Page 46 of Discordant Cultivation

“You can’t control them.” Vale kept his tone gentle. “But we need to call the doctor to adjust your medication.”

Relief flickered across Kieran’s face, quickly suppressed. As if he didn’t want Vale to see how desperately relieved he was at the mundanity of Vale’s presence in his room.

Too late. I see everything you try to hide.

“The song is extraordinary, sweetheart.” Vale gestured to the lyrics. “What you’ve created from these past weeks—it’s everything I hoped it would be.”

Kieran’s eyes dropped to the notepad on his nightstand. When he looked back at Vale, there was something complex in his expression. Not quite gratitude. Not quite resentment. Like the beginning of pride in what he’d made from his own suffering.

“Thank you,” Kieran whispered.

Vale left before he could do something foolish. Like wake Kieran properly and drag him to the basement at four in the morning to make him sing those lyrics while his throat was still raw from sleep and his body still weak from seizing.

Patience. Tomorrow afternoon is soon enough.

Dawn came too slowly. Vale found himself in the kitchen at seven, preparing breakfast while his mind was already in the basement.

No hood today. He wanted to watch Kieran’s face when he sang the new lyrics. He wanted to see those honest brown eyes when they reached the line about toxic being the only way to make it pure.

Show me you understand what I’m making you into.

Kieran appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed but disheveled, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion that three weeks of poor sleep carved into permanent fixtures. He saw Vale and stopped, that now-familiar fear flickering across his face before he suppressed it.

“Good morning,” Vale said, turning back to the eggs. “Sit. Breakfast in five minutes.”

Kieran obeyed without speaking, sinking into his usual chair with movements that spoke of a bone-deep weariness.

Vale plated the eggs with care, and added toast he cut into four squares instead of triangles because Kieran said he liked the appearance of having more on the plate than there actually was. He delighted in giving Kieran things he liked as much as he enjoyed his tears.

“We need to talk about the song,” Vale said, setting the plate down. “What you’ve written is exceptional. I want to record it.”

He watched Kieran pick up his fork with hands that trembled.

Let me break you again today.

“Rec-record it?”

“In the basement. This afternoon.” Vale kept his tone conversational, but he could see Kieran’s shoulders tense at the word.Basement. It had become Pavlovian—the mere mention made his breathing change, made tears gather in his eyes before they even reached the stairs.

“I...” Kieran swallowed hard. “Can we m-maybe wait? Just f-for today? I’m tired and I don’t think I can—”

“You’ll do as many sessions as I decide.” The words came out sharper than Vale intended, edged with the need he’d spent all night trying to suppress.

Kieran’s face crumpled. Not quite crying yet, but close. “Please. Vale, please, everything hurts. I’m s-s-so tired. Just one day off, please—”

Vale wanted to say yes. But his hands also itched to touch, his mind already planning how to make Kieran sing those lyrics with maximum emotional authenticity.

He wanted to peel back Kieran’s skin and count his heartbeats while he sang, to map every nerve ending with his tongue until he’d memorized the exact geography of his suffering.

“This afternoon,” Vale repeated, forcing his voice gentler. As if gentleness could erase the refusal. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

He watched Kieran’s face cycle through several expressions—desperation, resignation, defeat—before settling on blank acceptance. The moment when resistance died and compliance took over.

“Okay,” Kieran whispered, and the broken quality of his voice sent heat through Vale’s veins.

13

There's music in the silence when the violence isn't deafening…