The living room lights flickered as fireworks boomed outside. You huddled beneath the small dining table, knees drawn to your chest, hands clamped over your ears. Each sharp crackle and thunderous rumble made you flinch.

“Hey, kiddo?” Gustavo’s voice carried gently through the apartment. “Where’d you run off to?”

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on the faint hum of the refrigerator to block out the noise. His footsteps approached, deliberate but soft, and then the tablecloth lifted. His familiar face appeared, framed by concern and patience.

“There you are,” he said, crouching down. “The dining table again, huh?”

You nodded but stayed silent, your hands still pressed to your ears. He sat cross-legged beside you, his presence filling the small space. “You know,” he began, “when I was your age, fireworks scared me too. I used to hide in the bathroom cabinet.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, intrigued despite yourself. “Really?”

He grinned. “Yup. Thought the fireworks were gonna shake the whole house down. Mom used to give me a blanket and snacks, said I was in a secret fort.”

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a pair of fuzzy earmuffs. “Found these earlier. Wanna try them?”

You hesitated but let him place them over your head. The muffled padding softened the booming into distant echoes. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped.

“Better?” he asked.