Loud pops filled the air as the dark sky contrasted with colored sparks. Ben winced at every noise. Weak, he thought, being scared of damn fireworks. He was a Supe, for god’s sake. Why should he be scared of little blasts of explosion in the darkness of the night?

He was absorbed in his own thoughts, paying no mind to his surroundings other than the crack of sparks in the sky. Each bang from the fireworks brought him back to shots fired, echoing in his mind. Flashbacks of his time in war — the time he was betrayed by his own team. His jaw was clenched, fists balling up as his arms pressed tighter against his chest, but he kept flinching with every string of fireworks. The bigger fireworks provoking more visceral reactions out of him.

His eyes slipped shut, his head turned away from the one beside him. The comfort and security of the apartment was only a few steps away but his feet were glued to the concrete of the balcony, forced to endure the trauma-induced visions flashing in front of his closed eyes. He was succumbing to it; the pain, the memories, the betrayal of his own damn team when something pulled him from the edge — or rather, someone.

“What?” he asked, voice more gruff than usual, the same wall of bravado and arrogance building back up in a matter of seconds. He hated being weak.