The room was dimly lit and light from the lava lamp cast shadows on the ceiling. You glanced sideways at Namjoon, his hand flung across his forehead, his hair a mess as he tossed his beanie onto the floor. It’s been one week since you last saw him. Sometimes it felt as though having a boyfriend wasn’t any different from having none. He came and he went. It got harder every time he left. Because it always seemed so easy for him, to walk out of the door, into the arms of his music, the adoration of his fans. While you were stuck here, missing your boyfriend who had a more important role to play. A role that doesn’t include you, in a world where your presence wasn’t welcome.

"I’ll miss you," you whispered, some part of you crumbling as the words made it past your lips. You blinked hard at the shadows in the ceiling, tears receding.

"I’ll miss you too. You know that." You hear his voice, gruff, tender, laced with sincerity.

"I know…" You hated how feeble you sounded when you knew it wasn’t his fault. You knew this going in that he will never entirely be yours, the way you were his.

"Hey….." His voice softened until it almost felt like a caress as he leaned over and held you in his arms, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. "It’s okay baby."

You wrapped your arms around him, obliterating all trace of space between you and him.

"Every time you’re gone, I miss you so much."

"I’ll call you every day. I’ll message you."

"I’m being so clingy right?"

"You’re my girl. You’re entitled to it. I’ll be worried if you didn’t want me around." He said, fingers your hand.

His words earned a smile from you and you lifted your head from his shoulder. He leaned down and kissed you, his hands delving under your top and fingers spanning your side. You lost yourself in the pressure of his lips, touch and embrace.

You woke up early the next morning, feeling bruised and tired. The sheets were messed up and the other side of the bed was still warm but Namjoon was no longer there.

"Namjoon?" You called out, half expecting no answer.

"Babe! I’m in the living room."

You picked up his sweater and shrugged into it as you hurried to the living room. He was looking into the mirror, trying to stuff his wayward hair inside his beanie. You watched, fascinated. You never tire of seeing that transformation, as Namjoon became Rapmon, both foreign and achingly familiar.

"Oh I’m late," he took a glance at his watch, the watch which you have given to him for his birthday last year. "I’m very late."

He looked up at you, standing in the hallway, bare feet cold against the wood tiled floor and oversized sweater brushing your thighs. A loud sigh as he made his way to you, folding you into his arms. Delicious heat.

"Subconsciously, I guess I didn’t want to leave."

He kissed you once more. You tasted sweet longing in those lips.

"I gotta go." He gave you a half smile and ruffled your hair. He wore his sneakers, bending down as he tucked his feet into them.

"Be good ok? I’ll call you tonight." He said, and you could see concern in those eyes. You smiled, nodded and waved. He didn’t look convinced. Namjoon always had an uncanny way of knowing how you genuinely felt. A frown creased his brows and he looked as though he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. Because people were waiting for him. Fans, group members, concert organizers at the other end of the world. You heard the soft click of the door as he gently closed it, almost as though he felt the closing of the door could make you cry when the numerous times he left didn’t.

Namjoon, I wait for you too. The winter nights seem longer without you.