Chapter 33
Kieran won’t lie—he fucking enjoyed ripping Ash’s parents a few new ones.
While the circumstances were rather tragic, having the opportunity to stand up for someone he cares about gave him the sort of high he’s been looking for his whole life.
His future self had told him not to hold back, and for once having a short fuse and no filter came in handy.
Ash must think so too, because instead of getting upset about Kieran’s interference, he enthusiastically shows his ‘appreciation’ (although there’s a punishment involved for throwing a tantrum and messing up the apartment).
It starts with Ash absolutely ruining him.
Thoroughly, unapologetically. Kieran can barely walk the next morning, and the bastard has the nerve to look smug about it over coffee, like he hadn’t left him clinging to the bedsheets and muttering threats he was too wrung out to follow through on.
And also unable to follow through on because Ash looks happy.
Really fucking happy. Kieran thought he already was, but it’s like comparing a warm but cloudy day to one filled with sunshine. And margaritas.
One thing still makes Kieran worry, though: Ash hasn’t started talking about it. He’s clinging to Kieran like a koala and kisses him more than his poor heart can handle, but the whole family situation never comes up.
Not wanting to burst his happy bubble, Kieran doesn’t mention it, even if it keeps eating at him.
He’s still sore from the night before, stretched out across the sofa and Ash’s legs like a casualty of war, Tequila glaring at him for snatching her favorite spot.
They’re halfway through Mean Girls, which, as it turns out, is Ash’s favorite movie.
It’s also the only thing that stopped Kieran from breaking up with him after Ash shamelessly admitted he doesn’t like the Alien franchise.
Because how can someone look at Ripley in her power loader and feel nothing?
! But then Ash redeemed himself by quoting lines from Regina George word-for-word, so there’s still hope for him.
And then, out of nowhere, after Cady gets grounded by her parents, Ash starts to open up.
It happens gradually; a comment here, a dry remark there, while the TV plays in the background. Kieran just listens, doesn’t push, too scared to break whatever spell has set Ash’s lips loose.
But eventually, everything pours out, as if someone knocked down a dam.
Ash talks in that steady way he does everything else. It almost feels like he’s describing someone else’s life, apart from the few instances when something hits too close and too deep to maintain that lukewarm state of detachment.
Kieran uses his finger to draw random patterns onto Ash’s palm while he talks about a father who never punished in obvious ways, but erased instead.
About days of silence that followed if he ever stepped out of line, being ignored as though he didn’t exist. About a mother who stood by without protest, contributing to the emptiness until his father decided it’d been long enough to teach a lesson.
About how Ash would act out on purpose just to get some kind of reaction.
To see if he was worth getting upset over, at least a little bit, and how that got him shipped off to the UK for a year.
Kieran listens, still and heavy, as the words settle over him. He tries to imagine Ash as a boy, invisible in his own home, and his chest knots tight. The version of Ash he knows now, the one who fills every room with his presence, who makes himself unavoidable, suddenly makes painful sense.
Ash’s words are calm and quiet, but what he doesn’t say is painfully loud. Once again, puzzle pieces Kieran’s been finding scattered around finally start to form a picture.
Ash has never stopped wanting the things he wished for as a kid. He still wants—needs—to be noticed, challenged, even. To be cared about enough that someone bothers to fight with him.
It’s startlingly clear now; Kieran’s rough edges, sharp tongue, and emotionally turbulent nature aren’t something Ash endures. They’re not a burden, but more of a medicine. Being face to face with anger and confrontation doesn’t make him cower—it makes him feel alive. Important. Real.
Ash doesn’t stop there, but the rest of the confessions aren’t as heart-shattering.
They only confirm what Kieran already gathered when faced with his parents—how logic takes precedence over emotion, how personal goals and dreams have no place in the world shaped by success and power.
What a boring, textbook paper-pusher mentality.
The story changes tune, then. Ash talks about Gabe; not just his cousin, but his only friend when they were kids, despite the age difference.
How spending time with someone so open-hearted, with a warm, chaotic parent like Carrie, showed him that life can be lived differently.
How growing up without a dad didn’t take away from Gabe’s empathy and compassion, only strengthened it.
How he taught Ash that everything in life is a choice.
Which is why he chose to go into psychology, as a way to—Kieran guessed it—spite his parents, unwittingly discovering his purpose.
How unraveling the human psyche and having people open up to him, trust him, became addictive.
How helping people proved to him that he didn’t need to become his father, something he always feared.
“Know what would really piss your parents off?” Kieran asks with glee.
Ash lifts a curious eyebrow.
“You should change your name. And ideally to something offensive. Like Phoebe did in Friends.”
Ash tips his head back and laughs. “Banana-hammock? It does have a nice ring to it.”
Kieran giggles. “Right?”
“But I think another one would suit me better.”
“Oh? Do tell!”
“Well…” Ash cups the back of his neck, pulling him in for an unexpected, sweet kiss. “I’ve always been partial to the name Emberton.” Kieran’s mouth goes dry. “What do you think? Ash Emberton. Not bad, huh?”
Shit. He’s not joking. “W-wouldn’t it be Ashley Emberton?”
Ash rolls his eyes. “Technicalities.”
Remembering the ring burning a hole in his jacket, Kieran quickly guards his mind. “You should discuss that with the other me when he’s back.”
For a second, he swears Ash’s expression falters, but then he’s smiling again. “Oh, I will. I just wanted to see what you thought.”
“S-sounds good to me,” Kieran stammers out, his heart hammering away.
He can only wonder who gets to ask the other first.
It happens two days later, after they fall back into their usual rhythm: Ash’s morning run that Kieran joins him for, powered purely by the promise of a reward.
Stopping at Lost and Ground for a chat, coffee, and pastries Ash won’t stop grumbling about.
Ash going to work while Kieran tries to co-exist with the murder cat, or goes to spend time with Dawson.
Ash kissing him hello when he comes home, asking what Kieran wants for dinner and acting disappointed when the answer isn’t ‘you’.
Falling into bed tangled in each other, as Ash pulls all sorts of embarrassing sounds from Kieran.
It happens when everything feels perfect. Too perfect.
Kieran stands in the middle of the living room, watching Ash cook.
He has a pink apron on—a gag gift from Gabe.
His sleeves are pushed up, and he’s humming a song from Moana—which they watched last night—as he stirs something in a pan.
There’s nothing dramatic about the moment.
Ash isn’t saying anything profound, isn’t looking at him, isn’t even aware he’s being watched. But Kieran feels it anyway.
It starts as a whisper, a small tug on his heartstrings. Then harder, sharper, a weight settling in his chest and forcing him to the ground after soaring in the sky for so long.
It’s time.
He forces himself through dinner, pretending the unease hasn’t already set in.
Ash doesn’t notice, too busy fussing over portion sizes and whether the sauce is too salty.
Kieran laughs when he’s supposed to, but every glance across the table feels like memorizing something he’ll have to leave behind.
Later, when they crawl into bed, Ash drapes an arm over his chest, heavy and warm. He plants a kiss in Kieran’s hair, murmuring “Goodnight, firecracker” before filling the room with soft snores.
Kieran lies awake long after Ash has drifted off, staring into the dark. Eventually, he leans close and whispers the three words he’s never dared to say, even though they’ve been on the tip of his tongue for a long time now. Ash doesn’t hear. He just breathes evenly, lost in sleep.
Kieran refuses to shut his eyes, but he only lasts so long. Sleep eventually finds him, dragging him under like quicksand. He’s vaguely aware of the tickling sensation as something runs down his face.
In his bones, he knows. When morning comes, all of this will be gone.