Page 75 of Discordant Cultivation

“Sit with me,” Vale would say, patting the couch cushion beside him. Or sometimes: “Come here,” and Kieran would findhimself pulled into Vale’s lap, arranged like a doll until Vale was satisfied.

It should have felt like ownership. Like another collar made flesh and proof that Kieran’s body was no longer entirely his own. And it did feel like that, sometimes. But it also felt... warm. Safe. Like being wanted in ways that had nothing to do with pain or performance.

His hands would trace patterns on Kieran’s arms, his back, his shoulders—possessive, but never crossing into intimate territory. He’d pull Kieran close enough to feel Vale’s arousal pressed against him, but neither ever acknowledged it.

It made Kieran hyper-aware of his own body without ever providing clarity about what Vale actually wanted.

One afternoon, they were on the couch—Kieran was curled up along Vale’s side, his head resting on his shoulder because that’s where Vale wanted him, tapping a beat out on his knees as potential lyrics ran through his mind. Vale was scrolling through something on his tablet while stroking Kieran’s shoulder with his free hand.

“What do you like to do?” Vale asked. “To relax. When you’re not working on music.”

The question felt loaded. “I used t-to watch anime. Before I had to c-c-cancel my subscription and p-pawn my TV.”

Vale’s hand stilled against his shoulder. “What kind?”

“D-different things.” Kieran kept his tone neutral. “It w-was nice to not think for a while.”

Vale’s fingers hooked under his collar, tilting Kieran’s face up. “What was your favorite?”

Why does he care?

“Just—there’s one I r-really liked. About a de-depressed host f-for a children’s sh-show.” Kieran stumbled over the words. “It’s n-not important.”

“I’d like to see it,” Vale said. His gaze dropped to Kieran’s lips while he spoke with that intense stare that made Kieran’s stomach churn. “I’ve never actually watched anime. I know some producers in Japan who work on soundtracks, but I’ve never seen one myself.”

Kieran blinked. “Never?”

“I don’t watch television,” Vale said. His hand went toward his face again—reaching for absent glasses—then his fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose instead. “Occasionally, I see a movie, but otherwise, I’ve always just worked.”

The admission felt too personal. Too revealing.What will this cost me?

“What about wh-when you were a k-kid?” The question came out before Kieran could stop it.

Something shadowed Vale’s expression. “My parents didn’t believe in television. Cartoons especially. They thought they were juvenile. A waste of time better spent on productive pursuits.”

Oh.That explained a lot, actually. The way Vale approached everything like work. The obsessive focus. The inability to just... exist without purpose.

“That s-sounds lonely,” Kieran said quietly.

Vale’s eyes fixed on his face. “Perhaps. But it made me good at what I do.”

And terrible at everything else.

The next morning, there was a massive television on the living room wall.

Kieran stared at it while eating breakfast, trying to understand the angle. A small remote sat on the coffee table next to a note:

For whenever you feel like it. No subscription needed. -V

This had to be a trap. Some kind of test.

He didn’t touch it all day.

By the evening, when Kieran retreated to his room for one of his usual boredom naps, Vale appeared a few moments later. “You didn’t watch anything today.”

It wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation.

“I didn’t know if I should,” Kieran said carefully.