Page 163 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale followed his gaze. A young woman was approaching their table—maybe in her early twenties with pink-streaked hair and a phone clutched in both hands like a shield. Her face was flushed, her steps hesitant, and Vale felt his shoulders tense.Don’t spook him. He’s finally relaxed. Don’t—

“I’m sorry to—to—to—” The girl’s face went redder. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a breath, forced the words out: ”—Y-you’re Th-Thorn-n-n?”

She held up the phone.

Kieran’s own nervousness didn’t disappear, but it rearranged itself. “Do you want a p-picture?”

The girl nodded frantically, clearly relieved she didn’t have to ask.

Vale was already sliding out of the booth to take the picture for them. “W-wait—” The girl’s voice stopped him. “C-c-could you—both of you? T-together?”

She couldn’t finish. But her eyes were bright like she was about to burst into tears. Before Vale could respond, Kieran was moving.

“Yeah, of c-course, here—”

He slid out of his side of the booth and crossed to Vale’s, and Vale expected him to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder, the standard arrangement for a photo. Instead Kieran paused, seemed to calculate something, and then sat in Vale’s lap.

Just like that. Casual, easy, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His weight settled against Vale’s thighs, his back warm against Vale’s chest, and he was reaching for the girl’s phone with a confidence Vale had never seen in him outside of a performance.

“Here, give it to Vale—he’s got the l-longest arms. Come on, get in here.”

The girl looked like she might faint. She sat beside them, her eyes like saucers and her jaw ticking forward like she was trying to speak again but the words were stuck.

Vale was still trying to process what was happening.

Kieran. In his lap. Inpublic. Not because Vale positioned him there, not because Vale commanded it, but because Kieranchoseit. He saw a logistical problem and solved it by climbing into Vale’s lap like that was simply where he belonged.

“Vale.” Kieran’s voice was amused. “The ph-phone.”

Right. The photo.

Vale took the phone with hands that felt strangely disconnected from his body. Raised it, angled it to capture all three of them—the flushed fan, Kieran’s easy smile, Vale’s own face that he could only hope looked composed rather than thunderstruck.

Click.

“One more,” Kieran said, “in case someone b-blinked.“

Click.

“Okay, check it—m-make sure you like it.“

The girl took her phone back without bothering to look at the screen. “Th-th-thanks,” she managed.

“No problem,” Kieran said with a smile. “What’s your n-name?”

“M-M-Mia.”

“I’m really glad to m-meet you, Mia.”

Mia looked like Kieran had handed her the sun. She nodded frantically, clutched her phone to her chest, and retreated—almost running back to a table near a window where four other people sat watching. As soon as she reached them, the whole group erupted in hushed, frantic whispers. Phones emerged. Someone was fanning themselves with a menu.

Kieran was still in Vale’s lap, sitting there, warm and solid andrelaxed, watching Mia return to her friends with a small, satisfied smile.

“She was nervous,” Kieran said quietly. “She’s l-like me.”

Of course Vale noticed. He noticed everything—the way Kieran took charge of the interaction so the girl wouldn’t have to struggle through more words than necessary, the way he’d asked her name like it mattered because itdidmatter, because Kieran understood what it felt like to fight for every syllable.

“I noticed,” Vale said.