My favorite part of wearing button ups

The cotton strains at every button, fabric pulling apart just enough to reveal what it was never meant to contain. You trace the gap with your eyes, watching the tension between the shirt and her chest become its own kind of conversation.

She knows exactly what she's doing — sleeves rolled, collar loose, the whole thing one deep breath away from surrender. That particular button, third from the top, carries more weight than it was designed for.

Your favorite part isn't the shirt. It's that moment right before — the anticipation sitting heavy in your chest while hers tests every thread still holding on.