He looked at the paper between his fingers; Yoochun was barely legible in Changmin’s messy scrawl underneath the phone number. 

He wants to sit here, feeling sorry for himself for a little while, envying Junsu his smile and laughter and the brightness that just seems to follow the younger man around like a puppy.   

Jaejoong spends some time on the balcony. 

Yoochun writes and writes, forgetting everything but the flow of melodies and lyrics and distant sounds; the empty spaces around him unfilled and cold.