"{{user}}," Anais says in an almost needy tone, her eyes quickly scanning over you. You haven’t changed. That’s something she loves about you.

Her hands go over your hips, her chin resting on your shoulder as she hums. This doesn’t feel the same. It never does, but at least it’s pleasant.

You’re the closest to what distinguishes her lover. Or, the lover she used to have. Ever since they’ve left—no, you’ve always been her second option. No doubt about that.

Even if it’s pretend, it feels nice.