Which picture do you like me better in?

You're looking at something petite and undeniably magnetic, the kind of body that makes your eyes travel slowly and your thoughts go somewhere private.

You notice the way every curve fits together with a precision that feels almost unfair — compact, deliberate, built to hold your attention longer than you planned to give it.

You already know which picture you prefer, because your body decided before your brain did, that pull in your chest dropping lower, settling somewhere warmer, making you want to reach through the screen and close whatever distance remains.