Page 141 of Discordant Cultivation

Kieran let himself believe it. He let himself sink into the warmth of Vale’s arms and the promise of stability, even though some distant part of his mind recognized the manipulation for what it was. Because the alternative—acknowledging that he traded a sense of abandonment for suffering—felt too vast to survive.

“Thank you,” Kieran whispered. “For c-caring. For not giving up on me.”

Vale held him closer, and Kieran tried to ignore the parallel between Vale’s father bringing him ice water in secret and Vale icing injuries he’d inflicted on Kieran himself.

This is different. This has purpose. This is how he shows love.

Evening crept across the living room windows, and Kieran couldn’t stop thinking about the laptop sitting closed on the coffee table for a week now. The A.T. messages waited inside it, questions about the hood and the basement that felt more threatening now that he’d let Vale see deeper into his history.

A.T. doesn’t understand that this is what I need.

Vale was in his office handling business calls, leaving Kieran alone with his spiraling thoughts and the aura creeping into his vision. He hadn’t slept well last night—the A.T. messages playing on loop in his mind—and exhaustion made everything feel more fragile, more likely to shatter if he looked at it too closely.

The interview was tonight. Dr. Sam would appear on the screen, bubbly and in love with music, and Kieran would have to perform normalcy while his damaged fingertips bled and anonymous strangers sent messages about hoods and basements and methods that weren’t supposed to exist.

He pulled two eyelashes free from his left eye before moving onto his right. He then began nibbling at his nails, staring at his laptop. He was so scared to open it. Would it be a barrage of messages from A.T.? Would he see scandal plastered all over his feed, or people calling Vale a monster and him a victim?

I’m not a victim.

“Sweetheart?”

Vale’s voice made Kieran’s hand jerk away from his mouth, guilt making his stomach churn at being caught. But Vale’s expression was concerned rather than disappointed as he crossed the room to kneel in front of the couch.

“You’re doing it again,” Vale said softly, catching Kieran’s hands. “What’s wrong? You’ve been anxious all evening.”

Tell him. Tell him about the messages. Tell him someone knows.

But the words stuck in Kieran’s throat, trapped behind the fear of disappointing Vale, of revealing he couldn’t even handle basic fan interactions without spiraling into panic.

“Just n-nervous,” Kieran managed, the lie tasting metallic and wrong. “About the interview tonight.”

Thankfully, Vale didn’t press him for details. He simply wrapped his hand around Kieran’s throat and squeezed.

The relief was immediate and visceral. Kieran’s rapid pulse slowed as the familiar response kicked in—pressure equals safety, Vale’s hand equals home. The anxiety didn’t disappear entirely, but it crystallized into something more manageable, less likely to fragment and spiral.

“There.” Vale smiled as he released his hold. “Better?”

Kieran nodded, not trusting his voice, letting himself exist in the quiet space where Vale’s touch made everything else feel distant and survivable.

“Dr. Sam is only going to ask about music,” Vale assured him as he began wrapping his hands. “Your background, your process, maybe some technical questions about vocal technique. Nothing personal, nothing invasive. And I’ll be right there next to you until she’s ready for the solo portion.”

Solo portion. When you leave me alone with someone who might ask questions I don’t know how to answer.

“Okay,” Kieran said finally, meeting Vale’s eyes. “I’m ready.”

No, I’m not. But I’ll pretend to be ready because that’s what you need from me.

“Five minutes until she calls,” he said, moving to check camera angles one final time before donning that mask that made him seem like a void in a hoodie. “Remember—she’s a fan of your work. She wants to understand your music, not tear you down.”

Kieran nodded and took his position in the chair as he tried to ignore the way his reflection looked pale and fragile under the professional lighting. He just needed to make it through this without embarrassing himself or Vale.

Just don’t stutter too badly. Don’t seize. Don’t reveal anything that shouldn’t be revealed.

The countdown timer on the camera started blinking, and Kieran forced his shoulders to relax as Dr. Sam’s face appeared on the monitor, warm and professional and exactly as kind as she’d seemed in her analysis videos.

“Hello, Thorn! Hello, Bloom!” Her enthusiasm was immediate, that kind of excitement that made music feel like the most important thing in the world even to people who didn’t care about the technical aspects. “Thank you both so much for making time for this conversation.”

Here we go.