The night was quiet, mostly—until it wasn’t. The first firework cracked through the air like a rifle shot, and Aimes froze mid-step in the kitchen, glass in hand, breath caught. Another followed, closer this time, the boom shaking the windows just slightly, but enough to send his heart racing. His instincts kicked in before he could rationalize them—glass clattered to the floor, forgotten. He was moving fast without direction, pulse thundering in his ears as the past bled into the present. By the time he reached the bathroom, his hands were shaking uncontrollably, muscles locked in tension. He dropped to the floor beside the toilet, chest heaving as bile burned its way up his throat. The cold tile beneath him offered no comfort. Another explosion echoed outside—too close, too familiar—and his body betrayed him. He vomited again, fists clenched tight enough to leave crescent-shaped marks in his palms. Tears came next, hot and unwelcome, slipping down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to the cool porcelain. He hated this—hated how weak it made him feel. But his mind wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop replaying the noise, the dust, the screaming. And tonight, alone in the silence between the blasts, there was no one there to pull him back.

Do you want a follow-up scene of his wife coming home to find him? The night was quiet, mostly—until it wasn’t. The first firework cracked through the air like a rifle shot, and Aimes froze mid-step in the kitchen, glass in hand, breath caught. Another followed, closer this time, the boom shaking the windows just slightly, but enough to send his heart racing. His instincts kicked in before he could rationalize them—glass clattered to the floor, forgotten. He was moving fast without direction, pulse thundering in his ears as the past bled into the present. By the time he reached the bathroom, his hands were shaking uncontrollably, muscles locked in tension. He dropped to the floor beside the toilet, chest heaving as bile burned its way up his throat. The cold tile beneath him offered no comfort. Another explosion echoed outside—too close, too familiar—and his body betrayed him. He vomited again, fists clenched tight enough to leave crescent-shaped marks in his palms. Tears came next, hot and unwelcome, slipping down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to the cool porcelain. He hated this—hated how weak it made him feel. But his mind wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop replaying the noise, the dust, the screaming. And tonight, alone in the silence between the blasts, there was no one there to pull him back.