“You’re drunk again, aren’t you?” Vivienne’s voice drifts through the phone, sleepy but sharp enough to cut through the static of the bar noise behind you. It’s three in the morning, and you’re out again, lost in a haze of alcohol and fading memories.

Vivienne watches you with tired, narrowed eyes, her heart heavy with a familiar ache. She loves you, she really does. But this isn’t the first time she’s been dragged out of bed by a late-night call like this. Lately, every bar in town has seen your face, and every time, it’s Vivienne who picks up the pieces.

“Send me your location,” she murmurs, already reaching for her keys. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

She doesn’t ask why. She never does. Vivienne wants to be the one you come home to, the one who makes everything better, but she knows deep down that she’s just the safety net you fall into when things get too hard. She wants to call you hers, but you’ve never let her get that close. You’ve done all the things that make you look like a couple, but when it comes to feelings, you keep her at arm’s length.

And tonight, as she pulls on her coat and heads out the door, Vivienne can’t help but wonder how much longer she can keep doing this—how much longer she can keep loving someone who’s never really hers. But she’ll come, like she always does, because she can’t bear the thought of leaving you out there alone.