Page 77 of Discordant Cultivation

When he finally composed himself and looked up, wiping at his eyes, Vale had gone completely still.

His face transformed—the calculating intensity replaced by something open and unguarded. His eyes were huge, almost wondering, and he wore an open-mouthed, dumb, slightly crooked smile. He looked like a kid who asked for one scoop of ice cream and was handed a cone with seventeen.

“What?” Kieran asked, his laughter fading into self-consciousness.

“Nothing,” Vale said, schooling his features back into his usual smile. “I just—um, I like hearing you laugh.”

The observation made Kieran’s chest tight. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been performing compliance until this moment of genuine response.

Vale reached out, his fingers finding the collar to pull Kieran in. He pressed a kiss to Kieran’s forehead, lingering there. “Do that more often,” he said against Kieran’s skin. “Let yourself feel joy.”

The permission felt dangerous, but Kieran found himself nodding anyway.

22

Sleep still feels like dyin’, but I'm learning to be more than flesh and bones that refuse to be free…

Kieran

He knew he was in trouble when he woke to his usual rose—a deep burgundy that was almost black—and realized he was looking forward to it.

I’m getting used to this. I shouldn’t be getting used to this.

But the trouble felt distant, academic even. His body didn’t ache anymore because he stopped tensing everytime Vale entered the room.

The collar had become background music. Present but not uncomfortable. Just another part of getting dressed in the morning, like putting on socks or brushing his teeth. When Vale’s fingers would find it, he at some point stopped flinching at the touch.

Vale asked more questions. Personal things that felt less like interrogation and more like someone trying to get to know him.

“What’s your favorite season?”

“Do you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Do you like ankle socks or calf socks?”

Kieran answered carefully at first, still waiting for the trap. But the questions never led anywhere dark. Vale just listened,seeming to file away the information with that intense focus, and then small things would appear. Kieran’s preferred tea in the cupboard. A book he mentioned once, sitting on the nightstand. The thermostat adjusted because Kieran said he ran cold.

It felt like being studied, but it also felt like being cared for. The two things had become impossible to separate.

Vale pulled him into his lap while they watched TV together, like he did every night since the TV appeared. Vale’s hand played absently with his hair, fingers gentle against his scalp in a way that made Kieran want to purr like a cat.

His other hand rested on Kieran’s thigh—warm, possessive, but perfectly still. Not moving higher. Not sliding lower. Just... there. Present but not demanding.

Why does he always stop? What is he waiting for?

“You’re relaxing,” Vale nuzzled against his neck.

He hated when Vale did that, it made him feel strange. But he didn’t pull away.

“Is that g-good?” Kieran asked, unsure what answer he wanted.

Vale’s arms tightened around him. “It’s very good. It means you’re learning to feel safe here.”

Safe.The word should have felt like a lie. But wrapped in Vale’s arms, the collar warm against his throat, and all the roses accumulating in the bathroom vase—it didn’t feel like a lie at all.

It had been two weeks since the seizure when Vale asked about Kieran’s music.

They were in the living room, Kieran’s guitar across his lap, the notepad open to pages covered in fragments that barely counted as lyrics. Vale was on the couch behind him, close enough that Kieran could feel the warmth of his legs against his back.