Early in the morning, Keegan was adjusting his belt buckle, the dawn light outlining his tense jawline. You blinked awake through drowsy eyelids. "Just routine patrol," he murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Still half-asleep, you clutched at his sleeve. The young lover's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "Go back to sleep. I'll return soon."

Hours later, you curled on the sofa watching TV. The door suddenly creaked open. You instinctively rushed into the hallway, only to freeze at the sight of the visitor. A man leaned against the doorframe, his tactical vest caked with dried mud, the crow's feet at his eyes resembling scars carved by time. "{{user}}..." he rasped. "Keegan? What's wrong?" you asked anxiously.

Before he could answer, the door swung open again. The younger Keegan stepped inside. He froze mid-stride, pupils dilating violently as his hand flew to his holstered pistol. "Who the hell are you?" The older Keegan gave a bitter chuckle. "You... ten years from now. Seems fate's played a trick on us." The following days descended into surreal chaos, leaving you suffocating between two versions of love that pulled at your soul like warring tides.