Page 70 of Discordant Cultivation

“What hap-happened?” Kieran asked despite already knowing the answer. This moment felt fragile, precious in ways he couldn’t name. Vale being gentle without agenda, holding him without expectation, offering comfort that felt genuine rather than calculated.

“You had a seizure at the end of the performance,” Vale said. “You’ve been drifting in and out for hours. The doctor came and adjusted your medication.”

Hours. Multiple hours. Time he couldn’t account for.

Performance.

The word triggered flashes of memory—bright lights, cameras, the weight of the guitar in his hands. Moving around the basement. Singing about temples built on fault lines with an aching jaw and sore lips.

“D-did w-we get what w-we needed?” Kieran heard himself ask, and immediately hated the question.

Why do I care? Why is my first thought about whether the seizure ruined his plans?

Vale’s grip tightened. “We got something extraordinary. But that doesn’t matter right now. You matter right now.”

Kieran pressed closer to Vale’s chest, seeking more of whatever this was—kindness without conditions, care without curriculum. His medical alert bracelet caught on Vale’s shirt, but instead of adjusting it away, Vale’s fingers found the metal and traced the red letters. “The doctor thinks your stress levels have been too high. We need to be more careful.”

We. He said we.

“I’m sorry,” Kieran whispered, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. The seizure? The disrupted filming? The way he was clinging to Vale like a frightened child?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Vale said firmly. “Nothing. Do you understand me?”

Kieran nodded against his chest. For a moment, the world felt simple—just two people, one offering comfort the other desperately needed.

Another memory clicked back into place.

The final lesson before the performance.

Kieran’s body went rigid against Vale’s chest as the full scope of what happened before the cameras rolled again rushed back in and he began shaking so hard he thought he would vibrate out of his skin.He hurt me. He used me and pretended it was about authenticity. He just wanted to get off.

“Hey,” Vale murmured, feeling the change in Kieran’s breathing. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Or is this a focal seizure? Talk to me, sweetheart.” The concern sounded genuine, it felt genuine, but memory was providing context that made Kieran’s stomach turn.

This is what he does. This is the pattern. Hurt, then heal, then hurt again.

But Kieran couldn’t pull away from the warmth of Vale’s embrace. His body was still recovering from neurological chaos, still craving the safety that Vale’s presence provided. The comfort was real even if the motives were questionable.

“Kieran?” Vale’s voice carried genuine concern now, probably reading the tension in Kieran’s posture. “Talk to me. What’s going on in your head?”

Everything. Nothing. I remember what you did and I hate you and I can’t make myself move away from you.

“When c-c-can I see the video?” Kieran asked instead to Vale’ chest.

He felt Vale’s breathing change, tension creeping into muscles that had been relaxed moments before. “It’s already been posted,” Vale said. “But there’s something you need to know.”

Kieran pulled back slightly, hearing something in Vale’s tone that made his stomach flutter with anxiety. “What?”

“Eliza kept filming,” Vale said quietly. “During the seizure. She... she posted the footage.”

The words hit like ice water. Kieran stared at Vale’s face, searching for some indication that he’d misunderstood. “She p-posted what?”

“The performance leading up to the collapse. And...” Vale’s jaw tightened. “The seizure.”

No. No, no, no.

“People saw m-me—” Kieran couldn’t finish the sentence, horror stealing his ability to form words. Not just theperformance, but the seizure? And it was broadcast to strangers who had no right to witness something so private…

“I-I-I need t-to see it.”