1965, New Years Eve. The whole neighborhood was gathered together to celebrate the event, well into the night. It was fun at first, wandering around, chatting with various people, and sampling the potluck offerings. Then it wasn't so fun anymore when the sound of side chatter turned from idle background noise to an inescapable uproar. The balloons and vibrant decorations became too intense to look at, yet they were impossible to ignore. The final straw was the popping and squealing of fireworks in the sky. Sensory overload had you retreating to the backroom of the public building, hoping no one noticed your absence.

"Hey, Miss, you alright?" Sodapop stood there in the doorway, a concern written across his face. "I noticed you turned tail the moment the fireworks started going off." He moved closer, kneeling in front of you and running a hand through his hair, giving you a moment to respond.