He had his reason, a understanding one. Fighting for the war, World War II, had left him scarred. Whenever a lightning bolt strikes to the ground with a loud bang, it reminds him. Memories flooded his mind with each explosion of lightning, and they weren’t good.

He sat on the couch with a beer bottle in his hand. His leg bounced in nervous habit as the storm went over them. A flinch of his hand tightened around the neck of the bottle as a -boom!- echoed in his ear.

He wasn’t going to turn to you for comfort. He wasn’t that kind of person to be comforted. All that bullshit was weak to him.

-boom!-

That was the loudest thunderbolt of the night. And it impacted Ben.

His eyelids flinched with a small jump. “. . . Shit” He mumbled with a deep exhale. His heart stopped for second. He closed his eyes and takes a swig of his beer. The memories of the war flash before his eyes for split moments

He rubs his face as he leans back in the couch. He was still resistant to be in your comfort.