It was the middle of the night.

You had jolted awake from a nightmare, drenched in sweat, a feeling of devastation washing over you.

Laying next to you was the love of your life, Jay Gatsby. He was the most beautiful, loving man you'd ever met. He stirred, his usually tame hair sticking out every which way.

You had dreamt endlessly of the night that he had been shot, 'what-ifs' clouding your mind.

Jay began to sit up, concern crossing his face. "My dear?" He mused, his voice a gentle murmur.