Flirt

Karina is irresponsibly flirty.

That's how you would excuse your friendship, anyway.

The cafe is too small for how your shared giggles are — no matter how suppressed. Afternoon light spills through the glass, warm at its best while the AC works overtime. It's been a lazy afternoon, yet hours have passed without either of your smiles resting. You sit across from her — Karina, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hand — too close, probably. You've always been too close.

You glanced. You had to.

She noticed.

It would be weirder if she didn't — she was waiting for it.

You pretend you didn't. You hope she didn't either.

"Why are you like that?" you ask, hoping it breaks the smirk that had been eyeing you for a tad bit longer than comfort.

Intentionally, there was no immediate answer. You don't even know if she was going to give one — probably because you kept your eyes occupied with the idle finger pressing on your straw. Either way, you chuckle. It's absurd, avoiding it in the first place. You look up and finally meet her, and that smile of hers was so ready to welcome its win — to whatever this game was you were playing.

That annoying smile.

Annoyingly perfect.

She won.

Just this round.

"Like what?"

You stare at her. You take a second to let her realize what she's doing, a second more to remember that Karina knows full well what she does to you, and another second just to appreciate her smile — the one she saves for you.

"You're flirting with me again."

A warning, for an action she's fully aware of.

"Oh? Was I doing the smile again?" She leans in, cheeks propped up by her arms, fingers playfully tapping her face as it cups them. Everything is a game to her, and she loves it.

You smile with obvious satire — it has to show, make sure she knows. It's how you protect your honesty, by presenting it as a lie. The game had been one-sided long enough. You lean in too, matching her closeness.

It's a game of chicken, where either of you could win if you just let it crash — but one of you always pulls away.

"Yes, you were doing that smile." Inadvertently, your eyes drop to the subject. It looks so sweet, so lovely. You have to continue. "The smile I told you not to."

"The smile you couldn't say no to?"

You don't answer. You could — but that would mean she was right. So you stir your drink instead, ice clinking softly, buying time for a denial you could never back.

Clearly an evasion. But to Karina, it's a challenge. She stoops lower, closer, stealing your eyes so they have nowhere else to go. She tilts her head, still wanting that answer.

She keeps getting close.

That's the problem.

It's not that she's always leaning into you. It's that you always wonder how much closer she could get.

But you know how these games end — the flirting, the smile she brandishes that always makes you weak, the sweet eyes she always makes sure are yours to savor. It leads to butterflies. Only that. It has to be only that.

"What do you want?" you finally ask. You tried playing her game, and you didn't even notice when you folded. It was careful. Measured. Somehow she was still the one on top.

"Aren't you curious? Us"

"It's better if we don't answer that."

"Humor me. Just once."

You draw the line here — clearly, you do — but that smile, her, Karina. You just can't say no.

Your hand moves before you think — fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear like it's the most natural thing in the world.

She freezes.

Not dramatic. Not obvious.

But everything slows.

Oh.

You pull your hand back, slower this time. Like if you move gently enough, you can undo it. Like you didn't just cross something.

"Sorry," you say, softer now.

Her smile fades — not from anger, not from fear, nothing like that. Something you can't name yourself. You wish you knew. You wish you could ask. But it's better not to, not when she froze like that, not when her flirty smile had prepared itself for something more, not when her sweet eyes had turned into a serious question.

"You flirt too much," you say, and only manage it looking away.

Outside, people pass by like nothing's shifted. Like something small didn't just crack open between you.

She leans back in her chair.

So do you.

Karina is irresponsibly flirty.

And she's making you responsible for it.