I don’t get a chance to fully wake up before the doorbell rings.
I’m still in the same soft pajama shorts and loose top from last night, hair a mess, when I open the door and find Jessi standing there with two iced coffees and a grin.
“Sorry for just barging in,” she says, already stepping past me like she lives here. “I had such a nice time with you yesterday I want to hang out more. You don’t mind, right?”
“Uuuuuh… yeah. Sure.”
And just like that, I have someone in my house.
Completely unprepared.
I close the door and follow her into the living room, suddenly very aware of how thin the pajama top is and how little the shorts cover. The soft weight of my breasts shifts with every step.
The empty space between my legs feels more obvious than usual under the thin fabric now that someone’s at my house. Jessi drops onto the couch like she owns it, kicks her shoes off, and sets the two iced coffees on the table. From her bag she pulls out a paper bag that smells like a bakery.
“I brought bagels. You’re welcome.”
She tosses me one and starts scrolling through streaming options on the TV. I sit down beside her in my pajamas, take a bite of the bagel, and make the appropriate appreciative noise. It tastes fine. Texture is fine. But like everything else I’ve eaten since waking up in this body, it does absolutely nothing. No satisfaction. No fullness. Just something to chew so I look normal.
We settle on some dumb rom-com. Halfway through, Jessi pauses it with her foot.
“Okay, real talk. You’ve been weirdly quiet since the breakup. Like, quieter than usual. You good?”
I keep my eyes on the screen. The Core Memory Package feeds me the right emotional tone, the residual ache of a long-distance thing that fizzled, the relief mixed with the hollow feeling of an empty inbox. I use it.
“Yeah. Just needed the space. Still getting used to… not checking my phone every five minutes for someone who never texted first.”
She snorts. “God, he was the worst at that. Remember when he went three days radio silent and then sent a single fire emoji like that fixed it?”
“I remember.”
The memory isn’t mine, but it sits in my head clearly enough that the reply comes out natural. This is what survival looks like now. Borrowed history. Borrowed reactions. Pretending the friendship is still mine so the real Ana’s life doesn’t collapse while I’m stuck in her skin.
“You’re better off. Seriously. You seem lighter already.” She takes a bite of her bagel and talks around it. “I’ve been thinking about that too, you know. Not the breakup, just… how easy it is to waste time on people who treat you like an option. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
I glance at her. “The seminar guy?”
“Among others.” She sighs and drops her head back against the couch. “I keep saying I want something real and then I go for the ones who are fun for three weeks and disappear. It’s exhausting. You’re lucky you at least cut yours off clean.”
She turns her head toward me, eyes suddenly curious.
“By the way, you never told me… how big was he?”
My brain short-circuits for a second. The Core Memory Package helpfully supplies the exact image, the real Ana’s memories of her ex, the weight of him, the specific size and shape. Heat rushes straight to my face.
Jessi is already holding her hands apart in the air, starting narrow and slowly widening the gap.
“Like… this? Or more like….”
I reach out and stop her hands when the distance matches the memory. My fingers are trembling slightly.
Jessi looks at the space between her palms, then at my burning face, and bursts out laughing.
“Huh. That small? Babe. You deserve something more.”
I yank my hands back and grab my coffee like it’s a shield, ears still hot. Jessi keeps grinning, completely unbothered, and the conversation eventually drifts on, but the image she just forced me to remember stays stuck behind my eyes longer than it should.
We talk for a while longer about the difference between lonely and actually alone, how weird it is to relearn your own routine after someone else has been living in your phone for months.
Jessi is more honest than usual, and for once I don’t have to pretend as hard. Part of me is almost enjoying it. Sitting here in someone else’s pajamas, listening to someone else’s best friend, laughing at the right moments. It feels dangerous how easy it’s becoming.
Later she reaches over and opens my laptop herself before I can stop her, saying she has to look up something. I realize too late that I forgot to close the tabs from last night.
The white light from the screen lights up her face and she reads out lout what’s on there.
“Succubi? Really?” She raises an eyebrow, scrolling. “You going full mythology nerd on me now?”
“It’s just… random late-night reading. Campus has some old folklore books about it, apparently. Figured I might check them out.”
“Of course you did.” She grins, still looking at the screen. “You’re such a nerd. I love it. Promise you’ll tell me if you find anything actually spicy in those books.”
She keeps reading for another second, then lets out a short laugh.
“But imagine that, though. Having to have sex constantly. Having to swallow day in and day out, without fail, or you go insane.” She glances over at me, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Haha, that would be so crazy… right?”
I force a weak smile and reach over to close the laptop before she can dig any deeper. The joke sits too close to the truth for comfort. My stomach twists, but I keep my face neutral.
“Yeah,” I say. “Crazy.”
“Okay. We’ve been domestic long enough. Let’s go out for drinks. Just you and me.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she’s already heading toward the bedroom.
“Come on. I’ll help you pick something.”
She ends up lying on my bed, scrolling her phone, while I stand in front of the open dresser completely stuck. Everything feels like too much or not enough. I keep pulling things out and putting them back. The knowledge that I’m about to leave the apartment in clothes chosen for this body makes my stomach twist.
After a couple of minutes Jessi sighs,
“Oh come on, just pick something. It’s not like we’re going on a date… Oooh.”
Her voice changes in tone as she rolls off the bed, and comes up behind me..
“I get it. You want to look nice in case we see some cute guys out. Ah, I knew you were freaky. You’re just shy.”
“Strip. Underwear only. Let me see what we’re working with.”
My face burns hotter, but I do it. I push the pajama shorts down and pull the top off until I’m standing there in the plain black cotton bra and matching panties I put on this morning. The cool air of the room brushes over bare skin. I cross my arms instinctively, then force them back down. There’s no point hiding. She’s already seen everything.
Jessi looks me up and down and smirks.
“Glad a boyfriend didn’t see those. Haha. They’ll suffice for today.”
Before I can answer she starts pulling clothes out herself.
First she hands me a long-sleeve blouse and a pair of loose, high-waisted trousers that would cover almost everything.
“Here. Safe. Boring. Absolutely not.” She takes them back immediately. “We’re not going to a faculty meeting.”
Then she digs deeper and comes up with something that makes my stomach drop, a tiny black skirt that would barely cover the tops of my thighs and a crop top that looks like it was designed to end just under the bust.
“Okay, this could work.”
“No. No, this is too much.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. The idea of walking outside with that much skin showing makes something cold and hot twist together in my chest. I’m still a guy in my head. The thought of strangers looking at this body in something that revealing feels like crossing a line I can’t uncross.
Jessi laughs and tosses the slutty option aside.
“Fine, drama queen. Middle ground it is.”
While she’s rummaging she freezes, then pulls out a handful of lace.
“Well well well.” She holds up a pair of black lace panties and a matching bra, dangling them from one finger. “Look at these. And here I was thinking you only owned cotton grandma sets. You’ve been holding out on me.”
My face burns. Those were in the drawer. I never put them on. I never even touched them after the first day. The fact that she’s holding them up like evidence makes the whole situation feel even more surreal.
“They’re just… there,” I mutter.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” She smirks and drops them back into the drawer. “We’ll save those for a real emergency.”
She settles on a fitted black top that dips just low enough to show the soft upper curve of my breasts and a pair of dark jeans that hug my hips and ass more than I’m comfortable with. A light jacket over the top. Nothing overly provocative, but definitely sexier than anything I’ve chosen for myself since waking up in this body.
When the clothes are on she steps back, then tilts her head.
“Hair’s a mess. Sit.”
I sit on the edge of the bed almost instinctively. She stands behind me, takes a comb from the dresser, and starts working it through my hair with surprisingly gentle strokes.
The sensation is intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for, the soft pull against my scalp, the way her fingers occasionally brush the back of my neck. She gathers everything into a clean ponytail and ties it off.
“There. Cute. Simple. You’re welcome.”
When she reaches for the makeup bag I freeze.
“Let me do your makeup real quick.”
Makeup??
“I don’t want to.” I say as calmly as possible.
Internally the protest is louder.
That’s too much.
Wearing these clothes is one thing.
Putting on makeup is completely different. That’s way too much.
That’s not survival. That’s becoming her.
“Fine. You do have nice skin, so you don’t really have to… Not even this lipstick?”
She holds up a tube. I stare at it like it might bite me.
“No thanks.”
She drops it back into the bag without arguing further.
We leave the apartment and start walking toward the bar district. The evening air is cool against the bare strip of stomach the top leaves exposed. The jeans hug my ass with every step. The ponytail sways lightly against the back of my neck.
For a while we just talk, easy, pointless girl stuff. Somewhere along the way I realize Jessi is into a lot of the same things I used to be into as Ethan: the same dumb shows, the same music, the same dry sense of humor. Commenting on them feels natural. For the first time in days the conversation doesn’t feel like I’m performing. Part of me hates how easy it is. Part of me is relieved. If I can keep this friendship intact, maybe the real Ana still has something to come back to.
The bar is already half full when we get there. Jessi claims two stools and orders wine for both of us without asking.
We pick up the earlier conversation, but after a couple of sips she pulls out her phone with a wicked little smile.
“Okay, you have to see this. Some guy slid into my DMs last night.”
She opens the chat and starts scrolling. Most of the messages are the usual flirty garbage. Then she stops on a photo and tilts the screen toward me.
It’s him in dark underwear, clearly hard, the outline thick and obvious against the fabric. My eyes lock onto it. The image feels like it burns itself into the back of my skull. Jessi lingers on it just a second longer than necessary before scrolling away, like she knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
Why do her stories always rile me up so much?
Is it because of the amount of detail?
Is she doing it on purpose?
Heat flickers low in my stomach despite the wine. I force my eyes away and take a longer sip than I need.
“I’m definitely calling him later,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “Anyway. Did you end up responding to the guy from yesterday on SnapApp?”
“Yes. Of course.”
She doesn’t believe me. She reaches over, takes my phone, and unlocks it without asking. Guess she knows the password because we’re best friends.
She opens the chat with Jake and her face immediately scrunches.
“Ana. What is this?? You might as well have sent him a ‘NOT INTERESTED’ sign to his house. Let’s improve this a bit.”
Before I can stop her she opens the camera, leans in, and takes a photo of the two of us that looks like I took it myself. Then she types:
Ana:
Heeey! Chilling at the bar with a friend, what’re you doing ;)?
She hits send.
A couple of minutes later Jake replies with a mirror selfie from the gym, compression shirt clinging to his chest and arms, hair still damp with sweat.
Jake:
Hey, what’s up! Just finishing up my workout here.
Jessi grins and keeps the chat going, typing as me.
Ana:
Looking good don’t overwork yourself
Jake:
Haha I’ll try. You look like you’re having more fun than me though
Ana:
Maybe a little wine is involved
You should come join us if you’re free later… or we could always continue this somewhere quieter
She shows me the messages before sending the last one. My stomach drops, but I don’t stop her. The wine is already making everything feel softer around the edges. The Core Memory Package keeps my face from showing how much I want to delete the entire chat.
We order another glass. The conversation drifts between her ranting about the DM guy, complaining about a professor, and asking me pointed little questions about whether I’ve been “taking care of myself” since the breakup. I give vague answers and keep drinking. Every time she laughs I feel the strange double pull of enjoying the sound and remembering that this friendship isn’t actually mine.
Eventually we leave.
The walk home is slower. My head feels light. The jeans Jessi picked are tight enough that every step reminds me they’re there. When we reach the apartment she hugs me goodbye and tells me to text her when I’m free tomorrow.
I close the door, drop onto the couch, and just sit there in the quiet for a minute.
My phone dings.
Jake:
[photo of a cutting board with steak and vegetables]
Having some steak for dinner, you still at the bar?
I stare at the message.
Then the blue window appears without warning.
[QUEST STARTED]
Engage with male prospect: Jake
Requirement: Send 10 qualified messages
Penalty:
Host Override will engage to continue the conversation
I sit up straight.
Penalty??
Since when do we have penalties?