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In a matter of a couple of years, things were starting to fall into rhythm in Paradise. People were recovering, taking up everyday routines, and trying to find ways to make things okay.
Slowly, the place and the people started to operate smoothly. Almost like clockwork.
However, one thing Minho definitely got used to was waking up, in the middle of the night, with cold sweat dripping from his back and his head pounding, whenever there were storms raging on outside.
He shot upright into a sitting position, rumpled blankets around his hips, and took a few ragged breaths before he could realize it was just a dream, like always. Those flashes of lightning and flames that all seemed to blur into each other in a hazy memory of the scorch were nothing now.
Except, if he really believed that, he wouldn’t be still waking up from nightmares in the middle of the night.
He felt someone tug at his wrist, and turned to see Thomas propping himself up against the headboard and rubbing his eyes. He had a sad smile on as he patted the space next to him, urging Minho to come closer.
Sighing, Minho shifted next to Thomas, resting his head on the younger boy’s shoulder. He tried to bring the blankets back up to his chest, but they kept slipping from his trembling fingers. Thomas smiled sadly and grabbed the sheets himself, pulling them over Minho.
“Hey, it’s okay. I got you,” he whispered, as he rested his chin on Minho’s head and put an arm around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Minho shook his head and just muttered, “Nothing. Thought I heard something outside. Don’t smother me.”
“Sure, tough guy,” Thomas replied, but just rolled his eyes and pulled Minho closer to him.
Minho groaned, but buried his face into Thomas’ chest. “I’m fine,” he murmured.
Thomas sighed and ran his fingers through Minho’s hair, damp from the sweat. He then trailed his fingers down Minho’s tear-stained cheek (Minho didn’t even notice he had been crying in his sleep) and curled his hand under Minho’s chin, tilting his head up to face him. “Yeah, you will be.”
Scoffing, Minho turned away and just lied back onto Thomas’ chest, draping an arm over his boyfriend’s torso. He snuggled against him closer, but nothing could ever be close enough when he’s this distressed. If he’s being honest, there’s no such as ‘close enough’ as long as Thomas was involved.
His chest feeling heavier at Minho’s suppressed pain, but used to it, Thomas just held Minho tighter. He let his hand fall against the small of Minho’s back. He started trailing his fingers up and down over the faint scars on Minho’s skin, and he used his other hand to hold Minho by the waist, keeping him still.
In a few moments, Minho’s shaking subsided, and he eased into Thomas’ touch. Smiling at this, Thomas kisses the top on Minho’s head, murmuring, “I love you.”
With his head resting on Thomas’ chest, Minho’s small smile couldn’t be seen. “Isn’t cuddling already mushy enough for you?” he replied in a deadpanned voice.
Thomas rolled his eyes again, but feels a bit better, because, with Minho, those quips were a good thing. He kicks Minho’s knee lightly with his foot.
“Dammit, Thomas,” he muttered, without much conviction, as he nudged Thomas’ knees back. “You know I love you too, don’t be such a baby about it.”
“Okay, Minho,” Thomas simply replied, before planting a kiss on Minho’s shoulder, where one of the worst burns were. Minho cringed, just the thought of certain wounds being touched made him uncomfortable. But as Thomas’ lips continued to ghost over his scarred skin, he relaxed, marveling at the feel of Thomas’ hot breath. “But really though, I love you. I got you. Everything’s okay.”
Minho looked up at Thomas, looking like he’s about to protest or make another snide remark. But as he saw Thomas’ worried eyes, all sarcastic comments died in his mouth. He just craned up, and kissed Thomas lightly on the lips, the mere gesture calming his nerves.
He pulled away, one of his hands still cradling Thomas’ cheek.
Although things have gotten easier in Paradise, for Minho, among others, anxiety and nightmares still plagued him. But he was recovering, he was getting there. And until then - even after then - Thomas was there to hold him. Always.
Exactly like clockwork.
“I know,” Minho finally replied, his thumb rubbing against Thomas’ cheekbone. Nodding, he repeated, only this time he meant it, “I’m fine. Everything’s okay.”