Page 132 of Discordant Cultivation

Again. Always again. When will I stop being such a fucking disappointment?

The tears came harder, ugly and desperate and completely inappropriate for someone who was supposed to be a professional artist working on his debut album. Kieran tried to stop them, tried to swallow the sobs, but the effort only worsened everything.

I’m crying over a song. Over words on a page. Like a child having a tantrum because he can’t make the pieces fit.

Vale’s laptop closed with a soft click, both arms wrapping around Kieran from behind in an embrace that felt like pity. “You’re not disappointing me. Creative blocks happen. Work on something else for a while. Just breathe.”

How can you be so kind when I keep failing at everything you’ve taught me? When I can’t even write a simple song without falling apart?

Kieran let his head fall sideways against Vale’s thigh, still sniffling as Vale’s phone began ringing. He closed his eyes as he heard Vale answer, using the gentle rhythm of fingers stroking his hair to time his breaths and force himself to calm down.His mouth still tasted like metal and his ears were making everything sound hollow.

Just focus on the song. Just make it work.

Why can’t I make it work?

The question circled through his fuzzy mind like water down a drain. Every other song they’d created together came to him so easy. Words and melodies poured out of him, they kept him up at night, needing to be put to page. There were still pages in the notepad smeared with blood that he would just wipe away so he could keep writing because it felt like he would die if he didn’t put them somewhere.

Kieran opened his eyes and stared at his notebook on the ground.

It’s because I fought too hard.

That’s why the song doesn’t work.

Kieran hated the thought, hated how much sense it made. He could practically hear Vale’s voice in his head, his hands on his throat, whispering in ears that felt like they were filled with water:

Intimacy is give and take…

That’s what the problem was. He didn’t give. He just lay there, terrified, fighting,and took.

I hate that this makes sense. I hate that I understand what needs to happen.

He looked up at Vale, surprised to see Vale looking down at him. Vale shifted his attention back towards the phone, his hand reaching to push up nonexistent glasses before he caught himself.

Kieran’s eyes drifted downward, fixing on Vale’s jeans—the faded denim that hugged his thighs, the simple metal button at the fly catching the light. He stared at it, warring with himself, the internal debate raging like a storm in his broken mind.

You have to give. This is what you need to fix it.

No.

Yes…

I have to.

His hand shook as he reached out, his fingers fumbling with the button until it popped open with a soft snap. He slid his palm up under Vale’s shirt, feeling the hard ridges of toned abs beneath warm skin, the muscles contracting slightly under his touch.

He hadn’t paid attention to how sculpted Vale was before, when they were in bed together.

Why didn’t I notice?

He felt Vale tense beneath him—his body going rigid for a split second—but there was no move to end the call or push Kieran away.

Kieran couldn’t even look up, his eyes fixed on the zipper as his heart pounded.

I can do this. I can figure it out. For the song. Don’t think, just experience.

He was two seconds from talking himself back into sanity, from pulling away and pretending this impulse never happened, but the thrill hit him—unwanted yet undeniable, electric, stirring low in his belly.

Vale parted his legs wider without a word, allowing Kieran to shift and settle fully between them, turning to face his groin. Fingers threaded through Kieran’s hair, not pulling, but more like a gentle encouragement that sent shivers down his spine. The touch grounded him, pulling him deeper into the moment as Vale’s voice droned on above.