Page 160 of Discordant Cultivation

The ring sat in Vale’s pocket like a burning ember, and Kieran looked like a painting someone hung in the wrong gallery.

Vale chose this place deliberately—Rosewood Grill, with its warm lighting, leather booths, and a menu in English with photographs of each dish. Nothing that would make Kieran feel small. Nothing with tablecloths so white they felt like accusations or waiters who spoke in murmured French and made him feel provincial for asking questions.

He wanted to give Kieran something easy. A few hours of normalcy wrapped in gentleness and good food, a gift that cost nothing but time…and yet it felt more terrifying than anything Vale had ever offered anyone.

And Kieran sat across from him looking like a sacrifice prepared for an altar he couldn’t see.

The turtleneck had been a good choice—cream-colored cashmere that sat just beneath his jaw, removing the need for gauze while creating the architecture of softness Vale imagined when he ordered it. It billowed in all the right places, then tapered to grip Kieran’s hips in a way that made Vale’s fingersitch with the memory of touching them. The freshly buzzed sides of his head exposed the vulnerable curve of his skull, the delicate shells of his ears, the places where Vale pressed his lips just hours ago while Kieran trembled through the aftermath of something Vale still didn’t fully understand.

When Vale returned to the green room, Kieran was curled into the corner of the couch with his guitar clutched to his chest like a talisman, and his eyes red, devastated, leaking the kind of tears that came from somewhere too deep to name.

Please,he’d whispered.Can we do it another t-time? It’s always just us and having other p-people telling me things in the headphones felt wrong. I’m t-tired, I’m so tired, and I—

And he stopped and swallowed whatever came next like it was glass.

Vale had seen it—the truncated confession, the sideways slide of Kieran’s gaze, the way his fingers tightened on the guitar’s neck as if bracing for impact. Something happened when he stepped away, Kieran wasn’t saying, wasn’t ready to say, and normally Vale would have extracted it. He would have knelt beside the couch and cupped Kieran’s face in his hands and used the voice that turned locks into open doors.

Tell me what you’re holding, sweetheart. Give it to me. Everything you carry belongs to me.

But the reservation had been waiting, and Vale had wanted—wanted—

He caved.

For the first time in recent memory, didn’t push to get his way. He just gathered Kieran up and guided him to the car without pressing, without prying, without demanding the confession he was owed. Because extracting it would have meant dealing with it, and dealing with it would have meant canceling dinner, and Vale could not cancel dinner because heneededthis date to be perfect.

Kieran’s eyes tracked movement around the restaurant, not looking at Vale. Not noticing the way Vale’s thumb kept finding the ring’s edge through his pocket, tracing its circumference like a rosary.

You’re mine.Every broken piece of you, every tear, every trembling confession—mine. I’ve collected you so completely that a ring should be redundant. A formality. A decoration for the altar I’ve built inside your chest.

And yet his heart was doing something strange. Something arrhythmic and unwelcome.

A waiter approached—young and professional with a pleasant smile that said good tips were expected. “Good evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Kieran’s head snapped toward the voice like a deer hearing a branch break. His eyes went wide, then darted to Vale.

“What am I—” Kieran started, then caught himself. He swallowed and started again, voice smaller. “What am I allowed to g-get?”

The waiter’s smile flickered, uncertain.

“We’ll need another minute,” Vale said smoothly. “We haven’t had a chance to look at the menu.”

The waiter retreated. Vale leaned forward, his forearms on the table, and pitched his voice low enough that only Kieran could hear. “You can order whatever you want.”

Kieran blinked. “But—”

“Anything.” Vale let the word settle between them. “A cocktail. Wine. Sparkling water with lemon. One of everything on the menu, if that’s what you want.” He paused, watching Kieran’s expression shift through confusion, suspicion, then something painfully close to hope. “This isn’t a test, sweetheart. I want you to enjoy this. This is a date. Just dinner.”

Just dinner.As if anything between them could ever bejustanything. As if Vale could sit across from this creature he’dbroken and remade and not feel the constant hum of possession thrumming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.

But he was trying. God help him, he wastryingto give Kieran something that looked like normal, even if normal felt like speaking a language he’d forgotten decades ago.

Kieran stared at him for a long moment. Then, quietly: “There’s too many options, V-Vale…” He trailed off, looking down at the menu like it was written in code. “I’ll have whatever you’re h-having. It’s easier.”

Vale opened his mouth to respond, to tell Kieran to breath, it was okay—

But his mind went blank.

It was as though his chest was full of thorns, pressing up against paper skin and Kieran could see straight through to the wanting creature that lived beneath.