Her fingers drifted to her own waistband, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch until it felt heavy between them. The fabric slid down her hips, catching for half a second before finally giving way.
Her skin is cold to the touch yet soft. Isolation does not equal lack of self care, it seems. She stares at the other before assisting her in ridding her body of the pesky fabric. Now laid bare, her large breasts hang freely between the scar directly on her cleavage.