Yoochun has a cigarette for every single time he said I love you and ended up having a date with silence. Right now he has 431 butts buried inside that big jar in the balcony – 365 for the whole year of everyday I love you’s, extra two each for Valentine’s Day, Christmas and New Year, extra three for Junsu’s birthday, and extra four for his birthday. And that leaves 53 for the times he wanted to say it after having but Junsu either left or slept too early.

He takes a drag from his second stick, puffing smoke from his worn-out lungs. It hasn’t always been like this. There was a time (somewhere in between the beginning and now) when he would set his eyes on Junsu’s and he would be met with a smile, a warm smile that made his heart flutter. There were brief passing moments when they held hands and all that mattered was that neither let go. Now? Well, now feels something like peeling off a scab. Sometimes it hurts and it’s too late because he's already caught bleeding. Sometimes it’s just gone and he begins looking for a new place to scratch, a new place to hurt.

From his periphery, he could see Junsu’s sleeping form, face serene and angelic. He had gone home from dance practice hours ago, barely acknowledged Yoochun’s presence and drifted to sleep. Three drags worth.

Yoochun looks over the unopened bottle of wine near the bed, the water dripping and pooling on the bottom of the bucket as the ice melted. Their anniversary, he flicks the into the jar and lights up another. This one feels like pulling on surgical stitches before it even heals. Definitely worth five sticks.

He sighs and turns to enter his room, surprised to see Junsu sitting up looking at him with eyes he could not read. He sinks on the bed, letting his eyes drift a close, suddenly too exhausted but still managing to say a ‘it’s been a year, y’know.’

Yoochun’s eyes snap open when he hears an ‘I know.’ Finding Junsu fiddling with the sheets, eyes focused on them as if counting the overlapping threads making up the cloth.

“What?”

“I said, I know.” Junsu says getting indignant.

“Then, why…?” He doesn’t need to finish the question, they both know what it’s supposed to be. Why ignore me? Why act like you didn’t know? Why ing hurt me? Why all this bull?

Junsu breathes deeply through his nose, “I thought it would push you away. Make you break up with me.”

Yoochun semi-sits up, weight lifted by his elbows, eyebrows scrunching and completely bemused, “Why would I want to break up with you?” Another why.

A sneer. “A normal person would.”

“But I love you and that’s that last thi-“

“That’s exactly why!” Junsu’s voice rises, tears welling up in his eyes. “Can’t you see, Yoochun? I can’t love you the way you love me! You deserve more than this.”

Yoochun is dumbfounded, thinking that maybe this is what it feels to get shot. He lowers his head, “I-I’m fine with it. I can wait until you could.” And that’s giving the shooter a chance to poke his finger inside the wound.

“, Yoochun!” Junsu curses as he stands up, hands rubbing his face in frustration, “You’re not getting it! I have someone else!” That was definitely bigger than a finger. It takes Yoochun a few seconds to realize that. The first thought was to get his keys and wallet. He needs a new pack of cigs for this.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Yoochun’s back in his old room. The one he shares with Jaejoong. He kind of missed it, at least Jaejoong didn’t mind the cold, the smoke. Well, he didn’t really mind anything about anyone to begin with anyway.

He’s in their room’s balcony again, facing a different street, a different view. He realized he had been smoking more these past weeks – three a day, maybe more. It depends. On how many times he miscalculated and accidentally passing Junsu in the hall. And, god, he knows he’d be dead by next summer if doesn’t slow the down. He takes a drag anyway.

The only good thing that sprouted about this breakup is that he composed fifteen sad love songs in two weeks. Thirteen of them he’s probably going to mock after he gets over this post-relationship stress due to cheesy lines and icky poetry. The other two is pretty decent, at least that’s what Yunho said. Which probably means, he’s lying to his guts because that’s what leaders are supposed to do for s. And another lungful of smoke because… just because.

Yoochun hears Jaejoong enter the room, opening the balcony door to join him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Their typical exchange of greeting.

“How are you holding up?” Jaejoong asks before chuckling to himself (which slightly throws Yoochun off then he realizes this is in fact Jaejoong he’s dealing with) and lights up his own cigarette, “Don’t answer that. You’re either just gonna lie or shrug.”

“Shut up. I’m fine.” Yoochun answers, “I just finished a whole packet in two days.”

“Wow, that bad, huh?” Jaejoong shakes his head as he leaned against the metal railing. “I knew it. It was a long time comin’.”

Yoochun scoffs, again so very typical of a Jaejoong, “Oh, really? What gave it away?”

“Oh, Yoochun ‘Micky’ Park, it’s obvious. I’m the only one in this whole wide universe that could stand you for more than five minutes. Ask around and see.”

Yoochun rolls his eyes. Inhale. Puff. “Right,” He looks around looking for an ashtray.

“Just toss it somewhere.” Jaejoong waves his before tossing it in the gutter over their heads. Yoochun does the same and follows Jaejoong inside with a lighter heart.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

His greatest heartbreak happens one night, a month after they broke up. Unlike in movies, it doesn’t happen during a thunderstorm. It doesn’t happen when everything was going well or in a very ish day where every damn thing is screwed. It just happens when you least expect it. On one normal night.

“.”

“What?”

“I left my phone on the couch.” Yoochun mumbles, smiling apologetically.

Jaejoong rolls his eyes and puts the gear on park again. “Well, go ahead and get it! It won’t come jogging up to you. We’re already running late as it is. Seunghyun and Hyunjoong are already waiting.”

"Okay~" Yoochun runs back up to the apartment, the elevator taking forever to reach their floor. He keys in the combination for the door and finds his phone half-squeezed in between the cushions. He sees a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and when he turns around, he sees Junsu sitting on top of the countertop, kissing Changmin heatedly with legs wrapped around their youngest’s waist.

He drops his phone in the hardwood floors, jaws wide in shock.

“Yoochun,” Junsu calls him, but he barely hears him as he blinks away the tears, sprinting to the door.

By the time he reaches Jaejoong’s car, he was as pale as a sheet, hands trembling and chest heaving. Now he understands why it’s called backstabbing. It definitely feels like being stabbed. In the back.

“Did you get- God, what happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” He doesn’t answer instead he just looks down on his feet, eyes unseeing.

A loud (and undoubtedly painful) slap on his face makes him look up at a very angry-looking Jaejoong. “Earth to Yoochun??? Can you hear me now?” Jaejoong yells, head tilting to the side to get a better look of him.

“J-Junsu…” He hiccups, “…Changmin.” That’s all he needed to say for Jaejoong to mutter an ‘oh ’ and gives him a hug. He needs a new lighter. A new shirt for Jaejoong after ruining the one he’s wearing now. And a stop at Costco for a whole box of Marlboro greens.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Everyone knew and no one told me.”

“Because of this,” Jaejoong holds up the now-empty-was-full carton of sticks, “And it really wasn’t my position to tell.”

Yoochun just shakes his head, knowing Jaejoong did have a point. But he is never going to admit that out loud. He tosses the at the gutter and three drops back to his head. “What the-” He looks up and throws the three back in and now four falls back.

“Where are you going?” Jaejoong asks as Yoochun goes inside the room and grabs a chair. “What are you doing?”

Yoochun steps on the chair and looks at the gutter. A huge pile of short, brown cylinders is mounted on it, blocking the waterway for the sprout. “How long have you been throwing cigarette butts in here? You’re much, much worse than I am. This pile couldn’t be less than a thousand!”

Jaejoong shrugs and inhales a lungful, “One for every moment I’d wish you’d kiss me but you never.”

Yoochun steps down the chair, looks at Jaejoong square in the eye, "What the did you just say?"

"Would me repeating it make you care?" Jaejoong stares back quite courageously, but the trembling cigarette on his hand didn't escape Yoochun.

He takes Jaejoong’s stick from between the two fingers and crushes their lips together. They pull apart and Yoochun thinks whatever this is, epiphany or rebound, might be worth a shot. He eyes Jaejoong's cigarette he has on his hand and tosses it up the gutter. That just might be the last one up.