Over the weekend, Bora and I go on a girl date. We decide to have dinner at an Italian restaurant, and then watch a movie.

Bora and I are such a riot. We like to joke around that if she were a guy or I were the guy, we’d totally be dating because of how well we fit with each other. It’s not just the fact that we have so many inside jokes and facial languages that only we understand; we depend on each other in a way we haven’t depended on any one else before. Well, I don’t know if that’s the case with her, I suppose, but with me, she’s the best friend I’ve spent so many years looking for. 

“So how’s Lange and stuff?” She asks me as she takes a breadstick and stuffs it into .

“Um … good, I guess. He has my number,” I say as I dip my bread into the soup.

“How’d that happen?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. He says he needs help with math.” I chew thoughtfully on my bread and say, “But really, he hasn’t texted me. So I doubt he’s actually going to do it.”

“Hey, you never know.”

“I guess.” I finish the bread and grab another one. “What about you? Any love life?”

“Actually,” she says, “there’s this guy in my class who’s been talking to me a lot.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah,” she says reluctantly. “I guess. But I mean, he’s really nice. He’s a gentleman. And we talk and stuff. He has my number, too.”

“So do you like him?”

“Um,” she sighs, “like … I don’t know. I guess you could say I’m attracted. But I don’t know if I’m only attracted because he’s attracted to me. You know?”

“Right, and you don’t want to like him for that reason.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “So how’s that Chanyeol guy?”

I groan. “Don’t make fun of me, okay?” She stares at me as I continue, “I asked him to help me with Lange. Sort of like a … he’s like my teacher, kind of.”

“Does he ?”

“Geez, I don’t know,” I laugh. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Huh.” She squeezes lemon juice into her water and stirs it with a straw. “Lange’s cute and all. He probably likes you - “

“How do you know?”

“ – Dude, I was like, your spy last semester. I looked at him every freaking time he was in the caf. I saw him looking at you.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyways, he probably likes you, but Chanyeol seems nice.”

I glare at her over the top of my drink. “What does that mean?”

“I’m just saying, he seems nice,” she shrugs. “Doesn’t mean anything.” She looks at me. “What?”

“You like him?” I tease.

She almost spits into her drink. “What? No! I’m saying you guys would match well.” I frown at her, but she shakes her head. “But you like Lange so … hey, hurry up and finish your soup so we can watch the movie.”

“Okay, geez,” I say. After eating and paying, we head to the theaters, where we watch a slice of life movie. Afterwards we’re left feeling both empty and full, as if we have the capability to cry but not the strength to do it. Bora and I talk about the movie during the ride back to campus, and then we park at the freshman lot and run up to the dorms because of the frenzied cold.

Once we get back to the room, I take a shower. Normally I take relatively quick showers, but tonight I lose track of time as my thoughts meander to and from Chanyeol. He is a nice guy; I know that. He’s nice for using his own time to ensure that two people are happy. He’s nice for being patient. He’s nice for being brave. But I don’t want to think about him that way. It’s hard enough to have close friends that are boys whom I don’t romantically consider, and now Bora has to complicate my view of him.

Does he have any girl he likes? I want to help him if he does. I have this tendency to avoid being in debt with anyone. I don’t like people doing endless acts of kindness toward me, because I feel like I owe them, even if they did it simply because they wanted to. After this – if Lange and I work out like Chanyeol said we would – I’m going to pay back Chanye