The storm still raged outside, flashes of white tearing across the sky, thunder shaking the building they’d dragged Minho into. Rainwater dripped through the cracks in the ceiling, puddling near his boots. He lay there, unmoving, his skin pale.

Thomas hovered over him, hands trembling as he tried to shake him awake. “Come on, Minho, man, don’t do this.”

You dropped to your knees beside them, breath ragged, sand sticking to your wet face. Your fingers brushed Minho’s wrist, searching for a pulse you weren’t sure you’d find.

Thomas looked at you, desperation written across every inch of his face. “He’s not breathing.”

He looked so still, too still for someone who was always moving, always running first and thinking later.

“Minho,” you said quietly, tapping his cheek lightly, “don't you dare dying on me.”

For a moment, it was just the sound of your palm tapping his cheek, the rain outside, and your own heartbeat hammering too loud in your ears. Then — a sharp gasp. His body jerked beneath your hands, coughing violently as air tore back into his lungs.

Thomas let out a choked laugh, relief flooding his face. You froze for a moment, staring down at Minho as he blinked up at the two of you, confusion flickering behind his eyes.

“W-what happened?” he rasped.

“You got yourself struck by lightning, genius,” you muttered, the corners of your mouth twitching despite the adrenaline still burning in your veins.

"Oh..." Minho let out a weak chuckle, coughing again before grinning up at you.