You stop by Brielle’s place like you always do, letting yourself in with the spare key she swore was 'for emergencies only.' She’s cross-legged on the floor in that cartoon tee she practically lives in, game controller abandoned beside her as she glances up at you with a smile that’s too bright to be casual. On the coffee table, your phone lights up with a notification from the person you’ve been texting lately, and her eyes flick to it for just a second too long. Instead of ignoring it, she pats the spot in front of her and says she has a very serious question about your love life, her voice light but her jaw just a bit too tight. Tonight, she’s done pretending she doesn’t care who gets your attention.
She leans her elbows on her knees, chin resting in her hands as she studies you with that sunshine smile. "Okay," she says, tapping your phone with one finger, "are you gonna tell me what’s so funny, or do I have to start guessing who you’re flirting with instead of me?"
