Page 137 of Discordant Cultivation

“C-comments on a Library C-Card reaction video. People are—” Kieran paused, searching for words that wouldn’t sound pathetic. “They’re excit-ted about the album.”

Vale’s smile was warm, proud in ways that made Kieran’s chest tight with confused gratitude. “You’re building something real. A connection with people who understand what your authentic artistry is trying to communicate.”

Authentic artistry. Created through methods that would horrify the same people who loved the end result.

But the contradiction felt less sharp than it used to. Kieran had stopped questioning whether the lessons were worth it when the evidence was right there—millions of views, industry attention, fans who felt genuinely moved by songs that only existed because Vale taught him to access places most people protected.

“I finished something,” Kieran said suddenly, the words escaping before he could second-guess them. “The intimacy song. I figured out how to complete it.”

Vale went very still behind him, his coffee forgotten as his full attention focused on Kieran with that intensity that always made him feel lovingly seen and dissected at the same time. “When?”

“A f-few days ago. I’ve been—” Kieran bit his thumbnail, tasting blood from where he picked too aggressively the night before. “I w-wanted to surprise you with it. B-but there are vocalruns in it, lay-layering that I can’t do alone. It needs t-two voices to work properly.”

He turned in Vale’s arms to face him directly, gathering courage for the request as his face burned. “Could I-I-I—would it be okay if I asked J-Jericho? For another duet?”

His heart galloped in his throat. After the ‘Back to the Pit’incident, Kieran was more careful about seeking approval for even the smallest of choices.

“A surprise duet,” Vale mused.

“The song w-works now. Because I-I understand what you were t-trying to teach me.” Kieran’s hands found Vale’s chest, his fingers spreading against solid warmth of his skin. “About letting m-myself want things I was afraid t-to want.”

“Message her online and have her start talking to her manager about it,” Vale suggested. “Use your laptop to create a rough demo, I bet you two can work out something beautiful, and if everything sounds okay, I’m sure it will make a wonderful addition to the album.”

Kieran nodded, like the motion would help solidify the concept in his mind: surprises need permission.

“Thank you,” Kieran whispered, rising on his toes to press a soft kiss against Vale’s cheek. The gesture was natural now, touch seeking touch because affection with Vale felt safer than the alternative of emotional isolation. Fighting himself for so long had been so pointless, and so needlessly painful.

Vale’s arms came around him properly, holding him close while the coffee finished brewing behind them. This was happiness, Kieran realized. Maybe not the kind that most people would recognize or approve of, but genuine contentment found within the boundaries that Vale taught him to navigate.

I know what he wants from me. I know how to please him. I know my place in this world we’ve built together.

His thumbnail found his teeth again.

Vale caught his hand, pulling it away from his mouth. “You’re going to make yourself bleed again.”

“Sorry.” The apology was automatic and immediate, though Vale’s tone carried no reproach.

“Don’t be sorry. Just let me help you.” Vale pressed a soft kiss to Kieran’s damaged fingertips.

They settled on the couch with coffee, and Kieran curled against his side, resting his head on Vale’s shoulder. The ease of the mornings felt surreal sometimes—like playing house somewhere he did not belong. But Kieran was getting better at pushing those thoughts away and just letting himself enjoy the steady rise and fall of Vale’s breath.

“There’s someone I want you to watch,” Vale said, reaching for the laptop on the coffee table. “Dr. Sam—she’s an opera singer who does vocal analysis videos of popular music. She’s very academic and always very thoughtful. She’s done several breakdowns of your videos.”

An opera singer. Academic analysis. People with actual training examining my amateur street performer work.

But Kieran found himself curious rather than terrified. The broken parts of him that used to panic at scrutiny had quieted over the past two weeks, replaced by a strange calm that came from no longer questioning his place in the world. Vale would let him know when to be concerned.

Vale pulled up a video titled “Vocal Analysis: THORN’s ‘Library Card’Performance.“ Dr. Sam appeared on screen—she was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and genuine enthusiasm that reminded Kieran of music teachers who actually still loved music.

“Notice how Thorn shifts from chest voice to head voice during the bridge,” Dr. Sam was saying, her eyes bright as she replayed the section twice. “And he’s using his mixed voice to create this incredibly intimate sound, almost like he’s singing directly intoyour ear. There is this way he incorporates nasal resonance, that sort of mask space I’ve talked about before, during the spoken word sections to create intensity—it’s brilliant technique, whether conscious or intuitive.”

Head voice. Chest voice. Mixed voice. I should probably know what those mean.

But her analysis didn’t make him feel stupid or inadequate. Instead, it felt like someone was explaining magic tricks he’d been performing without understanding the mechanics, giving him a vocabulary for instincts he just followed because they felt right when he was putting songs together.

When she reached the emotional climax of the song, her eyes actually filled with tears. “The vulnerability here is just—it’s devastating. You can hear him emotionally breaking in real time, but he never loses control of the melody. That’s the mark of someone who understands that emotion serves music, and it takes incredible skill to still sing with that level of emotional vulnerability without making the vocals sound too thick or muddy.”

Kieran watched three more of her analysis videos, feeling something unfamiliar bloom in his chest. Pride, maybe. Or validation. It was a balm on the broken parts of him that accepted he needed Vale’s lessons.