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The sound fireworks made often reminded the Captain of the distant explosions he could hear over the sirens during his time alive. Although the station was far enough away from the cities, the places where they were most targeted, the sound still could be heard.
He’d never liked fireworks for that reason, sirens neither. Of course, he’d never complained when a few of Alison and Mike’s friends brought over fireworks. The occasion? The Captain had no idea.
BANG!
The Captain resisted the urge to cover his ears and lay down on the ground in a fetal position. As a child that seemed to do the trick; even before the war, loud noises frightened— no, mildly concerned him. Don’t be a coward, he thought to himself. Along with the rest of the ghosts, he’d stood outside instead of being a coward, watching the display.
The fireworks were beautiful. But that was the only good thing about them. It was a collage of colours; pink, blue, orange. If the Captain happened to have died with earplugs on him then perhaps he would’ve been enjoying the firework show, instead.
Another bang.
This time, the Captain flinched. He glanced around the ghosts, puffing out a sigh of relief that no one had noticed. Another loud bang followed that.
The grip on his swagger stick was knuckle-whitening. Julian, standing beside him, seemed to notice something for the first time in his death.
“What’s up with you?” He’d asked, leaning down to whisper-shout to the Captain over the fireworks. Captain continued to flinch.
The Captain would’ve preferred if anyone but Julian had noticed. Knowing Julian, he’ll merely mock him. A few snarky comments here and there and then he’ll announce it to everyone that the Captain’s a coward. So the Captain simply didn’t answer, trying his hardest not to react. Trying his hardest not to run away like the coward he actually is and hide.
Doing what he did best, Julian pried. “What’s wrong then? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Well.” One thing the Captain had noticed about Julian was that the ex-MP often made strange, exaggerated gestures with his hands that were completely unnecessary but he added anyway.
If he was being honest, the Captain found it quite endearing.
“Fireworks,” the Captain finally muttered, loud enough for only Julian to hear. He had expected a laugh, a ridiculing one. He had expected Julian to tease him, perhaps for the rest of their deaths. But no. What Julian had done instead was strange. Unusual.
Dragging the Captain to the back of the crowd of ghosts, where no one could see them, Julian placed his hands over the Captain’s ears. Each firework explosion was muffled now, less loud and terrifying. The Captain wasn’t exactly sure why Julian had done it; it might’ve been because he knew the Captain wanted to preserve what dignity he had left. He wanted to keep his reputation as this strong, fearless army captain. In his life (and death), the Captain had been called many things. But never once had he been called a coward.
As far as he was aware, Julian hadn’t said anything after that, he couldn’t exactly hear him. Instead, his hands remained where they were. Only once the fireworks were over did Julian remove his hands, those oddly warm hands that were like a shield, protecting the Captain from potentially breaking down. Bored, the ghosts began heading inside, Julian following suit. He had clapped the Captain on the shoulder, offering an awkward smile unlike his usual teethy, smug grins.
In hindsight, the Captain should’ve thanked Julian instead of standing there like a gaping idiot. But what was he supposed to say whilst having an internal battle with himself over someone who had merely shown him the slightest compassion? For many nights after, the Captain had lost sleep over that one interaction.
Good lord, he was in love.