Page 145 of Should Our Stars Collide

“I told you why.”

“But—”

“My decision stands.”

He starts forward, stopping in front of Kieran who’s still using his body as a human barricade. The next few seconds are an unblinking glaring match. Well, Kieran glares, while Ash has that annoyingly calm mask slapped on. It just pisses Kieran off even more, and he bares his teeth. Ash responds with a breathless laugh and an expression that is too soft for a situation like this.

Out of nowhere, he grabs Kieran by the hips, lifts him up like he weighs nothing, and does a one-eighty. It happens so quickly, Kieran’s brain can’t even process it, let alone make him fight back. By the time he’s deposited back on his feet, mouth ajar and body frozen, Ash already has a foot outside the door.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Kieran’s brain and body reset thanks to an onslaught of burning rage. “Fuck you!”

Ash smirks. “Later.” Then he shuts the door in his face.

Kieran stares at the door for a long, murderous second after it clicks shut. The silence that follows feels like an insult. He can practically hear Ash’s voice in his head—calm, reasonable, infuriating, “There’s no need for you to be there.”

Kieran’s jaw clenches. He kicks the side of the shoe rack just because it’s there. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Unbelievable, pretentious… Gah!” He pulls on his hair, forcing his fingers to untangle from it before he makes himself go bald.

Something brushes against his shin, and he looks down to seeTequila bumping him repeatedly.

“Your dad is an asshole.”

She meows. It almost sounds like: Yeah, I know, but I love him anyway.

Kieran wishes he didn’t relate.

He bends down to give her a pet, shocked that she actually lets him, even nuzzles his hand. Maybe she feels bad for him?

“We can’t let him get away with this, can we?”

She purrs, blinking at him slowly as if waiting for him to share his idea.

Standing up, he turns toward the spotless living room, the meticulous sight fueling his indignation. Everything is in its exact place, like it’s afraid to misbehave. Every piece of furniture is set up at a specific angle, and the faint smell of Glen 20 still hovers in the air. Cat hair is nowhere to be seen either, because Ash obsessively vacuums twice a day, not to mention he goes through a pack of lint roller every week.

“Oh Ash,” Kieran whispers, a deliciously gleeful idea forming. “You shouldn’t have left me unsupervised.”

He goes through the kitchen first, yanking open every drawer and cupboard. But that’s too easy, so he takes it a step further. He rearranges the plates, a small one followed by a large one followed by another small one. A bowl stacked on the very top.

The mugs are next, rotated so the handles point different directions. Then he moves on to the chairs, pulling them out of position by several inches.

In the meantime, Tequila has perched on the counter, one leg dangling off the edge and tail swishing with curiosity.

“Perfect. You don’t mind, do you?” Kieran pretends to scratch her behind the ear while discretely pulling out tufts of orange fur. He sprinkles the hair all over the dark tiles where they’ll be the most noticeable. “Good girl,” he coos, getting a headbutt in response. If this isn’t approval, he doesn’t know what is.

Then, he opens the fridge, taking in the neatly stacked containers,and scoffs. “Who even labels leftovers? Psychopaths, that’s who.” He switches the labels, giggling to himself the whole time. He pulls half an avocado out of a container, leaving it exposed. Grabbing an open pack of ham, he takes out all the slices but one, returning the nearly empty pack to the fridge.

He shoves two slices in his mouth and gives the rest to Tequila. “Here you go, girl. You’ve earned it.” He’s rewarded by a rumbling meow.

By the time he hits the bathroom, he’s fumingandgrinning. He wets his hands and flicks his fingers against the mirror, spraying it with droplets, then squeezes toothpaste into the sink, letting it splatter like an abstract act of defiance. It’s a shame he takes ages to grow any facial hair, because he’dloveto use Ash’s shaver and leave the sink messy. Maybe shaving his pubes would work—wait, no, he’s not that far gone. Yet. It might change in a couple of hours, depending on when Ash comes back. Stay tuned…

Next stop—bedroom. The pillows go first, getting scattered over the floor. The sheets get untucked and rumpled. Kieran debates getting some biscuits so he can crumble them all over the mattress. TBD.

For now, he walks over to the closet, stumbling briefly as he faces his reflection. He hasn’t been able to look in the mirror without faltering since three nights ago, which makes it very challenging to do basic daily tasks. Again, Ash is to blame! Honestly, the guy is to blame for everything going wrong in Kieran's life.

He’s also to blame formostof the good in his life, but let’s not get sidetracked. Kieran’s trying to be angry here and carry out his vengeful plot. He will not be swayed. Nope.

He slides the door open, mercilessly removing all the clothes from the hangers. He doesn’t even care if they’re his or Ash’s, as long as chaos ensues. He’s on a roll when something flies out of the pocket of the khaki jacket he just threw over his shoulder. It hits the floor with a soft thud, and Tequila, who’s been watching the carnage from the door, leaps towards it. She sniffs it first, then hovers a paw over it, givingit a nudge.