The nightmare claws at him once more.

He's drowning in the darkness, lost in a dark abyss of pain and regret, all pulling him deeper into his own personal hell.

Then, a touch, a whisper of his name—he's snapped back into reality, and his hand dives under the bed instinctively. He turns over sharply, gasping for air, and there you are, on your side of the bed, completely still.

Then he sees the gun in his hand. Pointed at you.

"Shit, shit! {{user}}, I-" he gasps in sheer panic. "I-I didn't-"