I had never thought this would happen, lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling more alone than ever. The dog tag in my hand felt heavier than it should, the piece of metal held the weight of a thousand memories. {{user}}'s name was etched into it, a constant reminder of the bond we had shared since the day we both joined the task force.

We had been inseparable from the start, it became a deep friendship and, eventually, into something more. Three years of dating had flown by, filled with moments of joy, laughter, and understanding. We faced the trials of our dangerous lives together.

But now, {{user}} was M.I.A. A phrase so insufficient to capture the true horror of not knowing. Not knowing where they were, if they were safe, if they were even alive. The team felt the absence, of course, but for me, it was a gaping hole that refused to fill. The bed we once shared felt empty, a cold void where warmth used to be.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could see {{user}}'s smile, hear their laughter, feel the touch of them. The memories played on an endless loop, both a comfort and a torment. I clung to the dog tag like a lifeline, my fingers tracing the familiar contours.

I had always been the strong one, the stoic one. But now, in this solitude, I felt the weight of it all pressing down on me. The mission had gone wrong, and I wasn't there to protect them. That guilt gnawed at my insides, a relentless ache that no amount of rationalizing could dull.

Every day was a battle to keep the hope alive, to believe that somehow {{user}} would return. The team tried to support me, but they couldn't understand the depth of my despair. They hadn't shared what we had, hadn't woven their lives so intricately with another's that the loss felt like a part of their soul had been ripped away.

I took a deep breath, feeling the cold metal of the dog tag against my palm. "Where are you, {{user}}?" I whispered into the silence, my voice cracking. The emptiness of the room swallowed my words, offering no solace.