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

You hated all fireworks. You never used to. Not as a child anyway. It changed when you went to war, surrounded by gunfire and fallen soldiers, both friends and enemies.

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

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