Page 142 of Discordant Cultivation

Kieran’s damaged fingertips throbbed beneath the table, and somewhere in the closed laptop on the coffee table, A.T.’s messages waited with their terrible questions about hoods and basements and methods that would destroy everything if anyone understood what they really meant.

But Vale was beside him, solid and steady, and Kieran had to believe that would be enough to make it through whatever came next.

45

Token gestures, false confessions, learned my lesson, stopped progression…

Kieran

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you both,” Dr. Sam continued, her joy radiating through the screen in ways that should have been reassuring. “Bloom, I have to start by saying your piano work in ‘Temple of Flesh’ was absolutely gorgeous. Those arpeggios in the bridge section—they reminded me of my grandmother’s teaching style. There’s a warmth there that you don’t get from purely technical training.”

Vale shifted in his chair, the mask giving him an anonymity that gave his voice a more relaxed quality than usual. “Thank you. I had early classical training, but my mother taught me that technique should serve emotion, not overshadow it.”

Kieran’s hands remained folded in his lap, but his leg bounced with nervous energy. The metallic taste was still coating his tongue, that familiar copper warning that meant his nervous system was balanced on a knife’s edge.

Has he made you sing with the bag on your head yet?

The message from A.T. kept circling through his mind like a song stuck on repeat, making it impossible to focus completely on Dr. Sam’s warm questions.

“I’m curious about the dynamic between you two,” Dr. Sam was saying, attention shifting to include both of them in her gaze through the monitor. “Bloom, you’re obviously classically trained, but we only saw you in one video. Is that a creative choice, or do you prefer to stay behind the scenes?”

“Thorn is the artist,” Vale said simply, his masked face turning slightly toward Kieran. “I provide structure and technical support. But the emotional authenticity—that comes entirely from him.”

Dr. Sam nodded. “That’s beautiful. I love to hear about two musicians who find where their pieces fit together instead of competing. And Thorn, I have to ask—your vocal technique is so intuitive. Have you had formal training, or is this all instinctual development?”

“M-mostly instinctual,” he managed, proud that his voice came out steady despite the anxiety clawing at his chest. “I’ve always j-just—sung the way that f-felt right for each song.”

“It shows. There’s an authenticity in your approach that formal training sometimes eliminates. The way you shift between chest voice and head voice in ‘Library Card‘—it creates this incredibly intimate sound, which is hard to do when you’re making that kind of switch. You also do this incredibly beautiful thing with your voice at the end that employs the use of the false vocal folds, but it doesn’t sound garbled or gruff like you would usually hear, and I am so, so in love with it.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “That m-means—I don’t really know the t-technical terms for what I’m doing, so hearing that it’s actually working is—”

“Oh, it’s absolutely working.” She leaned forward, still engaged with the interview that felt different from the others. “The way you navigate emotional transitions through vocalplacement is graduate-level technique, whether you realize it or not.”

Graduate-level?

But even as pride warmed his chest, the copper taste grew stronger. His ears were buzzing with a low hum that he knew wasn’t from his ear buds. How long had it lasted? The doctor said the clustered focal seizures might need medicating sometimes, but he genuinely couldn’t remember. It could have been a minute. It could have been all day.

“Bloom, I know you have other commitments,” Dr. Sam said, checking her notes. “Would it be possible to continue with just Thorn for the remainder of our conversation? I’d love to dive deeper into his process without taking up too much of your time.”

No. Don’t leave me alone with her. I can’t handle this without you here.

But Vale was already standing. “Of course. Thorn can handle any questions about his artistry better than I can.”

The confidence in his voice should have been reassuring, but Kieran felt a spike of anxiety as Vale moved out of the camera frame. He was still there—Kieran could sense his presence just outside the lighting setup—but being the sole focus of Dr. Sam felt overwhelming.

The A.T. messages flickered through his mind again as he became the center of attention, alone under professional lighting with someone who knew more about vocal technique than he’d ever understand.

“So, Thorn,” Dr. Sam said, settling back in her chair. “Let’s start with something fun—do you have any pre-recording rituals? A song you always listen to before you perform?”

The question was so unexpectedly mundane that Kieran felt more of his anxiety ease. This wasn’t about a vocal techniquehe couldn’t explain or artistic statements he hadn’t intended to make.

“Dr. Pepper, if I can get one. If I had my way, I’d always have a soda.”

Dr. Sam laughed, delight lighting up her face. “That’s adorable! Any particular reason, or does it just get you in the right headspace?”

“It’s j-just—” Kieran paused, trying to articulate something he’d never really examined. “It’s this perfect c-combination of everything? Like it makes me remember being a k-kid but also gets me excited. Probably all the sugar, honestly.”

This is nice. This feels like talking to a friend instead of being interviewed by someone who could expose me as a fraud.