Page 166 of Discordant Cultivation

The thought made him feel sick. Vale had given him everything—a career, recognition, love… People knew his name now. His music mattered to strangers who messaged him about how his words helped them feel less alone.

How can I even think about leaving when he’s made me into someone who matters?

But that yearning wouldn’t die completely, no matter how many times Kieran reminded himself of Vale’s generosity, his patience, his careful attention that transformed a broken street performer into an artist people actually wanted to hear.

I love him. I love him, and he loves me, and none of this would exist without him.

Kieran deleted Jericho’s message without responding. But his hands were still shaking, the nausea still churning in his stomach as he stared at the concert announcement and tried to imagine surviving that kind of exposure.

“What’s wrong?” Vale asked. “Your breathing changed.”

Kieran turned the laptop screen toward Vale. “I d-don’t think I c-can do this,” he stuttered. “I c-could barely busk for p-people, and I never even l-looked at them. I was hoping—maybe a small intimate c-coffee shop for a first show, not—notthat.”

The words tumbled out faster as his spiral accelerated, rational thought dissolving into pure anxiety. “What if people are d-disappointed by me in real life? What if I p-panic? What if the venue is playing a j-joke and I didn’t actually sell out?”

It has to be a mistake. There’s no way ten thousand people actually want to see me.

Vale took off his glasses and patted his lap.

Yes. Please.

Kieran shut the laptop and walked over, but Vale grabbed his collar before he ever got a chance to sit down, dragging him into a kiss as Kieran crawled into his lap.

“You can do this,” Vale said. “It’s not a joke. You sold out a ten thousand capacity venue because people genuinely want to experience your music live. And I’ll be there the entire time, making sure everything goes smoothly.”

But what if I can’t? What if I freeze up there? What if I have a seizure in front of everyone?

The spiral wouldn’t stop, anxiety feeding on itself until Kieran felt like he might vibrate apart in Vale’s arms. Then Vale’s hand found his throat and he squeezed.

Oh. Yes. This.

Kieran lifted his chin to give Vale better access and let his eyes flutter shut as the pressure built in his head and his lung screamed for air. His racing thoughts began to slow, the electricterror crystallizing into something more manageable, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a joke. That he was a joke.

Kieran took a deep breath as the pressure on his throat eased and curled tighter against Vale. “Maybe I’m just a g-gimmick meant to burn out.”

Vale kissed his forehead. “We’re going to go on a walk.”

Kieran pulled back slightly, confusion replacing some of his anxiety. “Where?”

“The greenhouse.”

The greenhouse was massive—sprawling glass and steel that seemed to rival the house itself in sheer square footage. Kieran stood in the doorway, overwhelmed by the explosion of color and life that filled every available space.

Different rose varieties dominated most sections, their blooms ranging from deep burgundy so dark they looked black to pale pink that was nearly white, with every shade in between—coral and peach and butter yellow and vivid crimson. The scent hit him like a slap, sweet and heady and almost overwhelming in their intensity.

This is where his roses come from. Every morning, a different one on my nightstand. He’s been coming here to choose them.

Beyond the roses, a plant towered above them both, its massive leaves creating shadows on the glass ceiling. They looked thick and heavy, with giant holes in them. It didn’t look real.

“Monstera gigas,” Vale explained, following Kieran’s gaze upward. “My mother planted it twenty-five years ago. It’s nearly reached the roof now.”

Twenty-five years of growth. A living timeline of his family.

Kieran moved deeper into the greenhouse, drawn by the riot of life that seemed impossible given the autumn chill outside. Lilies clustered in terracotta pots, their trumpet-shaped blooms in shades of orange and white and deep purple. Climbing jasmine wound around wooden trellises with tiny white flowers releasing perfume that mixed with the roses and the rich, loamy smell of earth.

Orchids perched on elevated shelves, their exotic blooms looking almost artificial in their perfection—pale green with purple spots, pure white with yellow throats, deep magenta that seemed to glow in the filtered sunlight. Ferns cascaded from hanging baskets, their fronds creating a canopy of green that made the space feel alive, breathing.

The warmth was immediate and comforting, humid air wrapping around Kieran like an embrace after the cold walk from the house. His fingers trailed over velvety rose petals, careful not to disturb them too much, before moving to touch an enormous Monstera leaf that hung at shoulder height.