(takes place between parts 10/11)

(Kyungil POV)

...

He's gone and you're tired and feeling petty so you decide to make him call you twice before you actually pick up your phone. He's back home with his family for the weekend, hanging out with his friends and probably not getting into enough trouble, and you're here, moping around and being lame enough that your friends don't want to hang out with you anymore. (They can probably guess why you're in this state.)

"Am I interrupting something?" he asks when you finally answer his third call. "I was in the shower," you lie. "You don't usually... never mind," he trails off, embarrassed at how well he knows your routine, how easily he can tell that you're lying. "Are the guys around?" You sigh. "I think they're in the living room. Did you call me to talk to them?" 

"No," he says cautiously, "I just called to check in." He clears his throat. "What have you been up to?" You sigh into the phone and you know it makes him uncomfortable. "Nothing much. You?" He hums softly before answering. "Just hanging out with my friends. I just got back from a movie."

"Do you like it there better?" you ask abruptly. You're not sure why you feel so agitated, like you're missing out on an important piece of the puzzle, like you'd understand him better if he'd asked you to come with him. You couldn't have said yes, but he could have asked you to come and meet his friends, meet his family, sleep in his childhood room. He could have at least asked. (He didn't ask because he knew you'd say no.)

"What? I mean, it's more familiar and it's really great seeing my old friends but..." He sounds nervous, trying to explain himself to you for no good reason. "Well, then maybe you should just stay there," you interrupt roughly and regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. You think he might hang up on you, but you can tell he's still on the line, breathing into the receiver. "Shi.t. I guess I miss you more than I thought," you mutter lifelessly. "It's only been three days," he replies. "So?" This thing between you has always been imbalanced, it's a well established fact that he wants you more, he misses you more, he's more into you, so what the hell is happening to you right now? "So, you miss me." Secret's out, it's official, he should have known. "Of course I miss you. Who am I supposed to nag when you're not here? Who's going to make disgustingly strong coffee or pass out during movie night?" He chuckles. "Are you saying you need me to take care of you?"

"I'm saying... when are you coming back again?" Coming back used to mean returning to the dorm, but lately it means returning to you, and you're trying not to acknowledge it, but it's proving true in this moment. "I'll be home the day after tomorrow," he reminds you for the fifth time since he left, and you pretend that you're not relieved he thinks of this place as home. "That's a lot of days to make up for," you say. "I guess," he mumbles, and you can tell he's tired and you hope he's using some of this time to get some actual rest, so you should probably tell him to hang up. "Go to sleep." You could phrase it as a request, but he doesn't usually listen unless you make it an order. "I will, I just have to finish a couple things." You nod even though he can't see you, but you don't believe him. "Okay, but first you have to tell me exactly how you plan on making this up to me." You can see him in your head, he rolls his eyes and lays down on his side, presses the phone into his ear, closes his eyes and sighs. "I'm gonna kiss you."

"And then what?" you prompt, amused by the sleepiness in his voice. "Then you're going to kiss me back." You nod uselessly. "And after that?" He mumbles something in the phone, but you can't quite make it out. "Are you falling asleep on me? Am I that boring?" He's still breathing into the receiver and you can tell he's dozed off, and you're not nearly pathetic enough to consider staying on the line, but that doesn't mean you can resist whispering three simple syllables before you hang up for good, and it doesn't mean a part of you isn't hoping that he heard you. 

You're not counting the hours to his return and if you are, it's only because you have work to do, you have choreography to practice and set lists to finalize and foreign languages to practice. (Even though those things will be as good as forgotten when he finally comes home.) He's taking the train back and you text him every five minutes because he's probably bored, he must be bored, you would be, trapped on a train for hours all alone. (It's not because you're bored and lonely. Definitely not because of that.) You tell him all the crazy things your roommates have been up to since he left, you tell him about the movies you've been watching late at night, you ask him about his family and his friends, and he indulges you, answers your stupid texts with emojis and aegyo-riddled spelling. 

He told you he'd take a cab back to the dorm, but you decide to pick him up instead, wait next to the car so he doesn't miss you when he comes out of the station. You're a little unsure of how he'll react, but you don't really care and the look on his face when he arrives tells you that he'd been expecting you. "At least pretend that you're surprised," you tell him as he walks closer to you, sets his bags on the ground, shoves his hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, rests them on top of yours. "Why are you so cold?" you ask, rotating your hands to link your fingers between his. "My train got in early, so I've been waiting." 

"You waited? You were that sure I'd come?" He doesn't answer you, just looks up into your eyes, his face lit up with endlessly misplaced affection for you. "I know you better than you think," he reminds you, and it's not that you've forgotten, it's just that you were hoping he was wrong. "Did you eat on the train?" He shakes his head. "Are you hungry?" you ask, nod toward the passenger window so he notices the box of fried chicken you picked up on the way. "You really did miss me," he says with a grin, "you thought of everything."

"Sorry I wasn't here earlier, I just wanted it to be a surprise," you mutter softly. "You weren't late. Besides, I'm really good at waiting for you." He doesn't mean to make you feel guilty, you know he doesn't, but he's been waiting for you to catch up to him for a long time now and you still aren't there yet. "Ready to go?" He nods, puts his bags into the trunk and shuts it carefully, climbs into the passenger seat and starts to eat. "This car is going to smell like chicken for a week," he states, his mouth full. "Probably," you reply, but you're distracted and he knows it, he probably even knows why. "Just say it already." You clear your throat. "Say what?" 

"Whatever you've been waiting to ask me." You take a deep breath, close your eyes briefly, wonder why you feel so nervous. "Did you... miss me?" He smirks. "Want to pull over and find out?" You laugh, nervousness dissipating. "I'll take that as a yes." He smiles. "As you should," he confirms, shoveling more food into his mouth. 

Things are awkward by the time you get back to the dorm, lost time and spoken promises choking the air. He lugs his suitcase to his room and you grab a beer before you head to yours. You're not sure how to approach this situation, so you decide to let him figure it out this time. (There's no telling where you'd be if he was more willing to make the first move.)

You're working on your laptop when he walks through the door, closes it behind him, flops down on the foot of your bed. "You okay?" you ask, even though you know he wouldn't be here if nothing was wrong, he doesn't come to you without a reason, without an excuse. "My shoulders are killing me." Ah. Of course. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" you tease. "Five minutes, I just want a five minute massage." You sigh loudly, tell him to sit up so you can access his shoulders. You were sure he was teasing you, you thought this was some kind of plan to get you to want him, because he still seems to think he needs a plan, so you're quite surprised to find that his shoulders are twisted and knotted more than you thought possible. 

"This is actually really bad, you should get a professional massage." He shakes his head. "I don't have time for that right now, so you'll have to do." You return to trying to work knots from his muscles. "You do realize that if you would take a break once in a while you could get a massage and you wouldn't need one as badly?" You can't see his eyes from this angle, but you know he's rolling them wildly. "What would I even do with all of that extra time?" he jokes. "I have a couple of ideas." 

"I'm sure you do," he mutters sarcastically and you're instantly annoyed, you stop the massage, take your hands away. "Don't stop," he whines, "why did you stop? I'm sorry." You sigh, roll your own eyes. "I meant you could use that time to take care of yourself. You could get a few more hours of sleep or eat actual meals or get a massage when you need one."

"I don't have to take care of myself. I have you to do that for me," he says confidently. "What about when I'm not around anymore?" He turns around, giving up on getting a massage for now. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asks. "I mean I'm not always going to be here to take care of you so you should start doing it yourself." He looks confused and you're not sure why you're picking this moment to bring it up, but he can't just expect you to be there whenever he needs you. (You don't want to admit to yourself that he has plenty of other people to take care of him.)

"If you don't want to, you don't have to. I'll be fine." Your heart drops. "You'll be fine without me?" That shouldn't hurt, why does it hurt? "I'll take care of myself when I need to," he corrects you. "You can get all this tension out of your muscles by yourself?" He smiles softly. "No, that's why I asked you to do it." Right. He did. You haven't seen him in days, so why are you trying to start a fight over nothing? "Turn around," you whisper and he rolls his eyes again, but he follows your instructions. You focus on working knots from his muscles, you try not to turn everything into an argument, you don't actually mind taking care of him, so you do. 

After a few more minutes, you find a particularly tender muscle, or you assume it must be because he lets out a rather embarrassing noise. You can't see his face, but you know he's blushing and you shouldn't find it cute, but it's not like it's your fault because he's the one who's always being cute. "Is there anything else you need from me?" you tease. "No," he answers shortly, turning around so you can't try that same spot again. "You sure? Because I am more than willing to take care of that for you too. In fact—"

"I'm fine. Besides, everyone's still here, we can't," he says. "Thanks to your inability to be quiet, they probably think we've been hooking up this whole time anyway, let's just prove them right." He blushes again and it's just as cute as you remembered. He rests his arms around your shoulders, leans in and presses his forehead against yours. "Thank you," he whispers. "For what?" 

"For taking care of me even though it's not easy," he replies softly. "It's my job," you tell him, but that's not the reason you work so hard to make sure he's eating and sleeping and safe. He knows that, he must know, right? He must. "I'm still grateful." You sigh. "Have you always been this easily impressed?" He nods before shutting his eyes and you lean in to kiss him softly because he's too close to ignore and he's too thankful for your often failed attempts to care for him and he's too nice for his own good sometimes.  "I bet your parents were happy to see you," you say because you can feel yourself getting carried away and you know he's not ready for that right now. "I guess. My dad was working a lot and my mom... really wants me to get a girlfriend." 

"She doesn't know?" you ask, kind of surprised even though you know you shouldn't be. He shrugs and drops his arms away from you, rests his hands in his lap and stares at them solemnly. "She knows, I've never said it, but... she just doesn't acknowledge it and my dad... wouldn't acknowledge me if he did." You don't really know what to say to that, because you still don't know exactly what this all means and you don't have to worry about telling your family anything, and you're having a hard enough time figuring out what to tell him. "She keeps trying to get her friends to set me up with their daughters. It's... it's just what moms do."

"What did you tell her?" you say. "That I'm too busy." Well, it's not a lie. "You're young. It'll all work out." It's a cop-out, it's not a guarantee, it doesn't help, but he smiles at you anyway. "I'm not going back, if you were still wondering," he says softly. "Back home?" He shakes his head. "It's not home, not anymore, not ev—" he stops abruptly. "Home is..." he trails off, but you know what he's thinking. Home is here, home is with the band, home is with you, and you're trying not to be flattered, but you're starting to think he seems a bit like home to you too. "I'm happy to be home," he finishes after a moment. "I don't want you to stay because of me. If you want to go, you should." He smiles at your attempt to be reasonable. "I'm staying because of me. End of discussion."

(You missed him and he knows you missed him and you're thinking of ways to prove you missed him and you are completely, unequivocally, absolutely screwed.)