The cotton pulls tight across your chest, each button doing its absolute best to hold things together — and failing beautifully at the third one down.

You already know what you're doing when you leave it half-tucked, sleeves rolled to the elbow, fabric gaping just enough to make someone forget their own name. That deliberate almost-covered look hits harder than anything fully revealed.

The buttons aren't the star here — they're just the tension. What strains against them, soft and heavy and barely contained, is exactly why this shirt became your favorite the moment you put it on.