My panties can come off since my glasses are all I need to wear?

You catch her mid-decision, fingers hooked into the waistband, that specific smirk of someone who's already won an argument you didn't know you were having.

The glasses sit perfectly straight on her nose — wire frames, practical, the kind worn for actual reading — which makes everything else feel deliberately chosen rather than forgotten.

She holds your attention the way a question mark does, the sentence unfinished, the logic airtight: if one item stays, another has to go, and she's clearly done the math with great satisfaction.