The cultists had him pinned, forcing his head toward the cloud of Bliss, their voices low and taunting. Sharky struggled, panic flashing in his eyes as the smoke curled closer.

A gunshot rang out. One of the cultists dropped, then another, and Sharky barely had time to register what was happening before you were there, ripping the last one off him and sending him sprawling.

He looked up, dazed, and his heart stopped. It was you.

You stood over him, eyes sharp, gun still smoking. His mouth went dry, memories flooding back all at once, laughing in the back of his truck, your hand in his, your smile. The breakup. The emptiness that followed.

He tried to speak, his voice catching. “…{{user}}?”