Page 189 of Discordant Cultivation

I’m bad at keeping things alive. Everything I touch dies or breaks or falls apart.

Kieran pulled his knees to his chest, curling into himself as the spiral gained momentum. Jericho was dead. Alex was dead. And now even the flowers that grew from her remains were dying under his care.

“Kieran?” Vale’s voice echoed through the greenhouse, distant but approaching. “Sweetheart, where are you?”

Kieran didn’t move, couldn’t move. Vale’s voice still made something nervous flutter in his stomach sometimes, even though he loved Vale more than air, more than music, more than his own name.

Footsteps on the greenhouse’s stone path grew closer. “There you are. What’s—” Vale’s voice cut off and suddenly he was beside Kieran, his hands gentle as they checked his pulse, his pupils, the familiar post-episode assessment. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I k-killed it,” Kieran sobbed, his voice muffled against his knees. “The f-flower. It’s dying and I don’t know what I d-did wrong.”

Vale’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Vale murmured against his hair. “That’s how lilies work. They bloom, the petals fall, and then they bloom again. It’s not anything you did.” His hand stroked through Kieran’s hair with soothing repetition. “The flower will keep growing even when it’s just a stem with no petals. That’s what they’re designed to do.”

Kieran’s breathing began to settle, but new anxieties rushed in to fill the space. “I’m still sc-scared,” he whispered against Vale’s shoulder. “About tonight. What if the concert is a j-joke? What if I didn’t actually sell out? What if no one shows up and it’s justempty s-seats?” His voice cracked with familiar terror. “What if I have a seizure on stage? What if people l-laugh at my stutter when I try to talk between songs?”

Vale’s response was immediate—his mouth finding Kieran’s with the kind of kiss that made everything else dissolve. Soft pressure, the taste of too much coffee, the grounding weight of Vale’s hands cupping his face. Kieran’s mind grew quiet.

“Come inside with me,” Vale said when he pulled away. “I want to show you something.”

Kieran nodded, reaching for the fallen petal and tucking it carefully between the pages of his notebook. He stood on unsteady legs, accepting Vale’s offered hand and he didn’t let go until they reached the house.

The suitcases by the front door made Kieran’s stomach clench with fresh anxiety. Two expensive pieces of luggage packed for their post-concert trip to the ocean. He’d never flown before, had never been on an airplane.

Instead of heading to their usual spot on the living room floor where Vale would card gentle fingers through his hair while Kieran leaned against his legs, Vale settled on the couch and patted his lap.

“What are you d-doing?” Kieran asked, settling carefully between Vale’s thighs, his back pressed against Vale’s chest.

Vale’s phone appeared in his peripheral vision, fingers typing something out of Kieran’s view while his other hand ghosted over Kieran’s collar, tracing the edges lazily before he slipped a finger beneath it to rub the hollow of his neck.

Kieran closed his eyes and let his own fingers run up and down Vale’s forearm, feeling the slight jump of the muscle. Everything about Vale was so warm all the time, like a living, breathing security blanket.

“Look,” Vale murmured.

Kieran opened his eyes to see a banking app with numbers that had too many commas.

“I’m c-confused,” Kieran said slowly. “What am I supposed to be l-looking at?”

Vale’s finger pointed to the top of the screen, where Kieran’s name was displayed in clean black letters. “It’s your account.”

Kieran froze, his body going rigid against Vale’s chest. “Where did this c-come from? This has to be another prank or—”

“I’ve been depositing money here since your first video went viral,” Vale explained patiently. “It’s your money, sweetheart. What did you think was happening to the revenue from the videos? The single releases? The album sales?”

“I—I just assumed you’d k-keep it. Like rent. Since I live here for f-free and eat your food and—”

“I would never dream of charging you rent,” Vale said softly. “This is your home. This is your money. You can spend it however you want.”

The numbers on the screen made Kieran feel sick, somehow. It didn’t seem right. “You should h-handle that,” Kieran said, shaking his head. “I trust you to t-take care of it. I don’t want to think about money right now.”

Vale hesitated for a moment, then he just nodded.

“Do you want to do anything special before the concert?” Vale asked, his hand resuming its gentle tracing of Kieran’s throat. “We could go into the city, get lunch somewhere nice, walk around—”

“I’m f-fine where I am,” Kieran interrupted softly. “If that’s okay.”

His fingertips had started their familiar itch again—the urge to pick, to pull, to find release in small violences against himself. He reached for Vale’s free hand and pressed it against his own, threading their fingers together tightly.