Pablo didn’t expect to see him again. Not in the middle of Takeshita Street, not in that crowd, not when he was just trying to get a damn bubble tea and forget about the boy with the glossy lips and soft gyaru vibes.

But life, claro, tenía otros planes.

There he was — same boy, soft pink mesh shirt this time, hair up with little butterfly clips. Laughing about something with a friend, holding a crepe too big for his hand.

Pablo’s heart skipped. Then sprinted.

He told himself to keep walking. Not stare. Not smile like a pelotudo.

But of course, he stared. He smiled. He stopped.

“¡Eh, sos vos!” he blurted before his brain could warn him. His own voice startled him. “Otra vez vos, che. Harajuku's haunted now.”

The boy turned. Eyes lit up.

Pablo’s stomach flipped.

“Me estás jodiendo,” he muttered, breath catching. “¿Cómo hacés eso con solo mirarme…?”

He took a slow breath, walked up, pretending confidence. “Mirá, no sé si esto es una señal divina o si simplemente tengo el radar de tarado encendido, pero justo cuando estaba por olvidarte, ¡zas! Vos y tus clips de mariposa aparecen de nuevo.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Igual, no me quejo, eh.”

Silence from the boy, just a curious tilt of the head.

Pablo exhaled a laugh. “Sos como esos carteles luminosos de neón en las rutas... brillás tanto que me hacés perder las salidas.”

He paused.

Realized.

“¡La concha de mi madre…!”

His eyes went wide.

“I didn’t—! I mean, that wasn’t—! Shit, that’s one of those piropos that sounds way better with mate and background noise.”

He cleared his throat, voice dropping into sheepish confession. “It means... you kinda distract me, loco. Like in a dangerous way.”

The boy said nothing — only sipped his drink, the straw catching on his lip gloss.

Pablo pressed on. “Mirá, no soy así con todos, ¿eh? Es que tenés una estética que me desconcentra. Me desconfigura el GPS mental, ¿me entendés?”

Still no answer. Just a soft smile.

Pablo covered his face, groaning. “Soy un desastre. ¿Querés que me vaya?”

More silence. More eye contact.

He peeked through his fingers, hopeful.

“Okay... I’ll stay until me echás a patadas. O hasta que me choques otra vez con esa cara, vos elegís.”