Chapter 1: Diary Secrets Unleashed
The first thing he noticed was the weight on his wrists. It was a dull, cotton-bundled pressure, followed by the cold bite of something solid beneath it. Metal? Kaidan tried to move his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, but his arm only traveled a few inches before the pressure tightened and stopped him.
A low, fuzzy panic began to seep into the lavender-scented haze of his room.
He blinked, his vision swimming. The glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling smeared into soft green comet trails. His mouth tasted like overripe peaches and chemical sweetness, a ghost of the drink Hank had brought over earlier. For your nerves, he’d said, massaging Kaidan’s shoulders after a long cosplay fitting. You’re working too hard, kitten.
Kaidan’s head lolled to the side on the pillow. The neon bar sign across the street flickered, painting his cluttered desk in pulses of bloody red. His sketchbook was open to a half-finished study of his own face, cat ears penciled in, whiskers tentative lines. The glass beside it was empty save for a melting ice cube.
A shadow moved, detaching itself from the deeper darkness near the door.
Kaidan’s breath hitched. He tried to speak, but his tongue was thick and clumsy in his dry mouth. A sound, a weak whimper, was all he could manage. He tugged at his wrists again. They were fastened to the wrought-iron headboard with what looked like zip ties, but wrapped in soft fabric. He recognized the fabric. It was from his own sewing box, the plush black velvet he used for detailing.
“Shhh, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. You’ll hurt yourself.”
The voice was a low, familiar rumble, but it was all wrong here, in the dark, while he was tied down. It poured over him like warm oil, meant to soothe, but it ignited every nerve.
The figure stepped into a slat of neon light. Tight black t-shirt stretched across a broad chest, black jeans, black gloves. A balaclava covered the face, but Kaidan knew the shape of those shoulders, the set of that jaw, the particular density of the silhouette. He knew the tattoos that snaked beneath the shirt.
“Hank?” The name was a slurred, broken thing.
The gloved hand came up and slowly pulled the balaclava off. Hank’s face was there, his expression heartbreakingly tender, his dark eyes soft with affection. It was the same look he gave Kaidan when he brought him coffee in bed. The dissonance made Kaidan’s stomach roll.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Hank murmured. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The movement jostled the fluffy black tail still attached to Kaidan’s shorts. “How you feeling?”
“What… what did you do?” Kaidan’s voice trembled. He pulled at the restraints again, a feeble, uncoordinated effort. The room tilted slightly. “The drink…”
“Just a little something to help you relax. You’re always so anxious, Kai. I wanted you… pliant.” Hank reached out and smoothed Kaidan’s fluffy black hair back from his forehead. The touch was gentle, proprietary. “I was cleaning up for you last week. Found your sketchbook. The one with the lock.”
Kaidan went very still. The panic wasn’t fuzzy anymore. It was a sharp, cold spike driven straight into his core.
“You read it.” It wasn’t a question.
“I read it,” Hank confirmed, his thumb stroking Kaidan’s temple. “All those little stories. Those drawings. My sweet, creative boy. All that loneliness pouring out.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The one about the catboy who got left in the window all day. Who waited and waited for his owner to come home. Who just wanted to be petted. To be told he was a good kitty.”
Shame, hot and nauseating, flooded Kaidan’s system. He turned his face away, his drawn-on whiskers pressing into the pillow. Those were private. Stupid, embarrassing fantasies he’d scribbled down at 3 AM when the silence of the apartment felt like a physical weight.
“It’s not… it’s just stories,” Kaidan whispered, his throat tight.
“It’s you,” Hank said, matter-of-fact. He hooked a finger under the leather collar around Kaidan’s neck, giving it a soft tug. “This isn’t just a cosplay prop, is it? You sleep in it sometimes. I’ve seen it.” He let go and traced the line of Kaidan’s jaw. “So I thought… what if I gave you what you really wanted? No more neglect. No more waiting by the window.”
Hank’s other hand went to a small pocket on his jeans. He pulled out a folded bandana. “I need to hear you say it, kitten. This part’s important.” He held the cloth, but didn’t move to put it over Kaidan’s mouth. “You’re fuzzy-headed right now, so I’m going to ask you very clearly. Do you want me to stop? I’ll untie you right now. We’ll order pizza and forget this ever happened.”
Kaidan’s mind was a storm of static and fear and a deep, horrifying curl of arousal. This was a violation. A massive, terrifying breach. Hank had drugged him. Tied him up. Read his most private thoughts.
But he was also asking. And he was looking at him with so much love, so much focused attention, it was like a sunbeam in the grim, grey landscape of Kaidan’s loneliness. He’d written those words wanting to feel something this intense.
He was so, so tired of being the sad, worried boy in the mirror.
He swallowed, his mouth still tasting of chemical peaches. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t… don’t stop.”
Hank’s smile was brilliant, relieved. He leaned in and kissed Kaidan’s forehead. “Good boy. That’s my brave kitty.”
He didn’t use the gag. Instead, he carefully folded the bandana and set it on the nightstand. A promise. A symbol of trust.
Then his gloved hands were back, and they began to pet. Not sexually, at first. He carded his fingers through Kaidan’s hair, scritched gently behind the fake cat ears, rubbed his thumb along the line of the collar. He did it with a rhythmic, focused patience, his eyes never leaving Kaidan’s face.
Kaidan felt his body betray him. A shaky sigh leaked out. The tension in his trapped limbs began to loosen, replaced by a heavy, warm lassitude. His eyes, half-lidded already, fluttered shut for a second.
“There you go,” Hank cooed. “Just relax. Let go. You don’t have to think anymore.” His hand drifted down, over Kaidan’s shoulder, across the thin fabric of the gray top, coming to rest on the dip of his waist. “Who let such a pretty thing get so lonely, huh? Who left you all by yourself?”
The question hung in the dark, neon-painted room. Kaidan couldn’t answer. A lump formed in his throat.
Hank’s voice was a soft, relentless murmur. “Was it me, kitten? Did I not pay enough attention? Or was it before me? All those people who never saw how special you are?” His hand moved in slow, firm circles on Kaidan’s side, right above the swell of his hip. “You can tell me. I’m here now. I see you.”
A single, hot tear escaped the corner of Kaidan’s eye, tracing a path through the dusting of pale powder on his cheek. It was a confession. An answer.
Hank saw it. He made a soft, hurt sound and bent down, kissing the tear away. His lips were warm.
“It’s okay,” he whispered against Kaidan’s skin, his breath a comforting warmth. “I’ve got you. You’re my good kitty now. And I’m never gonna neglect you again.”
The words were a vow, a absolution, and a cage, all at once. Kaidan sank into them, into the feel of the velvet restraints and the steady, petting hands. The flickering neon turned the room into a heartbeat. Red. Dark. Red. Dark.
He was still tied to the bed. He was still floating in a drugged haze. But for the first time in a long time, the vast, echoing loneliness inside him shrank back, quieted by the overwhelming, terrifying presence of the man who claimed to love him enough to become his monster.