Page 153 of Should Our Stars Collide

But he never wants to keep them. He never wants to hold them tight and promise the world.

He never wants to beg them to keep him too.

That’s not how this goes. He doesn’t get to keep things. He never has.

Sliding down onto his side and facing Kieran, he watches him sleep. Peacefully, quietly, unaware of the storm of emotions raging through Ash’s body and soul.

Ash cups the side of his face, stroking the soft skin on his cheek, burning it into his memory. He’ll never get another chance.

“You ruined me, do you know that?” he whispers, the words coming out inadvertently affectionate.

Kieran huffs, squirming a little, as if saying: Don’t be so dramatic, jerk.

Ash smiles at the thought, and his body moves on its own, leaning in. For a heartbeat, he imagines pressing his lips to Kieran’s. But he stops, just in time, letting restraint win. Instead, he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to the center of his forehead, as if leaving a small piece of himself behind.

Then, using all the willpower at his disposal, he tears himself away. From Kieran, from the bed. He strides towards the door and out of the apartment while he’s still able to.

35

Kieran wakes with a pounding headache and a mouth that tastes like something died in it. His stomach churns, and the light slicing through the window makes it worse. Is he hungover? But he can’t recall drinking last night.

For a moment he lies there, trying to will the world back into focus, but something is off. Actually, everythingis off. The mattress is too soft, the pillow too low. He can barely detect Ash’s scent, just a faint trace of it, and when he flings his arm out, expecting warmth and heartbeat, he only finds cool sheets.

No.

He sits up too fast, the whole room spinning—a room he didn’t fall asleep in last night, but that’s familiar, nonetheless.

He’s back, just like he’d been asking for. Just as he knew he’d eventually be.

He knew, but it still fucking hurts.

The future he’d lived is gone. The apartment, the banter, the mornings tangled up together, and all the quiet moments where Ash held him like he was worth holding. Even the stupid cat who could barely tolerate him, and the found family he didn’t ask for but wouldn’t change for the world—it’s all gone. Like it was never his to begin with. Like he’d only borrowed it, tasted it for a while, and now he’s been shoved back into a life that doesn’t fit anymore.

He curls into a ball, letting the swell of grief break over him. There’sno point fighting it. He sits there, on cooling sheets that don’t smell like Ash, likethem, and cries into his knees until his tears run dry. It takes a long time, but once he’s done, his mind starts to clear, and the pit in his stomach fills with burning determination.

He’s back, so what? He just needs to make sure the future he wants will be there waiting for him in two years.

Which means he has work to do.

First things first.

As much as he wants to run to Ash and announce they’re now in a relationship, effective immediately, he forces himself to slow down. Take it easy.

Point one on the list is to tame this stupid hangover; funny how waking up like this used to be a regular occurrence. He’d wake up feeling like shit and looking even worse, then head to work. But after practically abstaining the whole time he was with Ash, it now feels like the worst pain ever.

Conveniently, he finds a glass of water and two Panadol on the nightstand. No note, but he doesn’t mind. The small act reminds him that Ash is thinking of him, even now, even when they’re nothing to each other just yet. It’s a fragment of connection he can cling to.

He throws the pills back, then digs through the drawers for a notepad and a pen. It’s gonna be tricky since his brain is not 100% right now, but he needs to write down all the video content, time-stamps, and lottery numbers while they’re still fresh in his memory.

When he’s done, almost two hours later, his headache has dulled to an annoying throb between his eyes. He gets up, stretches stiff limbs, and works on making himself presentable, briefly mourning the absence of his toned abs as he undresses. It was nice while it lasted.

He shoots an email to HR with a last-minute sick leave request, then makes quick work of showering and brushing his teeth. He doesn’t know why he feels like he needs to rush—Ash isn’t going anywhere—but restless mode has been activated. He needs to see Ash,now.

First stop?Lost and Ground. He’s still convinced the damned caféis cursed, but for once it might work in his favor. Ash is bound to drop by, for coffee or to talk to Gabe, and Kieran is happy to wait. Waiting beats ambushing Ash at work or following him home (especially since he doesn’t know where Ash lives).

Not wanting to risk an accident, he doesn’t take the car. The walk should sober him up, at least. He throws on his best clothes and heads out.

That the café is indeed under the influence of some witchy shit is confirmed when Kieran arrives only to bump into Ash at the front door. He stops in his tracks when his gaze falls on Kieran, a cup in his hand and a stunned look on his face. What he’s getting so wide-eyed for, Kieran has no idea. He just saw him last night, after shamelessly flirting the whole time.