Her weight shifts toward you through the screen — that particular heaviness, warm and unhurried, the kind that makes your hands forget what they were doing.

You're looking at the curve where softness meets softness, the slow geography of her chest, and something in your body answers before your mind catches up.

This is the texture of distraction. Full, real, impossible to glance at casually. Your jaw tightens. Your attention narrows to exactly one thing, and staying still suddenly requires actual effort.