Not until you prompt her.

The cotton candy cloud hung sweet and pink in the afternoon sun as we wandered deeper into the fair, but I barely registered its sugary charm. My mind was a whirlwind of anxiety; a spiraling vortex centered around the potential exposure Chloe had invited—and now, so had I. How to broach the subject? It felt like an accusation waiting to happen.

“Chloe, wait up!” I called out, feigning a casual stroll while strategically maneuvering her towards a quieter area near the restrooms. The sugary air hung thick and cloying, a strange juxtaposition against the unease churning in my stomach. “I… I just saw something.”

She slowed, her eyes bright with that never ending mix of happiness and oblivious energy. "What? Did I get caramel stuck on my teeth?" She grinned, already anticipating some minor mishap, some comedic relief.

My carefully constructed nonchalance faltered. "No," I said, my voice a shade too urgent. “It’s… about your top.” I swallowed, struggling to find the right words, wanting to convey concern without sparking defensiveness. I moved closer, subtly angling myself between her and any potential onlookers. “I think… it might be slipping.”

She glanced down, then back at me, a smile dancing on her lips as she tried to find the joke. "Really? I feel fine." She tugged self-consciously at the strap of her tank top.