Page 42 of Should Our Stars Collide

Ash locates the door, and just as he’s putting the card against the sensor, Kieran remembers what state he’s left the apartment in.

“Wait—”

Fuck, too late.

“Okay, we’re he—” Switching the light on, Ash freezes in the doorway. “Wow.”

Kieran wriggles until Ash lets go of his legs so he can jump off. “I didn’t ask you to follow me here, so don’t fucking judge me.”

He’s not sure why he feels so humiliated all of a sudden. Plenty of people have been to his apartment and he’s never felt bad about not being the cleanest person in the world. Dawson always gives him shit about it, exaggerating how Kieran doesn’t even have cleaning products, but it’s notthatbad. His kitchen rarely gets messy because he doesn’t cook, and since he lives alone, cleaning his bathroom every few weeks works just fine for him. He hates feeling yucky in his own skin, so he religiously takes a shower every day.

The onlyrealproblem is his lack of organization, and a weird inability to put things back where they’ve come from.

He’ll do his laundry, but will take weeks to fold orhang it when it’s dry. He’ll wash the cup or plate he used, but it will stay on the drying rack for days, until there’s no space for more. He’ll take out the trash, but it’s not until he needs to throw away something that he remembers he never put a new bin bag in.

As it is, there’s a bunch of clothes scattered around (he was planning to do laundry tomorrow, honest!) and cans of energy drinks on every surface. Also, a trip-hazard in the form of a Lego game on the floor that he started last week. He’d lost patience fifteen minutes in, but not wanted to take it apart just yet.

“I didn’t say anything,” Ash says calmly, his expression unreadable.

“As if you need to. I know what you’re thinking.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Not everyone can be prim and proper like you. I have a lot on my plate,” Kieran carries on, oscillating between shame and anger. “You can see yourself out,” he bites out and hurries to his bedroom, his eyes stinging. Why he cares so much about what Ash might think of him, he has no fucking idea.

He doesn’t bother switching on the lights—the large window provides enough light from the street—just rips off his clothes and slides under the covers in his underwear. He settles on his side with his back to the door, waiting to hear the click as Ash leaves the apartment.

Except, a whole minute passes without anything happening. The light in the living room is still on, and his pulse quickens when he hears approaching footsteps. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he stops breathing as the mattress dips on the other side.

“What are you still doing here?”

“I wasn’t judging you,” Ash insists. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

It’s just empty words, so why do they make Kieran feel better? “You only ever give me wrong impressions,” he grumbles, pulling a chuckle out of Ash. With an exaggerated sigh, he turns onto his other side and fixes Ash with an expectant look. “So?”

One of Ash’s annoyingly perfect eyebrows arches. “So?”

“What were you thinking?”

Humming thoughtfully, Ash slides down until he’s propped up on his elbow. He looks so casual and at ease just lying on Kieran’s bed, as if he belongs there.

“I’d better not say,” Ash replies, his infuriating smirk back in place. “It might be a little too raunchy for you.”

“Fucking pervert.” Kieran scowls, lips pursed. While he wouldn’t put it past Ash to think pervy thoughts in the most unlikely of situations, he can’t fathom what could possibly be sexual about his messy apartment. And yet, Ash’s reassurance eases something inside him. “You’re not telling me, then?”

Ash’s eyes slide to his mouth, something in his gaze darkening. He reaches forward and gently pinches Kieran’s chin between his fingers. “Get that pout off your mouth.”

It’s a testament to how far beyond the realm of sensibility Kieran has wandered that he doesn’t even try to move away, continuing to dig himself into an even deeper hole.

“Or what?”

He’s convinced Ash is gonna respond with some perverted bullshit, something like: Or I’ll shove my dick into it. Still, he doesn’t pull away.

“Or you’ll grow duck lips.”

Kieran blinks, confused and, for some unfathomable reason, a little disappointed. Finally, he moves away, turning onto his back.

“At least they would be nice and full, and not like this.”