Eleven; 

Since Jongdae was so busy finishing up his album preparations, I had some time to really sort out of my feelings. Who was I to Jongdae, and who was Jongdae to me?

Jongdae was someone I could trust and depend on. Although I haven’t known him for that long, he knew a lot of my secrets that I haven't shared with people who have known me for much longer. Jongdae was patient, kind, and never one to judge. Jongdae was also brave, thoughtful, and never afraid to go after what he wanted in order search for happiness.  

I respected him. I admired him. I thought about how I felt when Jongdae kissed me. It had been a nice feeling, warm, comfortable. I liked kissing Jongdae, and I surely wouldn't mind kissing him again. But was that enough? Was there enough space in my heart that was so full of Jongin? 

The thoughts often led to sleepless nights of tossing and turning, fading into dreamless sleep. On rare occasions, I dreamed of chocolate and peaches and nutella, and always woke up starving. 
 

When I cut back on shifts at Kamong, I told Joonmyun that I had picked up another job. He didn’t ask where, which I was relieved about, because I had a feeling he wouldn't approve of my working at such a place. I picked up two nights at the club – Friday night, which was a busy night, and Tuesday night, which was usually pretty dead.

Technically, the manager had hired me on a temporary basis for the summer, on the condition that I took the same shifts as Yixing.

“That way, he can watch out for you,” the manager explained. “I trust him to take care of you. Also, if you up, it’s his fault.”

On Friday nights, Yixing and I barely had time to talk once the club opened. However, on the Tuesdays, Yixing moved from his spot from the middle of the bar over to my side, where we worked side by side and got to talk about stuff.

Yixing was a psychology major with a philosophy minor, which I guess was what made him a good conversationalist as a bartender. He had a way of reading people, usually hidden behind a confused and lost exterior. He wanted to become a clinical psychologist one day and had a lot of wisdom to share, usually sounding far wiser than his twenty two years. 

“What do you want to study, Inna?” he asked, polishing a wine glass.

I thought about it for a moment. “I want to be a doctor, maybe a surgeon,” I confessed. “But it’s such a hard path, and surgeons only take the best. And most surgeon are guys, aren’t they?” I had never told anyone that before, my dream to be a surgeon. After our parents’ accident, I think Minseok and I both wanted to save lives in our future.

Yixing gave me a thoughtful look. “In fact, our dreams are not too far away,” he answered serenely, “but it takes hard work in order to harvest them. Although we may forget the passing scenery, we can look towards the distant rainbow.”

I squinted at him. “What rainbow?”

“Your bright future, of course. Where is your imagination, kid,” Yixing said, giving me a smack over the head.

“Hey, it’s not my fault that no one can understand you.” I pouted until Yixing caved and apologized, reaching out to fix my hair. “Yixing ge, what do you think is the deciding factor in picking a major or a career?”

Yixing turned and leaned against the bar counter, thinking. “In my opinion, it's passion,” he answered. “You should pick something that you are passionate about and work toward something you believe in. I like hearing about other people’s problems and trying to help them, so I want to go into clinical psychology. You want to save lives, right? Then you should aim for your dreams of being a surgeon, no matter how hard it will be.”

“And if I fail?”

Yixing shrugged, cracking a smile. “There are other ways to save lives,” he said simply. “At least you can say you tried your hardest.”

Of course, that made a lot of sense. Yixing was always like that: hopeful, optimistic. He saw the world through rose colored glasses, and I thought that it was an attitude I could learn from.

“When did you get so smart?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Yixing blinked, frowning a little. A hand came up and he scratched his ear, a habit he picked up when he was feeling shy. “I’m not smart," he said. "Baekhyun says I’m scatterbrained and slow.”

"Baekhyun is not smart,” I retorted. “Did you know that in the first year he transferred to my school, he was ranked third from last out of everyone in our entire grade?”

Yixing laughed, throwing his head back uproariously. “Baekhyun is street smart,” he reiterated. “I’m life smart, and you’re book smart. I guess we all win.”

“Which kind is the best?”

"I think you’ll