Page 73 of Discordant Cultivation

But the hour passed in silence. Just Kieran and the rose that kept catching his eye, perfect and bloodless on the nightstand.

When Vale returned, Kieran sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the rose. He’d been turning it over and over in his hands, searching for meaning in thornless stems and perfect petals.

Vale wasn’t wearing his glasses again, which seemed odd. They didn’t seem like the aesthetic kind of glasses with prescriptionless lenses.

“Good,” Vale said, taking the tray. His eyes tracked to the rose, and something soft crossed his expression. “You kept it.”

“I d-didn’t know what else t-to do with it.”

“You could put it in water. There’s a vase in the bathroom.” Vale set the tray aside, then moved to sit in the armchair near the window. “Come sit with me?”

Kieran felt the expectation underneath. He stood, rose still in hand, and moved toward the chair. Vale’s hand caught his wrist gently, tugging him down, not into the chair, but into his lap.

Kieran’s entire body went rigid.

“Relax,” Vale murmured, one arm wrapping around Kieran’s waist to hold him in place. “I just want to talk. I’d like to know more about you.”

Talk. Like this is normal. Like sitting in your kidnapper’s lap for conversation is something people do.

But Vale’s hold wasn’t painful. His thumb rubbed small circles against Kieran’s hip through his soft pajamas, soothing rather than demanding. Kieran allowed some of the tension to leave his shoulders. Not because he trusted Vale, but because fighting required more energy than he had.

“Wh-what do you w-want to know?”

“Everything,” Vale said simply. “But let’s start with something small. What’s your favorite meal? Not what you can afford, but what you’d choose if you could have anything.”

Kieran had to think about it. He couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to think about food he would never eat. Locking those things away in his mind as untouchable was better than feeling the ache of knowing he couldn’t have them. “I-I don’t know. Maybe p-pasta? The k-kind where the s-sauce hasbeen cooking all day and the kit-kitchen smells like garlic an-n-nd tomatoes.”

Vale’s eyes fixed on his lips while he answered, intense and unblinking. The attention made Kieran’s words falter, made him hyper-aware of his stutter catching on consonants.

Was that the wrong answer?

Did I fail some test?

Please tell me what you want.

“I’ll make that for you,” Vale said. His fingers hooked gently under Kieran’s collar, not pulling but just... touching. Just a gentle pressure that saidI see this, I put this here, I can touch it whenever I want.

“Okay,” Kieran whispered.

Vale’s smile was warm and seemed genuine. “Good boy.”

The roses continued. Every morning, Kieran woke to find a fresh one on his nightstand—red, white, pink, each one perfect and thorn-free. He started putting them in the bathroom vase Vale mentioned, watching the collection grow day by day.

The collar stayed on too. He could almost ignore it, except for the moments when Vale’s fingers would find it—hooking underneath to guide Kieran’s attention, to turn his face, to draw him closer. Always gentle. Never painful. But undeniably possessive.

Vale asked questions. Not about music or art or the video that had made Kieran viral, but about Kieran himself.

“What is one place you’ve always wanted to go? When you were young enough that anything seemed possible?”

They were in the living room, Kieran sitting on the floor with his notepad while Vale worked at his laptop. The question made Kieran’s chest tight.

“One of the co-coasts. I w-wanted to see the ocean, but that’s n-never been an option because of the s-seizures.”

Vale’s hand went to his face, fingers moving toward where his glasses would have been, then stopping mid-motion when they found nothing. The gesture looked automatic, unconscious. His hands clasped together afterward, settling on top of his laptop keyboard.

Is he... nervous?

No. That didn’t make sense. Vale was never nervous. He was calculating, controlled, always three steps ahead. The gesture must mean something else—some tell Kieran hadn’t learned to read yet.