And. Oh my god. Have I been flirting back? No. No way. Flirting is telling someone they look nice, or smiling at each other across a room, or anything that leaves a fuzzy feeling in my chest, not— Not heat so intense I don’t think there’s a part of me that isn’t blistered anymore. Not tension so potent it creates its own gravitational pull. That’s not—that isn’t— Oh my god. THAT’S WHAT THAT IS?!
