Page 52 of Discordant Cultivation

Kieran wanted to refuse, wanted to stay exactly where he was and prove he still had some autonomy left, but he was already tilting backward until his head rested against Vale’s thigh.

No. No, I didn’t mean to—why did I just—

Vale’s fingers immediately found his hair, stroking through the dark strands with the kind of intimate care that made Kieran’s chest ache with confused want.

My body just obeys him now without even asking permission from my brain.

“There,” Vale sighed. “You needed direction. You’ve been floating for five days without an anchor.”

Kieran closed his eyes, hating how right Vale was. He hated how much better he felt with instructions to follow, with Vale’s hands in his hair telling him where to be and how to exist.

“The world wants you now,” Vale continued as his fingers traced patterns against Kieran’s scalp. “But they want theversion of you that I helped create. The honest one. The vulnerable one. The one who can transform pain into art.”

“I can’t be that p-person—” Kieran stopped himself again, teeth clenching.

“Without me.” Vale confirmed. “I know. That’s why we’re partners now. You’re the artist, I’m the producer. You’re the raw talent, I’m the one who knows how to refine it.”

“We’re n-not partners,” Kieran said, the words coming out sharper than intended. “P-partners choose each other.”

Vale’s fingers paused in his hair for just a moment before resuming their soothing pattern. “And yet here you are. With your head in my lap.”

Because you trained me like a fucking dog.

But Kieran couldn’t say that.

“Two million people, sweetheart,” Vale continued, “and that’s just the beginning. We’re going to give them something they’ve never seen before. Something authentic. Something that only exists because of what we’ve built together.”

What you built.

“You need to stop pretending you don’t want this.” Vale’s thumb traced along Kieran’s temple.

“W-want what?”

“The attention. The validation. My affection guiding you. You have proof now that you are more than a stuttering charity case people throw their loose change to.”

That one landed like a slap to the face. Because it was true. Two million people watched him, and felt something from his music. They had seen him as an artist instead of a charity case or a medical liability.

“I want to go home,” Kieran said, but the words tasted like ash.

Vale’s smile was patient, almost pitying. “Your old life was busking for change while people walked past without looking. Your old life was ramen for dinner and medication you couldbarely afford. This video has given you something you could never have achieved on your own.”

“By hurting m-me—”

“By showing the world what you’re capable of when you stop protecting yourself.” Vale leaned closer. “Tell me honestly—when you watch that performance, do you see that same sad boy busking for change? Or do you see an artist finally telling the truth?”

Kieran closed his eyes.

“I see someone who’s been broken,” he whispered.

“I see someone who’s been freed,” Vale countered. “From pretense. From fear. From the walls you built to keep yourself small and safe and mediocre.”

And now I can’t go back to small and safe because two million people have seen me without those walls.

Even if he escaped tomorrow, even if he ran back to his old life, he’d be recognized. People would want explanations, they would expect him to recreate that level of vulnerability on command. They would want the artist from the video instead of the scared kid who just wanted to play covers for grocery money.

He’s trapped me in more ways than just this house. He’s made it impossible for me to disappear.

“I hate you,” Kieran said when he opened his eyes, staring up at Vale’s face.