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“Thomas?”
Thomas didn’t even bother opening his eyes. Exhaustion tugged heavily at his entire body, wakefulness reluctantly creeping into his aching bones.
What time was it?
It was late, he could tell that much. There was a definite coolness to the air that only swept through Paradise at night. The faint scent of tangerines lingered in the air, and they only lit their scented candle before going to bed. The fact that the citrus smell was somewhat evenly spread throughout the tent told Thomas it had been burning for a while. Ergo, they had been sleeping for a while.
“Thomas?” Minho tried again. “You awake?” Grogginess coated his voice, his words slightly slurred. “Thomas?”
There was a deep raspiness to his voice that made Thomas’ heart flutter. For a moment, he considered responding just to keep hearing it. It was similar to his morning voice, something Thomas always found incredibly endearing. Minho didn’t talk much in the mornings, but the few times he did always left Thomas swooning for more.
You shouldn’t reward his bad behavior.
Brenda’s words came back to him, almost unconsciously. Like she had mentally reached out and shoved that statement to the front of his mind.
He had tried to ask Brenda what she meant by that when she first said it, but she had slipped out of his tent before he could, humming a soft tune under her breath. At the time, he had simply snorted and brushed her words away, flicking them to the back of his mind. It wasn’t unlike her to abruptly leave a conversation with nothing more than a glancing joke. He chalked it up to being just that: a joke.
He realized she meant it more seriously later, when she shot him a meaningful look across the meeting room after Minho slammed his hands on the table with all of Paradise’s blueprints and maps and walked out of a discussion.
Silently, Thomas found himself agreeing with Vince and Jorge’s argument more – it was rather ridiculous to push for defensive measures when Paradise was completely isolated from humankind; it’d do nothing but scare the Immunes who had just barely been promised safety from WCKD. But he had said nothing.
A few times during his tirade, Minho had pointed at Thomas, and he jolted each time (he hadn’t been paying attention) before simply nodding in agreement. After Minho stormed out of the tent, Jorge muttered something about needing a collar and leash for the boy, and Brenda had raised her eyebrows at Thomas in a “told you so” way.
“You awake, Thomas?”
You shouldn’t reward his bad behavior.
“No,” he finally grumbled. He rolled over onto his side, turning his back to Minho. The position made his back ache. He had helped Gally prop up massive wooden beams the entire day. But he stayed on his side, if only for theatrical purposes. “Go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” Minho whined. Whined!
Thomas wondered whether or not the boy was even completely awake.
“Then pretend.”
“Sleep with me.”
“Not exactly a soundproof tent.”
He heard Minho let out a laughing sigh, and a grin spread across his own face. He couldn’t see it, but he knew Minho was rolling his eyes.
“Not like that,” Minho scoffed. Then his voice took on a tone Thomas had never heard before. It was almost… imploring. Begging. And soft, too. Gentle, almost.
“Please?”
There was no doubt now that Minho wasn’t fully awake. There was no way in hell a fully functioning Minho would pull out that tone.
Thomas huffed. He cracked open his eyes and blinked blearily at the walls of the tent, the tightly woven fabric rippling in the midnight wind. At least, he assumed it was midnight. It was dark, the only source of light being the candle.
Thomas felt a smile tug at his lips. He loved the smell of tangerines.
“Thomas?” came the tentative ask. There it was again. That tone.
“I regret sharing a tent with you.”
“Don’t say that,” Minho said, and his usual boyish cockiness crept back into his voice. “I’m fabulous.”
“Mmph,” Thomas grumbled. He let out a long sigh, debating his choices. He was tired. He was tired, sleepy, exhausted, wanted to go to bed, didn’t want to be woken up in the middle of the night when his back was sore and he could feel a headache beginning to form…
You let him do it once, he’ll do it all the time.
That was what Vince had muttered after Minho walked out of a meeting for the third time.
Did he want Minho waking him up in the middle of the night, every night, just to ask to cuddle?
“Thomas?” When no response came, Minho let out an indignant humph. “Did you fall asleep?”
There was morning voice, and then there was whatever that voice was.
Minho’s puppy voice.
Gentle, pleading, pouting, still somewhat asleep, and – he couldn’t deny it – cute. Would Minho use it every time he asked to cuddle?
Thomas made his decision.
He heaved himself into a sitting position, shivering as the cold air attacked his skin. He sat there for a long time, shoulders hunched, back screaming in protest, sleepiness tugging at his eyelids. He was going to fall asleep like that if he didn’t move.
He practically threw his body off his bed; it was the only way he could convince himself to get out from the protective heat of the blankets. He stumbled into the edge of Minho’s bed, barely keeping himself from bruising his shins on the frame. He raised his head, surprised to find Minho watching him with what he could only describe as elation.
When he saw him staring, though, Minho quickly slid on a more smug grin.
“Knew you’d wanna.”
Smartass.
“I can go back.”
It was an empty threat, and they both knew it; Thomas was already climbing into Minho’s blankets as he uttered the words. He expected a snarky comeback, but Minho didn’t say anything, just raised the blankets to help him get in before dropping them around his body. The heavy covers hit Thomas with a small thump, and warmth instantly enveloped him.
Faintly, in the back of his mind, a voice told him he ought to be embarrassed. Were they allowed to cuddle like this? Wasn’t it a little odd? Weren’t they too old for this? Or were they too young?
Thomas pushed the thoughts away. He wriggled in the blankets, soaking up the cushiness of the mattress, and let out a satisfied “Mmph.”
If Minho really wasn’t properly conscious, he wouldn’t remember this anyway. Thomas could wake up before him in the morning and slip back out.
…If he wanted to.
Minho’s arms were wrapped around him in a second, cutting off his more hesitant thoughts and pulling his back flush to his chest. Thomas let out a sleepy grumble as Minho pressed his head against the back of his neck, humming with content. Thomas could feel the vibrations in Minho’s chest as he did; they sent a shiver up his spine.
He liked that.
He could feel each inhale and exhale of Minho’s, cool air tickling his nape. He liked that, too.
“Thanks,” Minho murmured, voice so quiet Thomas barely heard it. Louder, he said, “G’night.”
It took a great effort for Thomas to reply. He was so exhausted, and he had been having a good dream before Minho had woken him up. But there was a faint nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he just couldn’t ignore.
“You need to be nicer to Vince.”
So maybe Minho wasn’t the only smartass in the tent.
If he responded, Thomas didn’t know. He fell asleep immediately after.
In his mind, he knew full well he had no intention of getting out in the morning. This was one thing he wanted to remember.
✦
He woke up to a faint scoff in his ear. There was something warm wrapped around his waist. Its grip suddenly tightened, pulling him into the cozy heat even more.
In stark contrast, Minho muttered, “You’re so clingy.”
You’re the one who’s hugging me closer.
But Thomas didn’t say anything, too tired to even open his eyes. Sleep pulsed through every corner of his body. He settled on letting out a small, “Mmm.”
“If you wanted to sleep together, you could’ve said so. Preferably before I lugged two separate beds into this tent.”
So Minho really hadn’t been awake.
Or he just had poor memory.
In that moment, Thomas decided to not tell Minho what had transpired last night. He’d figure it out on his own eventually. Why not keep sleepy puppy-Minho to himself for a while?
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the inevitable berating he’d get for not informing Minho sooner. He could already hear Minho groaning that it was cruel not to tell him he got so shy and puppy-like when he was half-awake and needy for cuddles. Thomas was sure he’d lose cuddle privileges for at least two minutes.
“What’s so funny?” Minho mumbled into his neck as he shifted his body to press up more against Thomas. “Is it so amusing to know you can’t live without me even for one night?”
Warmth seeped out from his embrace, spread into Thomas’ back, and pooled in his stomach. Or maybe it was the low, raspy morning voice that was doing that. Either way, Thomas felt butterflies made of hot iron flit around in his stomach, and he could feel a flustered smile creeping up on his face.
“You. You’re funny.”
Minho let out a barking laugh. “I’m hilarious, thanks.”
Mmm, morning voice, Thomas thought, dreamily.