Page 71 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale was quiet for a long moment, then said, “It’s complicated.”

I don’t care.Kieran needed to see what the world had seen, needed to understand what version of himself was now public property. He met Vale’s eyes for the first time since consciousness returned. “I n-need to see it.”

Vale’s expression shifted through several emotions too quickly to decipher. “Maybe later. When you’re feeling stronger—”

“Now.” Kieran spoke with more strength than he’d felt in days. “Pl-please. I need to kn-know.”

After a moment, Vale reached for his phone with obvious reluctance. The screen lit up with notifications—missed calls, text messages, and endless social media alerts. Vale navigated to the video, his thumb hovering over the play button. “Remember,” he said softly, “this doesn’t define you. This is just one moment.”

Vale pressed play, and Kieran watched himself transform on screen. He watched the way his entire body engaged with the song, turning the shame he felt in that moment into art, the trauma into transcendence. It was devastating, beautiful, completely authentic in ways that made his chest ache with complex pride.

Then came the collapse. The way his eyes went blank and fixed, his body going rigid as consciousness fled. The chaos of voices, Eliza’s shaky camera work, and underneath it all was Vale’s voice, soft and desperate: “Stay with me, sweetheart. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”

Kieran stared at the view count—over 600,000 in just a few hours—and felt something like vertigo at the scope of exposure.

“The c-comments?” he asked.

Vale hesitated. “Some of them are... not kind.”

“Show me.”

The scroll through responses was a lesson in human nature’s complexity. Praise for the performance mixed with speculation about the seizure’s authenticity. Medical professionals debating whether it was real along side conspiracy theories about publicity stunts and choreographed collapses.

This pisses me off as someone with epilepsy. Don’t fake seizures for views.

The words hit like a fist to the gut. Someone with epilepsy. Someone who knew what it felt like to lose control of their own body, to wake up disoriented and ashamed, to live with the constant fear of when the next episode might strike—and they thought Kieran was acting.

The timing is too convenient. Right after the most emotional line? Come on.

Kieran’s hands shook as he read accusation after accusation, strangers on the internet turning his reality into debate fodder. But it was the comments from other people with epilepsy that cut deepest—the ones who should have recognized the realness of what happened, who should have understood the violation of having a seizure streamed to the world. The violation that began with Vale making him kneel in the basement was complete, and each comment making the taste that lingered in his mouth more bitter than the last.

“They th-think I’m lying,” he whispered.

“They don’t know you.” Vale pulled him back against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “They don’t understand what you live with.”

Kieran felt the mounting anger drain out of him, leaving only weariness in its wake. He was too tired to be furious. Too tired to fight. Too tired to do anything but exist in this moment where someone was holding him.

I should pull away. I should be disgusted. I should demand answers about what happened before the final take.

But he was so tired. Tired of hurting, tired of fear, tired of being strong enough to resist something that felt good even if it was wrong. Right now, in this moment, Vale’s presence felt like the only solid thing in the world.

It’s okay to do this just for now. Just until I’m strong enough to find a way out.

“Can w-we stay like this?” Kieran asked, his voice small in the quiet room. “Ju-just for a little while?”

Vale’s arms tightened around him. “As long as you need, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kieran closed his eyes and melted into Vale. He’d deal with the contradictions later, when he had the strength to untangle what it meant that the person who’d hurt him most was also the only one holding him together.

21

We close our eyes, tell our lies, sometimes too scared to be alive…

Kieran

Kieran woke to silence.

For a moment, he lay still, noting the absence of an immediate threat. No restraints. No looming presence. Just morning light filtering through the drawn curtains.