Chapter 49
An angel wearing thorns; Either way I'm yours, I'm yours; In the eye of all these storms…
Kieran
The laptop was open on the kitchen table, the cursor blinking in the middle of an unfinished lyric when the Instagram notification popped up in the corner of the screen.
Kieran glanced up automatically, checking where Vale was—his office, with the door half-open, a safe distance away—before clicking on the message.
JerichoMakesMusic
Hey! Just got confirmation for Thursday. I’ve been thinking about vocal arrangements for the duet - want to brainstorm?
Kieran’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, that strange guilt creeping in even though he had no reason to feel it.
Why does this feel like I’m doing something wrong?
He typed quickly before he could overthink it:
Yeah definitely! I’ll record the idea I was playing with today and send it to you, maybe you can layer your ideas on it and we see if it works?
Behind him, the coffee maker beeped. Vale emerged from the office carrying two mugs, setting one down beside Kieran’s laptop.
Kieran’s hand moved automatically to minimize the window—not closing it, just making it smaller—and the guilt intensified. Vale glanced at the screen, eyebrow raising slightly.
“Jericho?” he asked.
“Y-yeah, just talking about the duet.”
Vale’s smile was genuine, warm in that way that still made Kieran’s chest tight. “Good. I’m glad you two get along. She’s talented.”
He kissed the top of Kieran’s head and returned to the office, the door clicking softly behind him.
Kieran stared at the minimized window, heart still beating slightly too fast. Vale didn’t care. Of course he didn’t care. He was the one that suggested reaching out to her. He had nothing to hide.
So why had his first instinct been to hide the chat?
He maximized the window. Jericho had already responded.
JerichoMakesMusic
Yes! It might be a little rough, but I think it’ll be okay. Those rough edges are where authenticity lives.
Kieran read it twice, something uncomfortable stirring in his chest.
I get that. Vale helps me find authentic sound.
JerichoMakesMusic
That’s good. It’s rare to find someone who helps you be MORE yourself instead of their version of you.
Kieran paused, fingers suspended over the keys. That phrasing bothered him too, but he didn’t know why.
Yeah he’s good at that.
JerichoMakesMusic
I watched the Temple of Flesh video probably 50 times before we met. You were incredible. And the way he took care of you during the seizure at the end…I could tell he really cares.
It was scary. They all are, honestly. But I was glad he was there with my medicine.
JerichoMakesMusic
Is he always there? Like... do you have other people around? Friends, family?
His fingers moved before he could stop them:
It’s complicated. Foster care growing up. Vale’s... he’s everything now.
Send.
Immediate regret filled him.
JerichoMakesMusic
I’m glad you have someone. And hey, I’m here too if you ever want to talk. About music or anything.
Kieran closed the laptop.
The laptop sat open on the coffee table, volume muted but notifications visible. He’d been checking it between vocal exercises, refreshing Instagram more often than he wanted to admit, waiting for Jericho to respond to his last message about harmony structures.
A new notification appeared. Kieran stopped mid-phrase and sat down on the couch, clicking it open.
What he found was longer than expected—paragraphs instead of a quick response. His eyes scanned quickly, then slower, then had to read it again because the words felt too heavy to absorb the first time.
Jericho was talking about opiate addiction. Her opiate addiction.
He had no idea.
JerichoMakesMusic
I was so isolated. No one to talk to who’d understand. Everyone just wanted me performing, wanted me functional, but no one wanted to help me heal.
Kieran’s throat felt tight. He read it three times, trying to figure out what to say, how to respond to something so raw and honest from someone he barely knew.
“Everything okay?”
He jerked, looking up to find Vale in the doorway, just staring at him like he sometimes did.
“Y-yeah, just—Jericho shared something heavy.”
Vale crossed the room, settling beside him on the couch. His eyes moved to the laptop screen, reading quickly. “About her addiction?”
Kieran’s eyes widened. “You knew?”
“It was public when she left her first label. It was a very messy split. She did an interview about it—criticizing the industry’s treatment of artists with substance issues.” Vale’s hand settled on Kieran’s shoulder, warm and grounding. “I’m glad she trusts you enough to share it.”
The words felt like permission. Kieran leaned into the touch slightly and started typing his response, aware of Vale reading over his shoulder.
Thank you for sharing that with me. That sounds terrifying. I’m glad you made it through.
Vale squeezed his shoulder. “You’re a good friend, sweetheart.”
Kieran closed the laptop, the weight of the conversation sitting heavy in his chest. She’d been isolated and hurting, and no one seemed to want to help her.
Kieran knew that pain—that suffocating, slow drown, treading water and hoping someone would save him.
He was lucky. Vale noticed him and helped him out of that place. Vale took care of him.
He was lucky.
The laptop sat open on the bed beside him, its glow the only light in the darkened bedroom while Vale showered. Kieran had been reading Jericho’s latest message for five minutes, his chest getting tighter with each pass.
She was talking about her father. About his control over every aspect of her childhood—what she wore, what she ate, how she performed. Her mother enabling it with phrases like “he just wants what’s best for you“ and “you know he only does this because he loves you.”
JerichoMakesMusic
Took me years to realize that wasn’t love. That was ownership.
Part of him was glad she wanted to share so much with him.
They were friends, right? Sharing those weird, sad parts with each other was a thing friends did with each other.
But another part of him almost wanted to ask her to stop.
It was a lot of sadness to contain in his mind when so much of his life had already been marred by sadness.
Even when he sang songs about anger and sadness and grief, it was different. It was letting those things out. But with every message from Jericho with an audio clip about vocal run, there was always a new, sad revelation about her life. It was a lot.
She still might not have anyone in her life she can talk to. You know what that’s like. Don’t be selfish and be there for her. She’s lovely.
The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out as Vale emerged with a towel around his waist and another towel in his hair.
Kieran’s breath caught. Water still beaded on Vale’s shoulders, trickling down the surprisingly defined planes of his chest. It always caught him off guard—how sculpted Vale’s body was beneath the usual sweaters and button-downs.
The towel rode low on his hips, and Kieran’s gaze traced the cut of muscle at Vale’s sides, the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath white terry cloth.
Vale noticed him staring. “What?”
Heat flooded his face even as his body responded with immediate, honest wanting. He closed the laptop quickly—not slamming it, just shutting it with more force than necessary—and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, “You l-look sexy.”
Vale froze mid-step, the towel slipping from his hair. His eyebrows shot up, and then—
He blushed. An actual flush spreading across his cheeks as a wide, almost dopey grin broke across his face. “Yeah?”
Kieran’s own embarrassment doubled, but he nodded. He’d said worse things in the throes of lessons, gasped out fragments during intimacy, but something about saying it now—casual, unprompted, just because it was true—made his face burn hotter.
Vale’s grin widened impossibly further. He dropped the hair towel and crossed to the bed. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me to behave.”
“I d-didn’t—I just m-meant—”
But Vale was already crawling over him, caging Kieran beneath his still-damp body. The towel at his waist loosened, falling away entirely as Vale settled his weight against Kieran’s hips. He kissed him slow and deep, tasting like mint toothpaste and want.
When he pulled back, his expression was soft and fond. “You look sexy too.”
Kieran huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Are your c-contacts even in?”
Vale’s grin turned playful and he squinted. “You’re right. Let me correct myself.” He leaned down until their noses almost touched. “You look like a very sexy blob. But you’re in my bed, which means you’re always sexy.”
Kieran laughed and Vale swallowed it with another kiss, his hands already working at Kieran’s shirt.
The laptop stayed closed. Jericho’s messages could wait until morning.
Kieran couldn’t sleep. Vale was deeply asleep beside him, breathing even and peaceful, but Kieran’s mind kept circling back to Jericho’s messages. To her words about ownership and control and love that wasn’t really love.
At 2 AM, he carefully extracted himself from Vale’s embrace and retrieved the laptop from the nightstand. The screen’s glow felt too bright in the darkness. He dimmed it, settling cross-legged on the bed while Vale slept undisturbed.
Instagram was still open from earlier. One new message notification. Kieran clicked it automatically, expecting Jericho.
His stomach dropped before he even read the message.
A.T.
Saw you’re recording with Jericho Thursday. Did Vale approve that?
Kieran stared at the words, reading them over and over while his heart rate accelerated into something close to panic. Who was this? How did they know about Thursday? The session wasn’t public yet—just him, Vale, and Jericho’s team knew about it.
“Did Vale approve that?”
Kieran closed the laptop and set it aside, his heart still racing. He didn’t respond to the message. He didn’t know how to respond, or if he should.
He laid back down, careful not to wake Vale. The arm that had been around him earlier automatically settled back across his chest, heavy and warm and protective.
This is just some random person online trying to stir up trouble. It doesn’t mean anything.
But Kieran still couldn’t sleep. And when Vale’s alarm went off at seven, he pretended he’d been asleep the whole time.
“Hands.”
The gauze wrappings were a familiar ritual by now—Vale’s hands careful and precise as he wound the white gauze around Kieran’s fingers and hands, covering the healing nail beds and fading cuticle damage.
Kieran watched in the mirror. His shoulder still ached and the marks on his arms from two days ago were still visible—bruises in the shape of Vale’s fingers where he’d been held down during a particularly intense “reminder lesson”, as Vale called them. They’d fade in a few more days.
“Throat,” Vale said, and Kieran tilted his head back so Vale could remove his collar.
The gauze went on smoothly, Vale’s fingers brushing against his pulse point as he wrapped.
Kieran’s eyes drifted closed. This part always felt intimate in a way that had nothing to do with the physical touch—Vale taking care of him, protecting him, preparing him for the world outside their controlled environment.
“There.” Vale’s hands settled on his shoulders, both of them looking at Kieran’s reflection.
The gauze was visible at his throat and hands, and a big black hoodie covered everything else, his hair slightly messy, but artfully so.
This was their carefully constructed “casual Thorn” look.
Not fully wrapped, but enough so potential photos wouldn’t catch the bruises that lived in Kieran’s skin.
Kieran smiled despite the lingering anxiety from last night’s message. “I’m excited.”
“You should be. You’re both incredibly talented.” Vale kissed his cheek. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said.
Vale’s hand settled on the back of his neck, warm and grounding. “You’re going to be brilliant, sweetheart.”
Kieran leaned back into the touch, letting it calm the nervous energy thrumming under his skin. Everything was fine. Today was just recording with Jericho. Everything was exactly as it should be.
The A.T. message sat unanswered in his Instagram inbox.
He’d deal with it later. Or never. Probably never.
Vale’s hand tightened slightly on his neck, and Kieran let his eyes close. Everything was fine.
It had to be fine.