Page 76 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s for you. To use whenever you want.” His fingers found Kieran’s collar, tugging him closer. “Show me the one you mentioned. I meant it when I said I’d like to see it.”

He’s serious. He actually wants to—

“Okay,” Kieran heard himself agree. “But you have t-to actually p-pay attention. Not ju-just put it on while you work.”

Vale’s smile looked genuine. “You have my complete attention.”

And so they watched.

Vale pulled Kieran into his lap and handed him the remote before adjusting the couch cushions so Kieran was sort of drapedover him like an overgrown lapdog. The opening played, and Kieran kept glancing at Vale’s face, trying to read his reactions.

Is he bored?

What does he want from this?

But Vale engaged with it.

“The way they use color,” Vale murmured. “It’s more sophisticated than I expected.”

“It’s n-not just cartoons,” Kieran said, then caught himself. That sounded defensive. Like he cared what Vale thought.

Vale’s hand squeezed his shoulder. When Kieran looked up, Vale was staring at him with that intensity that made his breath catch.

“You’re different when you talk about things you like,” Vale said softly. “More yourself.”

More myself.As if Vale had any idea who that was.

But Kieran let himself relax further into the cushions, choosing comfort over constant vigilance. Just for a little while longer.

By the third episode, he was comfortable. Languid, even. Vale’s thumb traced absent patterns on his arm, and Kieran found himself actually watching the show instead of watching Vale watch him.

“Thank you for showing me,” Vale said when they stopped. He nuzzled against Kieran’s temple. “I understand why it appeals to you.”

Of course you do. You understand everything. That’s the problem.

It had been ten days since the seizure.

Ten days ago, he might have tried to stab Vale with the chef knife he was holding. Or he would have at least entertained the idea of it. Instead, they were making dinner together. Vale was at the stove, and Kieran was chopping vegetables, and it felt so absurdly domestic that Kieran’s brain kept trying to reject the entire situation.

Vale talked about work—some client who wanted something impossible. “He wanted me to incorporate whale songs into a luxury resort commercial,” Vale said, stirring the sauce. “But he said the whales sounded ‘too aggressive.’ He wanted them to sound...” Vale paused, his brow furrowed. “...sexy.”

Kieran’s knife stilled against the cutting board. “Wh-what?”

“Sexy whale songs.” Vale’s tone was perfectly flat, deadpan. “I told him that was the stupidest fucking thing I’d ever heard.”

The casual profanity from Vale caught Kieran so off-guard that he just stared for a moment. Then the full absurdity ofsexy whale songshit him, and he started laughing. Actually laughing, not the careful sounds he usually made, but genuine laughter that came from somewhere deep in his belly.

“D-did you—” Kieran tried to ask through his laughter. “Did you ac-act-actually do it?”

“I had Eliza mess with the layers and filters for three hours,” Vale admitted. His expression remained serious, which somehow made it funnier.

“How d-do you—” Kieran was still laughing, his shoulders shaking. “How do you m-make a whale s-soundsexy?”

Vale set down his spoon. His face held not even a hint of a smile, as he said, “Like this.”

Then he made a sound—a low, breathy whale call that somehow managed to sound sultry and ridiculous at the same time. It was absurd. It was perfect. It was the most un-Vale thing Kieran had ever witnessed.

Kieran doubled over, the knife clattering to the cutting board as he braced himself against the counter, laughing so hard his stomach hurt.