Page 113 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale rose from his chair.

No.

The booth door opened with an electronic click that made Kieran’s spine stiffen despite himself. He didn’t run. He hadn’t thought about running since that night in the green roomwhen Vale broke down a door to save him. But his body still remembered what being in the basement meant and braced for whatever was coming.

“You’re thinking too much,” Vale said, stepping into the recording space. “Living in your head instead of your body.”

Kieran’s breathing went shallow as steady hands settled on his waist—one palm spread across his lower back, the other curving around his hip.

“I can d-do it,” Kieran tried again, his voice smaller now. “Vale, I c-can get there on my own, I just need—”

“Shh.” Vale’s lips brushed his ear. “You don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I’m here for.”

That’s not what I want. I don’t want this.

But underneath the fear, he could hear Vale’s voice in his head:You know this works. You know you need this.

Vale’s hand slid up his chest, his fingers finding the raised scars where glass had bitten deep. “These are healing nicely. Do they still hurt?”

Kieran swallowed. “S-sometimes. When I breathe too deep.”

“Mmm.” Vale’s fingers pressed in, and Kieran gasped at the bright flare of sensation. “Like that?”

“V-Vale—”

“The first time you sang this song for me,” Vale continued, “you ran. Do you remember? I touched you, and you bolted like a deer who’d just realized the meadow was actually a hunting ground.”

Kieran remembered. The terror of that moment, the desperate flight, the days of looking over his shoulder before Vale simply... appeared again.

“And then you sang it on the street,” Vale said, other hand sliding up to rest against Kieran’s throat. “And it wasmagnificent.”

I know. I know it works. That’s why I’m so afraid.

“I don’t w-want—” Kieran started, but Vale’s hand tightened on his throat just enough to make the words dissolve.

“What don’t you want, sweetheart?” The question was patient, curious, like Vale genuinely wanted to understand. “Tell me.”

Kieran’s eyes stung. “I don’t want it to h-hurt. I know I n-need it, I know it helps, b-but I don’twantit.”

Vale pressed a kiss to the back of Kieran’s neck—a reward for honesty.

“I know you don’t,” Vale said. “That’s not what this is about. You’re not supposed towantthe pain. You’re supposed to understand that it’s necessary and trust that I would never hurt you without purpose.”

Kieran nodded despite the fear still coiled in his chest. He did trust Vale. That was the most terrifying part—not the pain itself, but the certainty that had settled into his bones over the past months. Vale hurt him with purpose. Vale hurt him withcare. And somehow, impossibly, that made it bearable.

“Good boy.” Vale’s approval washed through him like warm water. “Now. I’m going to help you find what this song needs. And you’re going to let me, because you know I’m right. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kieran whimpered.

Vale’s hand pressed against the scars on his chest—not hard, but firm. The pain was immediate, sharp, radiating outward from wounds that hadn’t finished healing despite what his eyes told him. Kieran’s breath caught, then emerged as a broken sound that was almost musical.

“Sing,” Vale said against his ear. “Just the chorus. Let me feel how the sound moves through you.”

Kieran opened his mouth, and what emerged was nothing like the controlled performance from before. The words scraped outof him raw and desperate, carried by vocal cords that vibrated against Vale’s palm on his throat.

“I’m just a broken boy that nobody wanted...”

Vale’s fingers pressed harder against the scars, and Kieran’s voice cracked on a sob that became part of the melody.