Page 120 of Discordant Cultivation

Then came the performance itself.

I look different. I look like someone who belongs there.

But as the song built toward its climax, as his recorded self reached into his pocket, Kieran’s leg started bouncing uncontrollably. He knew what was coming—the phantom sensation of glass against his palm, the memory of deliberately chosen pain.

His teeth found his thumbnail and he began to gnaw at it.

“Watch,” Vale said softly, his hand squeezing the back of his neck. “Watch how they respond.”

On screen, his recorded self slammed bloody fingers. The hosts’ faces showed shock and awe, maybe disgust. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care.

Kieran bit down harder, tasting copper as his nail bed split under pressure. His other hand found a loose cuticle, picking and tearing until fresh blood welled up.

Stop it. Stop watching yourself bleed for strangers.

Without warning, Vale caught Kieran’s wrist, pulling his bloody fingers away from his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” Vale said softly. He lifted Kieran’s damaged fingertips to his own lips, pressing soft kisses against the fresh wounds. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

This is the gentle part. The safe part. This I understand.

The interview setup was simpler this time—just two hosts from a mid-tier music channel, professional but warm. Kieran should have felt more relaxed, but his mind kept circling back to Vale’s words from that morning.

The hosts were discussing his viral success, the upcoming album announcement. But Kieran could barely focus, hyper-aware of Vale’s presence beside him in his anonymous black mask.

“The footage from your collaboration with Jericho has been incredible,” the female host was saying. “But viewers have been particularly moved by the raw emotion in ‘Temple of Flesh.’ Can you talk about performing with that kind of vulnerability?”

Kieran nodded, opening his mouth to give the practiced response, but his mind immediately jumped to video footage of Vale holding him, comforting him through the seizure.

“It’s—” Kieran’s stutter caught. “It’s about b-being able t-to be honest about things that are uncomfortable to—to discuss. It’s n-not easy.”

“Our Discord has been buzzing about something else from that footage. Right before the feed cut off, someone can be heard calling you ‘sweetheart.’ Fans are dying to know—do you have someone special supporting you behind the scenes?”

The taste of pennies flooded Kieran’s mouth. His vision started to blur at the edges, that familiar fog rolling in like storm clouds.

What am I supposed to say? How do I explain that the person who calls me sweetheart is the same person who—

“That would be our medical consultant,” Vale’s voice cut through the growing static in Kieran’s head. “We always have trained personnel on-site for Thorn’s safety. He calls everyone sweetheart—bit of an old-fashioned bedside manner.”

Kieran blinked, trying to focus, trying to formulate a response. His mouth opened, but only silence emerged as his consciousness flickered.

The next thing he knew, he was slumped forward in his chair, Vale’s strong arm across his chest preventing him from falling. His head felt heavy, disconnected, as an ache spread through his skull.

“What’s—” Kieran’s voice came out strange to his own ears. “What’s happening?”

The female host looked concerned. “You had a small episode, honey. Bloom kept you from hitting anything. Are you okay?”

Kieran straightened slowly, Vale’s arm still against his chest. The interview was still recording—it must have only been a few seconds.

“I think we should wrap up,” Vale said quietly. “Thorn’s had a long day.”

“No.” The word came out stronger than expected. “No, I’m fine. I want to finish.”

He refused to look at Vale, instead taking a deep breath.

“I’m excited about s-some of the n-new songs for the album,” Kieran said, forcing his voice steady despite the lingering fog. “People kn-know me for the introspective st-stuff, the sad and heavy m-material. But it’s not all—all terrible and dark. There’s g-going to be some fun stuff, too.”

The hosts brightened, clearly relieved he wanted to continue.