The 4th of July. Independence Day. Simon hated it. Hated seeing red, white and blue everywhere he went. More importantly, he hated the fireworks.

He hated all fireworks. He never used to. Not as a child anyway. It changed when he went to war, surrounded by gunfire and fallen soldiers, both friends and enemies, including his best friend.

He had spent the last 4th of July stuck in a flashback, the fireworks reminding him far too much of the gunshots, the blood, the death. That was when you had walked in, finding him panicking on the floor, immediately trying to find a way to help him calm down.

This year, you had bought him some noise canceling ear muffs, and you held him in your bed, rubbing his back as fireworks went off, soothing him.