Page 162 of Discordant Cultivation

Thick, dripping, stacked with cheese and bacon and something that might have been caramelized onions. Vale ordered it without thinking after seeing it on the menu and remembering being nineteen, eating fast food in his car after competitions because his parents would never allow something so grotesque in their home. A small rebellion. A secret pleasure.

He hadn’t ordered a burger in fifteen years.

Kieran stared at it like Vale had ordered a live animal. “That’s... that’s not on your meal p-plan.”

“I don’t have a meal plan.”

“You have a very specific r-rotation of proteins and vegetables that you’ve been feeding me for months.” Kieran’s lips twitched into a hesitant smile. “Tuesday is salmon. Thursday is ch-chicken. You put nutritional yeast on everything.”

“Nutritional yeast is an excellent source of B vitamins.”

“It tastes like d-dust.”

“Flavorful dust.”

Kieran laughed—actuallylaughed, surprised and bright, and Vale felt the sound land somewhere behind his sternum like a hook finding purchase. This was it. This was what he wanted more of. Kieran’s eyes crinkling at the corners, his shoulders dropping from their defensive hunch, his whole body softening and relaxed.

“I can’t believe you ordered a b-burger,” Kieran said. “What’s next? Pizza? Gas station s-sushi?”

“I draw the line at gas station sushi.”

“But not at—” Kieran gestured at the burger, which was actively dripping grease onto the plate. “That. That m-monstrosity.”

“Thismonstrosityis an American classic.”

“You’re such a snob about everything except when you’re n-not.” Kieran shook his head, but he was smiling. Really smiling. “I d-don’t understand you at all.”

Good,Vale thought.Keep trying to understand me. Keep looking at me like I’m a puzzle you want to solve. I’ll give you a lifetime of contradictions if it means you keep smiling like that.

He picked up the burger with both hands, fully aware of how ridiculous he looked—Valerian Rose, who had a wine pairing for every piece of classical music he knew how to play—eating a bacon cheeseburger with his hands in a mid-range restaurant while the love of his life watched with delighted disbelief.

He took a bite.

It wasspectacular.

“Oh god,” Kieran said, watching Vale’s expression. “You l-like it. You actually like it.”

Vale chewed, swallowed, and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. “It’s acceptable.”

“Your f-face says it’s more than acceptable.”

“My face says nothing.”

“Your face says you’re g-going to order another one.”

Vale took another bite instead of responding, and Kieran laughed again—that bright, startled sound that Vale was rapidly becoming addicted to. They fell into easy conversation after that, talking about nothing important: a documentary Kieran had watched while Vale was in meetings, a particularly dramatic moment in the baking show they’d been following, an argument about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Kieran: firmly yes, Vale: absolutely not, under any circumstances, this is grounds for revoking a musical career).

It felt... normal.

Terrifyingly, wonderfully normal.

Kieran was still glancing around occasionally, still tracking movement in his peripheral vision, but the vigilance had softened into something closer to curiosity than fear. He’d finished his own meal—a chicken sandwich, safe, predictable—and was stealing fries from Vale’s plate with increasing boldness, as if testing whether Vale would stop him.

Vale didn’t stop him. He didn’t want to.This is what I’m giving you,Vale thought, watching Kieran bite into a stolen fry with exaggerated satisfaction.Moments where you forget to be afraid. Moments where you’re just a person eating dinner with someone who loves you.

“—and then she just p-posted the video without telling anyone,“ Kieran was saying, still on the topic of the baking show, “and the whole internet lost their m-minds because—”

He stopped.