//Minseok// 

I spin around in my chair once, twice, three times. 
How long has it been since that plane journey home? Like two weeks or something. Yet I'm still hung up on that kiss Jongdae gave me.
What did it mean?
Was it reassuring? Just friendly?
Or did it mean something more?
I groan and bury my face in my hands. I'm reading too much into this. That's so typical of me: to read into the details and get myself worked up about this. 
I need stress relief. God, I need Yixing.
Yixing has been my best friend for years and always has a calming effect on me. 
I pull my phone off the desk to call Yixing, but first my infatuated brain forces me to check my messages, searching for anything from the contact Dae <3. 
Nothing.
Jongdae definitely hasn't been texting me as much and I don't know why. 
Is he bored of me? 
Is he - 
Ah, I'm doing it again. Stop thinking about it. Just drop him a casual message, mention a Skype chat, something like that, I tell myself. 
I find my fingers typing hurriedly. Luckily I can force them to type something not desperate, at least. 
I hope he replies.
In the meantime, Yixing. 
I dial his number, tapping my fingers on my desk restlessly. He answers after a few rings.
"Ayo?" he answers with his comfortingly clipped accent, and I smile in relief.
"Xing." I breathe.
"Oh, hey, Minseok." Yixing chirps. I laugh.
"Do you not check who rings you?" I say, although because it's Yixing, I'm not surprised. 
Yixing who almost had a mental breakdown when he couldn't find Kris's glasses that he borrowed when they were just on his head. 
Yixing who forgot to put milk on his cereal the other morning. 
So really, this is nothing to be surprised at.
Yixing laughs. "I was doing my project, okay? I wasn't looking at the phone when I picked it up." 
I nod, even though Yixing can't see me. "How is your project going?" 
No one knows what his project is, apart from that it's composing. See, Xing is a music major, and when he's not at school, eating, or sleeping, he's making music. Sometimes he does it himself, with a guitar and stuff, other times he layers electronic beats to create crazy tracks that could honestly be made by a professional. Not that Xing isn't a professional, because he's brilliant. 
He's been working on this project for ages, and we assumed it was for his class, but once his first exams passed and he was still working on it made us think maybe this was a little more personal. I've lost count of the times he's rung me up saying "Minseok, can we go out? I need to clear my head" so I know it must be big. He won't let us know what it is, though. 
"It's good," he pauses. "I'm thinking of starting again, though." 
I groan. "Xing, you've started this project like ten times now." 
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Xing dismisses. "Anyway, why did you call?"
I pout. "Can a guy not call his best friend for a talk?" 
Yixing snorts. "Not when it's you, he can't. Seriously, I know you. Did you want another heart to heart?" 
My cheeks flush. "No... Okay maybe yeah." Sometimes I'm annoyed that Yixing can read me so easily, even when we're not face to face. 
I wander over to the window and squint against the sunlight. 
"Hmm, knew it." Yixing exclaims. "About what?" 
I bite my lip. "Miyoung." I murmur, and almost immediately I hear the familiar clicks of Yixing switching his laptop off. 
"I'm coming round." Yixing says, and then the beeps signal him cutting the call. 
I'm thankful for two things: that Yixing only lives like five minutes away and is one of those friends that comes around without being asked because he knows I need some help.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, there's a panting Yixing on my doorstep. He looks like he didn't even get ready, just threw on clothes and left. 
"Hey." Yixing smiles comfortingly at me, and I stare fondly at his dimple. 
It might be weird to others, but his dimple was what got us talking when I was a curious six year old. 
"Hey, dimples." I grin back, and Yixing rolls his eyes.
"Hey, baozi." He retorts quickly. I pout childishly at the playful nickname, and Yixing squeezes my cheeks before making his way into my kitchen. 
"Just as well that you're my best friend." I mutter, following him sheepishly. Ever since we established the best friend relationship, he's been inviting himself round and making himself very very comfortable without being told or asked to. 
Like now. 
I enter my kitchen to see Yixing rifling through his favourite cupboard in my kitchen - the biscuit cupboard. He finds what he's looking for: the unopened packet of rich teas I've stashed away at the back of the cupboard for times like this. I know exactly where he's going next - two steps to the right to the cupboard where my trusty jar of Nutella is stored. He lets out a cry of pleasure as he unscrews the lid and inhales the smell. I fold my arms and go next to him, shaking my head.
"I swear, you're addicted." I scoff.
"No~" Yixing whines. "I just don't get this at home, so I have to eat it here." He says, as if that's a valid reason to eat half of a litre jar of Nutella when he's here. Already, he's caking a large amount of it onto one poor, fragile biscuit and taking a large bite. Nutella smears around the corner of his mouth and I snigger at it. 
A look of pure bliss crosses his face as he swallows and I roll my eyes: this happens every single time he comes here. He can't start talking to me properly until he's had his needed dose of the chocolate gold.
"Okay," Yixing starts, spraying biscuit crumbs from his mouth as he speaks. "What did you want to talk about?" 
I pull a disgusted face at him. "Can you not finish eating yet?" I say, grabbing the Nutella jar and shoving it back in the cupboard. Yixing pouts but doesn't give in, knowing that this isn't a time to joke.
"So, Miyoung. What about her?" Yixing asks, brushing his hands free of crumbs in the sink. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before taking me by the wrist and dragging me upstairs into my room. 
I'm being dragged. In my own home!
" - Xing! Careful!" I scream when he almost drags me into a table. He chuckles, but doesn't apologise. He throws me down on my bed and sits himself in my spinny chair, and does what I do: spins round three times before stopping and focusing on me.
"Start talking, then. I'm listening." Yixing instructs. 
I bite my lip. "It's not much, not really. I - I just wanna break up with her." I almost whisper the last bit, and Yixing has to get me to repeat it.
When he hears it, he looks at me with wide eyes. "But you're such a great couple!" He exclaims, confused. 
I fiddle with my duvet, sometimes folding it and sometimes smoothing out the creases. "There's something else you should probably know." I muse.
Yixing raises an eyebrow. "And what is that, may I ask?" 
I look up at him and stare at him defiantly. "I think I'm gay." I say, loud and clear.
Yixing looks like he's choking, and I wonder what his reaction is, before his mouth morphs into a clumsy smile. "I knew it, man, I knew it." He says.
I look at him, dumbfounded. "How? I never told you." 
"I had my suspicions," Yixing smirks. "I thought you were more likely biual, though." He admits. 
I shrug. "I don't know. But I'm not exactly in love with Miyoung anymore so... I don't think I'm biual. It's just taken me this long to realise my true