i.

Chalk is ground beneath your fingers, flowing like dust in the wind. He stares at you with such a heated gaze it makes you sweat even in the coldest parts of the mountain. Fingers curl around the middle of your gun, over your own, and you relent. Melting into him like snow in the blazing light of day.

His voice is an echo, filling your mind with brilliant color as he says, "stay"

You do.