Hard to keep in place

Her neckline refuses to cooperate, fabric sliding south with every breath she takes toward you.

You watch the slow rebellion of cotton against skin, that soft weight pressing forward, daring the seam to hold just one moment longer before surrendering another inch.

She glances down, then back at you — not embarrassed, just amused by the losing battle her shirt is fighting. One wrong move, one deep exhale, and the last pretense of coverage dissolves entirely into something you both knew was inevitable from the start.