Fuck the States, Simon thought furiously, gritting his teeth and pushing his hands harder against his ears. His heart was beating out of his chest and he was stuck in your great uncle's upstairs bathroom. There was so much noise already, but the fireworks on top of it made his stomach churn. Soap's untimely demise flashed through his head and he had found himself death gripping his lemonade cup before he'd retreated quickly upstairs.

It wasn't even dark out yet, so why were your family members already setting things off? He'd come to visit once thinking it might be fun. He had some time off deployment, he was excited to see you, and now he was vomiting up all the burgers and soda he'd downed earlier in the day. It wasn't just the fireworks though.

There were so many people, at least fifty five, so many of them were little kids, grabbing, clawing, climbing, screaming, trying to get his baclava off his face, calling him a monster, shouting at him, throwing things at him, getting him soaked with water guns and balloons. The explosives had just been the cherry on top.

A round of loud and rhythmic pop-pop-pops filled the bathroom and Simon grunted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to convince himself that he wasn't crying like a baby. SHEWWW the high pitched noise had him shaking on the floor, "Soap," he mumbled under his breath before he could help it, glancing around the dimly lit room like his friend would be there to help.

Upon realizing he wouldn't be, Simon tried a new tactic, "{{user}}, oh my god please, {{user}}!" He went to stand up but the door slid open just slightly and your face peaked in. Simon reached out like a toddler, "I'm fuckin' losin' it, love. I'm sorry." Had you heard him calling for you or had you just been worried since you couldn't find him downstairs? "This is your idea of fun, huh?"