(AHAHA PRETEND I DIDN'T JUST POST THIS ACCIDENTALLY WITH MY ACCOUNT. This got long enough for two comments, which means I clearly think about this way too much.)

Four days. They've been apart for longer. She keeps herself busy, visits old friends, goes shopping, reads all the books she's been meaning to read. Finds a photography studio that will let her use their darkroom to make oversize prints of some photographs she took on the last tour. Three days. She goes to the gym, the independant coffee house on the corner. Goes and sees a local band in a seedy club on North Racine. Eats cereal for dinner and falls asleep on the couch. Two days. Day of the awards show. My Chem is playing in the afternoon, and she doesn't bother getting out of bed before one o'clock Chicago time. Tries to fix the leaky sink, gives up after half an hour and three bloody knuckles. She's a sound engineer, not a fucking plumber, okay? Give her a break. Watches My Chem perform. They're in top shape, but there could have been more close-ups on Bob, in her opinion. But she might be a little biased. She calls Bob after My Chem gets offstage. She gets his voicemail and leaves a two-minute message about how hot he is when he drums. He calls her back not ten minutes later, and they talk until Gerard confiscates Bob's phone and tells her he needs his drummer back, please. She can hear Frank in the background telling them that they "flirt like a couple of teenagers, Jesus Christ, it's gross". She laughs and hangs up.

She falls asleep that night in bed. Granted, she's on top of the covers and the lights are still on, but it's still an improvement over the couch.

She's woken a few hours later by a prickly kiss on her cheek. A familiar prickly kiss. She smiles and stretches before opening her eyes. "I thought you weren't getting home until tomorrow."

Bob shrugs. A sliver of a grin darts across his face. "The guys said I was getting insufferable. They sent me home early."

"What if I had been in the middle of a torrid affair?" She asks.

"...Surprise?"

"Mmm," she agrees, and pulls Bob down to curl around her, big spoon and little spoon. He comes easily enough, shifting only slightly to pull the throw blanket over them and turn out the light.

"Are you glad I'm home?" He whispers into her tangled hair, as if he's unsure of the answer. She smiles, rolls over and tucks her head into the curve of his neck.

"You smell like airplane." She whispers back. Bob laughs.

"I missed you, too."