No bras in public either

You notice the cleavage first — deep, unrestrained, pressing against thin fabric that was never meant to contain it.

You feel the pull of it before your brain catches up, that specific hunger that starts behind your sternum and drops lower. You understand immediately why no undergarment was chosen today — the shape is better this way, heavier, more honest about what it wants to be seen doing.

You keep returning to the neckline, to the soft weight gathered there, to the way movement would shift everything just slightly. You want to slide one finger along that edge and find out what gives first.