just witnessed. But his hands were trembling. Barely noticeable—just the slightest shake as he uncapped the peroxide—but there nonetheless.
The song was extraordinary.
Even now, replaying the sound in his head, Vale could hear the electronic beats that Kieran’s body had created: complex polyrhythms built from flesh against concrete, percussion patterns that most people spent weeks figuring out. The honesty in those lyrics…
Beautiful. Devastating. Everything Vale had been trying to cultivate in their collaborative work, achieved through methods that should have filled him with pride.
Instead, ice water pooled in his stomach as he dabbed a wet washcloth against torn skin. Nausea churned in his gut—actual physical nausea at the theoretical image that kept replaying in his mind: walking down those basement stairs to find Kieran cold and still, blood pooled around lifeless hands.
What if I hadn’t woken up? What if he’d kept going until he—
Thirty-seven years of feeling nothing for anyone.
Thirty-seven years of watching other people fall in love and wondering what the fuck they were experiencing that he couldn’t access.
Thirty-seven years of being fine with being incomplete, missing something fundamental to the human experience. He had music. He had the roses.
And then Kieran.
Only Kieran.
You’re the first person I’ve ever loved. The only person. If you died, I would have nothing. I would be nothing.
“Does this hurt?” Vale asked as he wrapped gauze around Kieran’s damaged knuckles.
“N-no,” Kieran mumbled, still floating in whatever dissociative state the bag had induced. “F-feels... distant. Like it h-happened to someone else.”
Vale’s jaw tightened as he brushed over the welts covering Kieran’s forearms, red marks that would bruise beautifully by morning. Evidence of artistic breakthrough achieved through self-destruction, but without guidance, without supervision, without permission.
He put the bag on himself.
The thought circled through Vale’s mind like a shark scenting blood.
Kieran had reached for the tool that represented their most formative collaborative moments and used it independently, seeking the kind of sensory deprivation that led to devastating honesty.
He used Vale’s methods to access places Vale himself hadn’t yet explored.
And you could have died doing it. You could have seized alone in the dark and I would have found you cold in the morning.
All that potential, all that beautiful brokenness, gone. And Vale would be left with nothing but the echo of what it felt like to love someone, a memory of sensation he’d never experience again.
You used my tools without my permission. You sought pain without my supervision. You risked the only thing that’s ever mattered to me.
“What the fuck were you thinking? The words came out sharper than Vale intended, cutting through Kieran’s artistic enthusiasm like a blade. He watched confusion flicker across his face as reality began reasserting itself.
Good. Come back to the present, beautiful boy. Come back to me so I can remind you who’s in control here.
“What?” Kieran’s voice was smaller now, uncertainty creeping in as he registered Vale’s tone.
Vale finished bandaging the last of the visible wounds before stepping back, medical supplies forgotten as a cold rage settled into his chest. “You think you can disappear in the middle of the night, use equipment you haven’t been given permission to touch, and hurt yourself without supervision?”
I control when you eat, when you sleep, when you take your medication. I control your breath, your pleasure, your pain. You should know better.
“I was j-just—the song needed—” Kieran tried to explain, but Vale’s expression silenced him mid-sentence.
Moving closer, Vale watched Kieran try to back away. But there was nowhere to go, concrete wall against his spine and Vale’s presence filling the space between them.
“Do you know what I found when I came down here?” Vale kept his voice quiet. “You, bleeding and dissociated, with wounds that could have been serious. No one monitoring your vitals, no one ensuring you didn’t go too far.”
“I’m s-sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No. You didn’t think.” Vale’s fingers hooked under his collar. “You didn’t think about what would happen if you’d kept going. What would happen if I’d lost you to your own stupidity.”
The fear was returning to Kieran’s eyes, clarity bringing with it the understanding that he’d crossed a line he hadn’t even known existed.
There it is. The recognition that you belong to me, not to your impulses.
“I control everything, Kieran. When you eat, when you sleep, when you perform, when you hurt. You don’t get to choose pain without my permission.”
“Vale, p-please—”
“What if you’d died?” The question exploded out of him with force that made Kieran flinch back against the wall.
Vale’s voice cracked on the last word, something raw and desperate bleeding through his control.
His other hand slammed against the concrete beside Kieran’s head, startling him into genuine terror.
But the fear in those eyes wasn’t enough—not nearly enough.
“Do you understand what you put me through?” Vale’s voice broke completely, tears threatening at the edges of his vision. “Do you understand what you ARE to me? You’re not just—you’re not—”
He grabbed Kieran’s shoulders, his fingers pressing into the fresh bruises hard enough to make him gasp. The pain was immediate, sharp, a reminder of what he’d done to himself without permission.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Vale continued, his grip tightening as Kieran tried to pull away. “I thought I’d lost the most beautiful thing I’ve ever found because you were too…too fucking selfish to think about what your death would do to me.”
I love you, you stupid, broken boy. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, and you nearly destroyed yourself while I wasn’t watching. You’re the first person I’ve ever felt this for, and you don’t get to take that away from me by dying alone in my basement.
Kieran shrank against the wall, tears streaming down his face as Vale’s fingers found every tender spot, every place where his body had paid the price for independent artistry. “I’m s-sorry,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean—”
Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t guarantee this won’t happen again.
Vale watched Kieran’s hands move to his mouth, teeth finding what remained of his already destroyed nails—the same self-destructive impulse that had led him down here in the first place. Without thinking, Vale caught his hands, squeezing the damaged knuckles hard enough to make Kieran cry out.
“Stop,” Vale said, voice deadly quiet. “Stop hurting yourself.”
“You’re h-hurting me,” Kieran gasped, trying to pull away.
“Good.” The word came out fierce, honest, stripped of all pretense. “I do everything for you because I love you. Because I want to protect you. And you need to fucking embrace that instead of running into the dark to bleed alone.”
I control your pain because I love you. I guide your destruction because I love you. I will hurt you myself before I let you die without me.
Vale’s grip intensified, watching Kieran’s face crumple.
“There is no Thorn without me,” he said, gentler but no less threatening.
“Your artistry, your breakthroughs, your ability to transform pain into beauty—it all flows through me. You are mine, Kieran. And mine doesn’t get to choose death without permission. ”
“I’m s-sorry,” Kieran gasped, still trying to pull his hands free from Vale’s punishing grip. “I’m sorry, p-please—”
“I don’t think you understand yet.” Vale’s fingers tightened around the damaged knuckles.
Kieran’s knees buckled, but Vale held his hands fast, forcing him to sink down awkwardly as the pain became too much to bear standing.
“I’m s-sorry, you’re right, I’m so s-sorry,” Kieran sobbed, words tumbling over each other in desperate succession.
“I j-just wanted to make you proud of me, p-please don’t be mad, we can do it over, let’s d-do it your way—”
Vale released his hands, watching as Kieran collapsed fully to the concrete floor, wrapping his arms around himself in a protective huddle. The apologies kept coming, broken and desperate, mixed with tears and gasping breaths that made his whole body shake as Vale crouched down beside him
Kieran’s forehead pressed against Vale’s knee, his chest heaving as he sobbed. The quality of his apologies began to change—less frantic, more devastated. More honest.
“I c-can’t do it without you,” Kieran whispered, the words barely audible. “I th-thought I could but I can’t. The song only worked because I used your m-methods. I need you.”
Vale’s breath caught. This wasn’t the same fear-driven submission as before. This was something else.
“Not j-just for the music,” Kieran continued, voice breaking. “For... everything. I c-can’t—I don’t know who I am.”
Then—trembling hands reached up and wrapped around Vale’s wrist.
Guiding. Deliberately. Slowly.
To Kieran’s own throat.
Pressing Vale’s palm hard against his windpipe. Squeezing. The shaking in Kieran’s body started to ease. “P-please,” Kieran whispered. “I-I-I-I’m sorry.”
Vale’s breath stopped entirely.
Kieran was offering his throat, his pulse, his breath, and asking Vale to control it.
He loves me too.
“I forgive you, beautiful boy,” Vale whispered.
Kieran’s response was immediate and desperate—leaning forward to press their mouths together in a kiss that tasted like copper and salt and submission. “I’m s-sorry,” he gasped against Vale’s lips, the words broken by sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry—”