Ninety-four days, eight hours and twenty-six minutes.

Wait, make that twenty-seven.

Ninety-four days, eight hours and twenty-seven minutes - that was how long they had been separated. He started counting from the moment the tour bus peeled off the driveway and she disappeared from his sight. To say that the past three months had been torture was a grave understatement. He didn't want to seem overly dramatic but it came to a point to where he even asked the driver to stop just so they – and by 'they' he meant 'he' - could sneak in one more hug –for the road. But Jimmy Starr would have none of it. They were on a tight schedule, the record owner reproached.

So with a heavy heart, he trudged back to his seat, picked up his guitar and started to tick the minutes in his head.

Ninety-four days, eight hours and twenty-seven minutes. Don't get him wrong he wasn't that good in math. Hell, he hated long division. But lately that was all he seemed to be doing. Counting - adding up the minutes, subtracting the days and multiplying the odds of coming home. It was borderline pathetic. Even his usually oblivious best friend, Dez, and typically indifferent manager, Trish, couldn't help but notice his distress. Together, the unlikely duo kept coming up with activities to keep him busy. Well, busier, considering most of his time was spent rehearsing and performing for his Full Moon concerts.

He knew they meant well so he indulged them. Played their boring board games, helped Dez locate rare junk food from different states and brainstormed with Trish with new promotional gimmicks for him and the girl he left in Miami. Shit, he couldn't even say her name out loud. He was afraid they might sense something in his voice if he did.

God, he missed her.

He missed her big brown eyes and the way they light up as soon as he walked in the room. He missed hearing her nasally voice whenever she got too excited and all hyperverbal. He missed the smell of lavender in her hair every time he held her close. He wasn't sure if she had noticed but oftentimes when they hugged, he'd linger a bit just so he could bury his nose in her hair and thanked God she was a foot shorter than him. He would deny it to anyone but during his first week on tour, he bought a lavender-scented perfume and spritzed some on his pillow, hoping that'd be enough to tamp down his yearning. Ah hell, did he just use the word yearning? He was sick of being homesick.

The time apart made him realize that it was crazy hard to miss someone. But it was harder to miss someone everyone around him was missing too. It was almost unbearable. Sometimes he wished Trish and Dez would just stop dropping her name every chance they got.

'Too bad Ally's not here. She always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. It's on her bucket list, y'know.'

'Do you think Ally will like this handcrafted bag that looked like a pickle?'

'Oh look, that girl is doing the Ally dance! Oh, that is just wrong!'

Perfect. What better way to cure his homesickness but to say her name a million times.

That wasn't even the worst part. The real torture, and he meant Machiavellian-type of cruelty, began last month - the third and final month of his tour.

*AA*

They were on their way to Seattle when she called. She had been video chatting with them at least twice a week since they left. And it just wasn't enough for him. She was finishing up with her shirt stain story when he grabbed the iPad from Dez and blurted, "Maybe it's time you use that thing I gave you."

Until now, he wasn't entirely certain what had gotten into him. Maybe it was that extra shot of espresso in his coffee or the second Red Bull he had chugged while they were rehearsing. Maybe he was still riding the high of his sold-out concert in Chicago. Maybe it was a full moon – or was that blue moon? (She would have known the difference, she was 'adorkable' like that).

Or maybe, just maybe, he was just tired of missing her.

Dez and Trish turned to him quizzically. "What thing?" one of them asked. He wasn't sure who, he was too distracted to care.

Ally did the honor of extrapolating, telling their friends about the plane ticket he put in the card that he gave her before they left Miami.

Dez, as expected, gushed while Trish pushed. "Use it, Ally!" Trish yelled, tugging the edge of the mobile tablet away from him. He didn't let go though; he held onto the iPad like his sanity depended on it.

Trish squeezed closer to him so she could see the tablet's screen. "Come and see us!" she added.

Times like these, he was reminded why he loved Trish's demanding nature.

Say yes, he pleaded silently. Please… say yes.

Ally smiled then bit her lower lip, seemingly conflicted.

Ah shit, one more thing he missed so very badly. Her lips. His throat tightened as he stared at her cherry-flavored lips. A delicious shiver went up his spine as he remembered the night they filmed the last scene for the 'rockumentary', where they did a satirical take of Twilight. For a moment, he had forgotten they were acting. For a moment, everything faded into black. No Dez, no Trish. No camera. Nothing. Just her. And it was like the world tilted back to its axis and everything was just as it should be.

"I can't." Her reply jarred him out of his musing and just like that everything was wrong again.

"Why not?!" All three of them exclaimed at the same time. He would have found it comical if he wasn't so pissed.

He pulled the iPad closer to him. Maybe if he could glare at her hard enough, she'd recant.

"I want to, Austin, believe me. I miss you guys so much. But I have a meeting with Ronnie on Monday. Apparently, there's this new artist he wants me to collaborate with. Gavin Young, have you heard of him? They say that he's the next big thing in country music. Ronnie wants us to do a duet; he says it could give my album a boost."

Gavin Young? Collaboration? Duet?

Call him primeval, but all he could think of was his girl with a new guy.

"'Collaboration' as in 'partnership'?" he gritted out. He swore if he held the iPad even a tad tighter, it would crack in his hands.

He saw her shoulders sag. "Austin," she sighed. He could feel the exasperation in that one uttered word. "I'm having enough trouble coming up with a new song without you making me feel like I'm cheating on you as my partner."

'Cheating' seemed to be the appropriate word right now, he thought acidly.

Dez and Trish seemed to have sensed the mood and mercifully kept their distance and their mouths shut as they retreated to the dining area of the massive vehicle that had been their home for the past couple of months.

"This Gavin guy," he continued, "is he gonna be your new song partner?" He added 'song' instead of just partner. He didn't want her thinking he was jealous or anything. Because he wasn't. Really. Definitely not. Most definitely not. (Thank God, Trish couldn't hear his thoughts or she'd call his bull right there and then.)

"Yes, Austin. But only for one song. One song." She wagged her index finger at the screen as though he was a moron who couldn't count.

He straightened his back and snorted. "Fine," he shrugged, jutting his lower lip in an attempt for cool nonchalance. "Good luck with your collaboration with new partner."

"That's not fair, Austin. I have supported you every step of the way, why can't you do the same for me?"

"What're you talking about?" he volleyed back with mock indifference. "I'm being supportive here. I meant it, good luck. You know, Ally, I always thought you're a complete package - singer-songwriter and all that. But I guess I was wrong. Maybe Ronnie's right. Maybe you do need help to sell your album."

Trish and Dez gasped audibly. What he did – what he said – was juvenile and stupid, even for him. He knew he had crossed the line. He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth but it was too late. One look at Ally's wide, glazing eyes and parted lips, he knew it would only be a matter of time before she cracked.

"Ally…" he started, his voice breaking, feeling awful.

"You're absolutely right, Austin," Ally croaked before she looked away from the screen. "I have to go. Dad's calling me. I think we have a customer. Say bye to Trish and Dez for me." She was avoiding his eyes and it was killing him. The screen went blank before he could say another word.

*AA*

That was the last time they spoke. Twenty-nine days since he showed her what an ass he could truly be.

After the Gavin Young talk, he avoided her like the plague. It was immature, yes. But he still couldn't figure out how to make things right with her. It also didn't help that Gavin Young looked - to quote Dez - 'so dreamy'. Dez and Trish googled Gavin Young right after his epically dreadful conversation with Ally. Sure, Gavin was tall and tan and, okay, not ugly. Shit, his stomach was tightening again. He had to stop thinking about the country artist. Besides Ally said it would only be for one song. One. What could possibly happen in one song?

His feet were practically leaping. He would have sprinted to Sonic Boom if it weren't for Dez and Trish who insisted – no, demanded - on going with him to see her.

He could feel cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He had been in so many states in the past three months that he had forgotten how unsettlingly warm Miami could get.

The mall was packed with young crowd, of course, since it was still summer break. He even had to suppress a groan when a group of giggly – albeit, attractive – girls blocked his path to take 'selfies' with him. He usually didn't mind the extra attention. Hell, sometimes he begged for it. He was a performer, after all. This time was different.

He was in a hurry to see her.

If it weren't for Trish's scalding glare, he would have ditched the girls and ran over to the music store like he had just robbed a bank. But he was Austin Moon. And everyone had a job to do. So he soldiered on and faked a megawatt smile as he struck a pose.

Damn, now it was ninety-four days, eight hours and forty-five minutes.

"Okay, ladies, break it off now," Trish sing-songed as she tried to pry one of the girls off his arm. It wasn't easy to weed out the crazies but Trish made it look like it was.

He could see the entrance of Sonic Boom. Through the glass doors, he could spot a brunette behind the counter, her back to the entrance. She was wearing a denim jacket over one of her sundresses and he could feel his palms sweat. His feet slowed to a stop.

"What's wrong?" Dez asked, a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know," he replied. "Do you think she's still mad at me?"

"For wearing that shirt?" Dez pointed at his white and blue plaid button-up shirt. "Probably. It really doesn't go well with those pants."

Sometimes he didn't know why he even bothered asking Dez's opinion.

Trish shook her head. "Are you still worried about calling her a talentless hack?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Not in those exact words," Trish snarked. "Chill, Austin. It's Ally we're talking about here. I've called her a lot worse. Besides, you're the one who kept ducking her calls."

Before he could agree, Trish pushed past them through the glass doors and raised both arms for her patented opening. "Look who's back from tour!" his Latina manager announced.

He still wasn't convinced as he moved a few steps behind Trish when the girl behind the counter whirled around and he braced himself for a heart attack.

But the brunette behind the counter talking to a customer wasn't Ally.

"Kira?" Trish asked as she approached the daughter of his record producer, who also happened to be his ex.

"Trish! Austin! Dez!" Kira made the roll call as she went around the counter to greet Trish a hug. "I'm working here part-time until the end of summer break. I know it isn't as exciting as a national tour but at least I get to hang with Ally. Speaking of Ally, she said you guys won't be back until tonight."

"She's right," Trish hummed with a roll of her eyes. "But Austin here insisted to ditch a couple of pit stops to cut a few hours of travel time."

He wished Trish wouldn't tell Ally that. She might think it was because of her.

"Where's Ally?" he asked, skipping the pleasantries.

"Hi to you too, Austin," Kira crooned with a smile. Austin would have been embarrassed by his callousness but he was too wound up to give a damn. "Ally's upstairs rehearsing her new song for the recording tomorrow," Kira said, jabbing her thumb behind her.

He was pounding up the stairs before Kira could finish her sentence.

He stopped in front of the door, his hand balled into a fist, about to tap his knuckles against the wood when he heard that familiar sound of her piano. He took a necessary breath in an effort to calm his nerves. It didn't work, he was still a wreck.

He spent a second contemplating knocking. Should he? It felt weird to knock since he had never done it before. Not on this door at least.

He took another breath as he twisted the door knob as quietly as his frayed nerves would allow. The door made a soft creak as he pushed it inside and peered.

All week he had been preparing himself for this moment. He had his apology speech memorized. He was ready to do a whole song and dance for her if need be. In short, he had a plan. Nothing could beat a man with a plan.

He was a damn fool. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Ally, in her red mini dress, was sitting by the piano, humming a tune he had never heard before with her head resting on the shoulder of a guy in red and brown plaid shirt and messy brown hair.

The guy turned his head and buried his nose in her hair. "Lavender," the man whispered, making Ally raise her head to him.

He should have knocked.

He pulled the door shut before any of them could see him. He leaned against the wall and checked his phone.

Ninety-four days, eight hours and fifty-nine minutes seemed like a lifetime ago.

A/N: I don't own Auslly. I'm just obsessed with them.

This is my first Auslly fanfic. Let me know what you think. Thank you so much! Sorry for the mistakes, I have no beta.