Page 74 of Discordant Cultivation

“The ocean is beautiful,” Vale said. “Perhaps we can go one day.”

Yeah right. What is he going to do? Put me in the cargo hold with all the other pets?

That evening, Vale made the pasta he promised. The kitchen filled with the exact smells Kieran longed to smell, and they ate together at the small dining table like this was normal. Like Kieran wasn’t wearing a collar. Like he could leave if he wanted to.

It tasted perfect.

Kieran ate warily, waiting for the price that would inevitably be attached to this kindness. Waiting for Vale to lead him back to the basement. Waiting for the lessons to resume.

But dinner ended with just Vale’s hand in his hair, gentle fingers combing through while they sat on the couch.

No demands.

No instructions.

Just touch that should have felt threatening but somehow didn’t.

When? When is he going to stop being gentle?

Vale appeared with dirt under his fingernails. Just small crescents of dark soil that he didn’t seem to notice. Kieran stared at them while Vale set down lunch.

“Where were you?” Kieran asked before he could stop himself.

Vale followed his gaze to his hands and smiled. “The greenhouse. The heritage roses need attention.” He sat across from Kieran, making no move to wash the dirt away. “They’re particular about their soil composition.”

“You have a greenhouse?”

“Several, actually.” Vale’s eyes fixed on Kieran’s face, studying his reaction. “I’ll show you sometime, if you’d like.”

Kieran nodded, not trusting his voice. Vale reached across the table, fingers hooking under Kieran’s collar to tug him forward slightly.

“Eat,” Vale said softly, then released him.

Kieran managed three bites with shaking hands before the intrusive thoughts began, but instead of being about Vale, they were about the comments on the video.

All those people think I’m a liar…

Kieran was pretending to read a book in the living room while Vale worked on his laptop when his curiosity got the best of his mouth.

“You’re n-not wearing your gl-glasses.”.

“Contacts,” Vale said without looking up. “The glasses were annoying me.”

Later, when Vale asked about his favorite color, his hand went to his face again, as if to push his nonexistent glasses up his nose.

“Green,” Kieran said, watching the movement carefully. “Like new leaves. The bright kind.”

“Green,” Vale repeated. “I’ll remember that.”

The rose the next morning was green—unusual, almost artificial-looking, but undeniably the shade Kieran described.

I don’t know what this means.

Just tell me what it means.

He was still waiting for the violence to return. For Vale’s patience to run out. For the basement door to open and reveal that this had all been another kind of lesson—teaching Kieran to crave gentleness so the next round of pain would hurt more.

Vale touched him constantly now. Not violently, not even sexually, just... constantly. A hand in his hair while they sat together. Fingers trailing across his shoulders when Vale walked past. An arm around his waist, pulling Kieran back against his chest while they stood in the kitchen waiting for coffee to brew.