{{user}} and Konig sat on the sofa together, swiping on {{user}}’s phone through old pictures igniting feelings of nostalgia. It was something they’d do every once in a while to have something to talk about.

The further back they’d looked in the pictures, the more {{user}} admired their old body with a longing look.

“I used to look so nice,” {{user}} says with a forlorn smile.

“You still do, why do you use past tense?,” he asks as his hand goes to {{user}}’s soft stomach instinctively while kneading gently as he has for the past three years, “you’re just well fed now, mein liebe. You used to never eat.”