Chapter 50
Safety's just a boundary that I've learned to call my home…
Kieran
The recording booth was larger than Vale’s home studio, glass separating them from the control room where Vale stood beside the engineer.
Kieran adjusted his headphones while Jericho settled on the stool beside him, both of them positioned at their respective microphones.
He had the option of recording separately, but the whole experience of recording a song on his own was still weird, he couldn’t imagine trying to harmonize a duet completely separated from the other voice.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Vale’s voice came through the headphones.
They started the first take. Kieran’s voice found the higher register while Jericho anchored below, and by the time they reached the second verse, Kieran felt his throat tighten with the threat of tears, the lyrics still too raw and too honest.
“That’s good,” Vale said through the headphones. “Again. Let the vulnerability show more in the bridge.”
They ran it three more times.
“Vale, is it okay to st-stop so I can get some water, p-please?” Kieran asked into the microphone, his throat feeling raw as he wiped tears from his face.
“Of course,” Vale said. “Take five. Both of you.”
They stepped out of the booth. Jericho handed him a water bottle from the table, watching him drink with an expression Kieran couldn’t quite read.
“You don’t have to ask permission for that,” she said quietly. “You can just... tell him you’re taking a break when you need one.”
That’s not how we work. “I know. I just—I w-wanted to make sure we weren’t in the m-middle of something important.”
“Okay,” Jericho said, but she didn’t look convinced.
Two takes later, Vale’s voice cut through the headphones: “Stop.”
Kieran froze, his heart racing. “What? Was it—did I m-mess up the—?”
“Come here.”
Kieran pulled off the headphones and went to the control room, with Jericho following behind him. Vale was already standing, his eyes darting over Kieran’s face.
“What just happened?” Vale asked quietly.
“N-nothing, I was just—”
“You zoned out for three seconds.”
Kieran glanced at the engineer, at Jericho, acutely aware of the audience. “It was j-just a little one,” he said softly, stepping closer to Vale. “It’s fine. It p-passed already.”
Vale’s jaw tightened, his hand coming up to cup Kieran’s face. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. It was tiny. B-barely anything.”
“If it happens again, we’re done for the day.”
“Okay.” Kieran leaned into the touch, enjoying the feeling of Vale’s skin on his.
When he turned back, Jericho was staring again.
They finished the last take, signaled by the engineer’s thumbs up at them. “We need about thirty minutes for some solo runs from Jericho,” he said. “Thorn, take a break. We’ll call you back to just isolate the guitar tracks.”
Vale appeared in the booth doorway, hand extended toward Kieran. “Come on.”
“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” Jericho said, looking down at her phone as she drank from a bottle of water. Her leg was bouncing on the rung of the stool and had been for nearly ten minutes.
Maybe she’s tired?
Kieran followed him down the hallway to a green room. Vale closed the door behind them, and Kieran’s attention immediately caught on the bag sitting on the couch cushions.
“What’s that?”
Vale’s smile was soft, almost shy in a way that flipped Kieran’s stomach end over end. “Clothes for tonight. We can’t go on a date with you in a hoodie and gauze, sweetheart.”
“We’re really d-doing it? A real date? And I don’t have to…” he touched his wrapped fingers to his throat, “I don’t have to wear the gauze for it?”
“That’s right.” Vale crossed to him, his hands settling on Kieran’s hips with the kind of certainty that made Kieran’s breath catch.
He rose on his toes without thinking, seeking Vale’s mouth like he’d been waiting for it all day—maybe he had been.
The kiss started soft, sweet enough to make him sigh contentedly, and god, he loved this.
Loved when Vale touched him like this, gentle and unhurried, like Kieran was something precious instead of—
But the kiss didn’t stay soft. It never did.
Vale’s grip tightened, possessive and demanding, and Kieran whimpered into his mouth as Vale walked him backward.
His spine hit the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, but he didn’t care, didn’t care about anything except the way Vale kissed him like he was starving for it.
Deep and desperate and hungry, the kind of kiss that scattered every coherent thought Kieran had tried to hold onto.
“This is cruel, sweetheart.” Vale’s voice was rough against his mouth, sending shivers down Kieran’s spine. “I just spent hours listening to you sing about wanting me, and then you’re going to tempt me like this?”
“I l-love you,” Kieran gasped as Vale’s teeth found his lower lip.
Vale kissed him harder instead of responding—and that was answer enough, wasn’t it? His hand slid up to wrap around Kieran’s throat, fingers pressing just right, and Kieran’s knees went weak. He gasped and arched into Vale’s grip, tilting his head back to offer more of his throat because he needed—
God, he needed this. He needed Vale’s hand there like he needed air.
Then there was a knock on the door.
Vale pulled back, breathing hard. “What?”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Eliza’s voice came from the other. “It’s about that thing. The delivery.”
Vale sighed, still squeezing Kieran’s throat and watching him with hungry eyes.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, okay?” He released Kieran’s throat and pulled out his wallet, handing Kieran a black credit card while sucking on his own lower lip like he was savoring the taste of him.
“Get yourself something from the vending machines. Dr Pepper, right?”
Kieran nodded, still catching his breath as he yanked the bottom of his hoodie down to hide his erection.
“Good boy.” Vale kissed him once more and left.
Kieran stood against the wall for a moment, disheveled and flushed, looking at the bag of clothes on the couch. Tonight. A real date.
It was going to be a good day.
The hallway was empty, fluorescent lights humming overhead.
Kieran walked toward the vending machine area, Vale’s card in hand, his hair still messy and lips still swollen.
His hoodie was back in place, but he knew he probably looked exactly like what he was—someone who’d just been thoroughly kissed.
Kieran inserted the card, pressing the button for his soda, and grabbed the cold bottle quickly.
He opened it and started drinking from it as he walked, wanting to get back to the green room as soon as he could.
It wasn’t that he needed to be around Vale every second, he just felt better being near him. Especially being so far from home.
Then there was an impact—a shoulder slamming into his sore one.
Kieran stumbled sideways, spilling the soda down his face and chest. He opened his mouth to say something—
“Still sore from the basement, huh?”
The voice was already walking away, not even looking back. Kieran stood frozen, watching the person disappear around the corner. A male voice. A studio tech maybe?
How did he know about that basement?
His throat felt like it was closing. The gauze was soaked, clinging to his skin, the pressure all wrong. Not comforting like Vale’s hand, it was actually suffocating, choking—
They know about the basement.
His hands trembled. Soda dripped from his fingers, from the ruined gauze, pooling on the floor around his feet.
The A.T. message flashed through his mind: “Did Vale approve that?”
Kieran’s chest constricted. He couldn’t breathe. He had to get back to the green room. He had to rewrap before Vale saw.
He stumbled down the hallway, leaving a trail of soda behind him.
The door closed behind him with a soft click as he rushed to the mirror mounted on the wall and saw a disaster—soaked gauze at his throat, sticky and uncomfortable, his face flushed and eyes too wide.
He tried to pull off his hoodie but it was wet too, clinging to him. His hands didn’t want to grip the fabric right. When he finally got it over his head, he stood there in just his undershirt, staring at his reflection.
Kieran’s fingers found the edge of the gauze and started unwinding, but his hands wouldn’t stay still. It came away in pieces, damp and ruined, exposing his throat underneath.
In the mirror, he could see the marks. Vale’s fingerprints from fifteen minutes ago, from two days ago, from ten days ago, all pressed into his skin like brands. His arms fared no better—bruises layered on bruises, a timeline of lessons written in purple and yellow and green.
Kieran turned to the bag on the couch, desperate for clean gauze. Vale always packed extra. He unzipped it with unsteady fingers—
Just clothes. Nice clothes for the date.
No gauze.
His heart kicked against his ribs. Once. Twice. Then faster, faster, too fast.
He couldn’t stop his lungs. They kept pulling in more and more air but none of it reached wherever it was supposed to go, making his vision blur at the edges as he stared into the bag.
He needed to rewrap. He needed to look normal before Vale came back.
He couldn’t let him see this panic, couldn’t explain about the basement comment without making everything worse—
His chest seized. Tears started streaming down his face without warning, hot and humiliating.
Someone knows, someone knows, someone knows—
The room tilted. His pulse hammered in his throat, in his wrists, behind his eyes. He was going to be sick. He was going to pass out. He was going to—
The door opened.
“Hey, Thorn—”
Kieran spun around, his thumb flying to his mouth, teeth sinking into the nail bed as his eyes went wide. Jericho stood in the doorway. Her expression shifted from surprise to horror in the span of a heartbeat.
No no no no—
Her gaze darted everywhere it wasn’t supposed to: his throat, his arms, his wrists…the scars on his forearm…
“P-please leave!” Kieran gasped out, wrapping his arms around himself as he dropped into a crouch, trying to make himself smaller, trying to disappear. Jericho stepped inside and closed the door behind her, the click of the lock made him flinch like it was a gunshot.
“No, no, please—” He squeezed his arms around himself tighter, his fingers digging into his biceps. “It’s not what you think, it’s not—”
Jericho didn’t move closer. She just stood there, and when she spoke her voice was too calm, too careful—like she was trying very hard not to spook a wounded animal. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared—”
Kieran shook his head desperately, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. His vision kept tunneling, threatening to go dark at the edges.
“I know he’s hurting you. I’ve known something was off about him—”
“You’re wr-wrong—” The words barely made it past the constriction in his throat.
“Where do you live, Thorn?”
Kieran’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Please go away. Go away. Go away.
“You ask him permission for everything.” Jericho took another step closer and Kieran flinched. “I’ve watched you ask to get water, to use the bathroom. You check his reaction before you speak to other people.”
His throat closed up entirely. The room spun. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t argue, couldn’t make her stop saying things out loud.
“The way he touches you—”
“It-it’s not what you think,” Kieran whispered, the words thin and desperate. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to his knees, curling tighter. His whole body shook. “P-please.”
“What happens in the basement?”
A whimper escaped before he could stop it.
Why does she know about that. How does she know? How—
His mind fractured. Today was supposed to be a good day. Today was supposed to be safe. And now someone knew and Vale was going to find out and—
“I’ve been talking to someone willing to go public on what Vale does.” Jericho’s voice cut through his spiraling panic. “Someone who’s been really hurt. You’re in danger. I can help you. I know people, I have resources, I can get you somewhere safe—”
“It’s n-not like that—” The words came out strangled. “He l-loves me—”
“This isn’t what love looks like.”
She’s wrong. She doesn’t understand. She needs to leave.
The thought didn’t sound like his voice. It sounded like Vale.
“Just go!” Kieran shouted, feeling like he was on fire, like his skin couldn’t contain the terror vibrating through his bones. “Just—just go!”
Jericho was quiet for a moment, watching him cry, then she started backing toward the door. “Take as long as you need to breathe. And Kieran—when you’re ready... I’m here. I promise.”
She unlocked the door, slipped out, and closed it gently behind her.
The silence crashed over him.
Kieran stayed curled against the wall, his chest heaving, the tears still flowing. He couldn’t make them stop. He couldn’t make his hands stop shaking or make the panic recede.
Jericho’s words kept echoing in his mind, each one a knife:
“This isn’t what love looks like.”
“You ask him permission for everything.”
“You’re in danger.”
No. No. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t see what they had, the way Vale took care of him, the way he’d sacrificed everything to help Kieran during his last seizure. The way he made Kieran better. He helped him create art that mattered.
His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe right. His vision kept graying out at the edges.
Someone knows. Someone’s going to tell. Vale’s going to find out I let her see—
He needed Vale’s hand on his throat. That perfect grounding pressure that made everything else fade away. He felt like his body was screaming for it—the touch that meant safety, that meant belonging, that meant home.
But Vale wasn’t here.
Kieran brought his hands up and wrapped his fingers around his own neck.
And squeezed.
Not hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel the pressure. Just enough to trigger that response, that flood of chemical calm his brain had been trained to associate with Vale’s touch.
It helped.
Just a little.
His fingers tightened, seeking more of that relief, that anchor. The pressure centered him. The panic receded to something manageable—still there, still screaming, but quieter.
It wasn’t Vale’s hand.
It was his own.
And he was alone in a green room trying to strangle the anxiety out of his own throat.
But it worked.
And that realization—that he’d learned to comfort himself with the ghost of his own captivity—should have horrified him.
Instead, he just kept squeezing.
Just enough to breathe.