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A loud boom of thunder echoes once again, and Minho feels his bed dip down under a newly added weight.
"Minnie?" he croaks out, squinting in the darkness, trying to recognise the figure that crawls under the blanket. It's Taemin—it's got to be Taemin.
The person snuggles up into his side, and Minho recognizes the scent of pomegranates and grapefruit—oh it's definitely Taemin. And to clear away any remnant doubt, he's the only one in their dorm who’s such a light sleeper. He cannot sleep with even the slightest background noise, let alone a whole thunderstorm.
"Did the storm wake you up?" Minho asks, perhaps a tad too sweetly because Taemin makes a face, "Are you—I dunno, scared? Or something?"
The other stares at him with raised eyebrows, expression unimpressed. Minho wants to smile but he holds back—Taemin’s a real stubborn cutie, he really is.
"Your bed's warmer," Taemin mutters a bit defensively and rolls over, facing away from him. Trying to feign sleep.
But Minho knows their youngest too well for these kind of situations. He waits ten seconds exactly before letting his mouth curve, finally. Slightly triumphantly, but mostly concerned.
"You are scared," he concludes, sensing Taemin fidget under the covers.
The younger whirls around, his mouth a grimly disagreeing line—when a clap of thunder makes him jolt. Minho knows, he can see the dancer trying to hide it—but Taemin, his lips part and his eyes grow rounder—
He’s scared.
“Just jumpy,” Taemin argues almost immediately, like he can read Minho’s mind.
Minho wants to snicker—he’s not trying to be mean, he would never; the situation’s just ironic—stopping as he catches sight of Taemin’s face. Sighing, he beckons the other closer—Taemin gladly obliges—and pulls him in an embrace, nose buried in fruit-scented hair.
"Just—lie as close as you want to, okay?"
As close as you need to.
"Okay," is the soft, uneasy reply he gets.
He’s barely awake when the next clap of thunder ensues. To Minho, the sound is distant, almost non-existent in his drowsy state—but it’s not like that for Taemin. The elder can feel it as the other tries to refrain the jerk that ripples through his limbs. He feels the warm air against his neck—Taemin is trying to control his uneven breaths.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
The exhale doesn’t hit his skin.
"Taemin?"
The boy's eyes snap up, still shining in the near-pitch-black of the room.
"Come on," Minho says quietly, guiding him out of bed, past the door and into the living room. He can't really sleep knowing that his precious would be awake and queasy.
"What are you—you doing?" Taemin inquires, uncertain but curious. The jitteriness is still present. Minho opens up the blinds—rain comes down in heavy sheets outside, clinging to their window like little crystal beads.
Minho shushes him, earning a pout from the raven-haired boy. Lightning snakes across the night-sky and Taemin begins his frantic count of 'one Mississipi, two Mississipi, three Mississipi', hands coming up to block his ears from the thunder ensuing after the third 'Mississipi', eyes shut.
His eyes blink open as Minho pries his hands off with gentle, patient fingers.
"Hyung, what are we—" Taemin begins again when Minho places a finger against his lips. They stand in the middle of their dorm's living room for a while, nothing but the mellow sound of raindrops against solid surfaces around them.
Taemin hates these nights, but he’d never say so—but god, Minho wishes he would.
"Do you hear it?"
"Hear... Hear what?" Taemin questions unsurely, gazing up at him—all he hears is the thunderstorm outside.
Minho smiles secretively to himself, hands moving to rest on Taemin's waist, and the other’s arms reflexively come up to wrap around the rapper's neck. They move around the place, in practiced, confident circles and that's when Taemin realises—Minho’s leading him through a dance.
"Do you hear it?" Minho asks again.
"Hear what?" Taemin coyly challenges, and Minho laughs, twirling the younger around before pulling him close again.
"The orchestra of nature."
Minho notices the dancer's lips curve upwards at the cheesiness—his method is working!—when the room is bathed in blinding white for a second, the light bouncing off Taemin's skin, his ebony locks, his rosy lips. His beautifully dark eyes that still shine with an unsubdued worry.
"The spotlight—that was the spotlight," Minho soothes him, anticipating the thunder that is coming.
Sure enough, the skies rumble and Taemin’s brows furrow slightly.
"The audience—they're applauding," Minho tells him, and he hears a strained chuckle, "They're cheering."
"What are they watching?" the younger whispers, and Minho twirls him around again, hands lightly returning to Taemin's hips afterwards.
"What are they watching?" he questions again, exhaling quicker again, as there is a new flash of lightning.
It’s okay to be scared of small things, Minho wants to interject, wants to reassure. But maybe for now, Taemin would prefer something quieter—a soft touch, a hug, he’s not sure.
Their momentum lessens, the impromptu waltz morphing into something less structured. Lazy, romantic circles across the faux-wooden flooring.
"What are they watching?" Taemin asks so urgently, right as the thunder echoes around them but Minho still hears. He pulls the other close—so very close, and their noses touch.
"Us—they're watching us."