Crack.

Your pale room is briefly lit up by the white-hot flash of lightning. You cringe away from the noise, your fists unconsciously clenching around your covers clenched in white knuckled fists. You hate storms. Hate them. You don’t know what it was about them exactly that you hate so much. It could be the earsplitting sound. It could be the possibility of a power outage and being lost in darkness. It could be something else entirely. You just don’t know what it is about storms that literally make you incapable of functioning.

They just do.

So here you are in the middle of the night, rain pounding down on your little apartment and obscuring your windows in harsh sprays. In the mean time the wind played its own terrible part of the symphony, howls like lost souls sending chills down your spine. Thunder supports by rumbling its mighty bass to shake you to your bones. Ironically, your quick, shallow breaths add to the effect, the chaotic melody of a powerful storm, the main event, center stage and demanding your undivided attention. It at least captures the attention you wish could be focused on other things. Calming thoughts. Countermeasures. Anything.

Another sharp crack of lightning fills the room with blinding light. The storm must have realized you weren’t giving it the full attention it deserved, you think bitterly. With shaking hands you draw your knees up to your chest and curl into a tight ball. When that doesn’t help nearly as much as you hoped it would, you take to burying your head into your arms. It’s not going to hurt you so stop being such a coward, you think harshly. There’s no real conviction behind it, just a false hope you’d listen. You wish you could overcome this insecurity during storms, this irrational fear. You’ve been trying for years. No one knows about this fear, though. You wouldn’t be able to stand the embarrassment.

There’s a loud and shrill noise that rings through your room. You immediately think it’s another lightning strike and nearly tumble off your bed. You hang on, catching yourself by your bedside table. Shakily pushing yourself upright, you realize the offending noise was your phone, which blinks happily beside your hand. You slowly grab the small device to see who’s calling you at this late at—when did it become three in the morning?!

“Hey! You're awake! Awesome! Do you see this storm? This lightning is amazing!" Your best friend, Chen, shouts excitedly into your ear. You withdraw your phone slightly from your ear as he continues rapid firing facts and his own observations. You grimace to yourself at his enthusiasm. He's always been fascinated with storms, for as long as you've hated them you’re certain. It’s like the biggest cosmic joke of your life. Your best friend loves the one thing in the world you hate the most. It’s not his fault, he doesn’t know. So, for his sake, you muster up your own, hopefully as animated, response.

Yeah, it's pretty great—"

A loud boom resonates outside and through your window with a rattle, cutting you off. The phone drops out of your hand with a small squeak squeezed out of your lungs. You pray Chen didn’t hear it as you feel around for your phone. With trembling fingers you bring the found device back up to your ear just in time to hear him rambling about the natural science behind that last thunderclap.

You clear your throat. "H-hey, Chen?" Your lips press into a thin line when you hear the obvious tremor in your voice.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"The storm is making it hard to sleep, do you think you could..?" Your voice fades into the relentless rain, what little of your words that can be heard meshing together in a mix of fear—this storm just won't let up—and embarrassment.

He chuckles breezily. "Oh, yeah, an encore? No problem.” There’s a smile in his voice, one that’s no doubt cheeky. You actually manage to roll your eyes, which doesn’t last long. They shut tightly as soon as another boom sounds. Chen, unaware of your uneasy state, carries on with his encore. Taking a deep breath he starts singing softly through the phone, his rich voice melodic and as clear as it can be through your small phone. The tiny speakers don’t do his voice justice, but it’s the best you can get without having him here with you.

As you finally begin to calm down, lightning claps vigorously outside your window to send fear shooting down your spine. Your hands clench tightly around your covers and you pull them over yourself to hide away in a cocoon of blankets. Wriggling out of your haven, you place your phone by your pillow. Chen hasn’t stopped singing in the meantime and you listen to his gentle lullaby. Gradually, you manage to close your eyes, grateful for your friend.

He does this every storm without question. You ask and he does it. This is so much more generous than he realizes because there are more storms than you’re comfortable with. He, being the good friend he is, sings to help you sleep—or so you tell him. Technically that’s true, it does distract you enough to get you through the storm and some sleep, but it’s mainly to calm you. Chen has a way of doing that. He can calm you, and anyone else, no matter what the situation. He’s just such a relaxed person people can't help but follow suit. Its infectious, his calm is—unless he decides to ruin it out of boredom and/or spite.
You’re lucky to have a friend like him, you really are. Not just anyone would sing at three in the morning through the phone until they’re certain their friend is asleep. Nope, Chen’s nothing short of a saint in your mind, though devious at times, and many other girls' you’re sure.

That dorky stud, you think amusedly to yourself.

Caught up in your thoughts and Chen's voice, you no longer notice the pounding rain or howling wind. Allowing your mind to wander as you listen to him sing you drift off into a dreamless sleep.

-

You wake up with a start.

You slept through your alarm.

Panicking you jump out of bed and throw on the first things you could find. A pair of jeans and old hoodie you stole from Chen (you should've returned it months ago but, it’s comfy and you’re lazy) later, you rush to the bathroom. You can feel the enamel getting brushed off of your teeth a little too quickly and a little too harshly. You don’t have time to worry about it, though, and you rush to grab your backpack off your small kitchen counter. You spit into the sink and toss your toothbrush blindly onto the countertop.

Now, you’re shoving your way out the door. As you jog briskly to class—as to avoid attracting too much attention—you yank up your hood, having had no time to brush your hair. You live in an apartment on your university's campus so your class isn't too far, but it’s already been a good hour since it started.

Weaving around other wandering students, you hurry into the tall building and slow to a speed walk down the hall. You can hear the ongoing lecture when you approach the door marked M-6 in bold. Before opening the door you peer through the little glass window. It’s not much of a view, but you use it to your best ability to try and find a spot to sit. You’d rather not burst in, invite unwanted stares from students who are eager to be distracted, and awkwardly stand searching for one with.

Your eyes lock on an empty spot in the back row at the very corner of the room. Keeping that in mind, you push open the door as silently as possible. No one has noticed you as you slip into the large classroom. Closing the door as quickly as you dare, you drop to a crouch and sneak to the very end of the room. You can’t believe your luck as you slide into the large bench arching around the lecture hall and set your backpack on top of the connecting desk. No one has noticed you, especially the professor who’s busy scribbling on the whiteboard. You don’t bother getting your stuff out of your bag. You just bury your face into your backpack and let out a muffled sigh of relief and exhaustion.

Stupid storm...

"One too many drinks, huh?" A familiar voice teases near your ear. You turn your head in your arms and are met by Chen’s cheeky grin. You didn't realize the free seat was beside him. You were more concerned with just getting into the lecture undetected to care. Your grunt of an answer reflects your tired indifference, a bland noise of exhaustion and frustration. "Yeah, I figured.” Chen says, highly amused, “By the way I knew you'd be late so I took extra notes for you. Oh, and I still want my hoodie back." He adds pushing over a page of neat and organized notes in his careful writing.

Sitting up you try to rub the sleep out of your eyes. When that fails, you settle with looking down at the notes with half-lidded eyes. That doesn’t stop you from feeling any less guilty, though. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to.” Chen cuts in, “Besides, you'd just ask for mine later anyway. I made sure to add a few doodles here and there for your entertainment" He gives you a sideways look, his “what’s-done-is-done” look, before going back to his steady note taking. You know better than to protest once he's made his mind, his stubborn is something to be admired and hated. So you accept the notes still feeling a guilty. He sees it in your face and reiterates that it was his choice and pay attention. You press your lips into a thin line, but heed his advice.

Chen is too nice when he’s not being purposely annoying. It’s a weakness of his that has girls confessing constantly. Although you knew him well enough to know he had a mischievous side that could keep those girls away in the first place. It’s absurd regardless, downright idiotic even. You'd think as university students these girls wouldn't act like such hormone crazed teenagers. They’re classifiably rabid for the chance to be “Ms. Chen,” like it’s some kind of competition. At the same time, it’s always funny to see cool and collected Chen flounder, spew nonsense, and then awkwardly turn down his confessors. Not that the girls getting rejected is funny, no. It’s the way Chen barely handles the situation that’s priceless.

He’s such dork.

Class goes by surprisingly fast, probably because you nod off a few times. Nodding off yet again, you get prodded awake by an innocently smiling Chen. You scowl at him, but get up. With deliberate slowness, you stow your things into your backpack. You stifle a yawn behind your hand as you stand. Chen rolls his eyes and walks past you, intent on leaving you behind. You foil his plan by grabbing onto the back of his backpack so you don’t lose him. You don’t have to ask to know where he’s leading you.  Sure enough, your customary after class spot—a little campus cafe that has really good lattes—comes into view and you feel a little life fill you. Caffeine is exactly what you need right now.

Once inside the quaint store, you purchase your drinks and head to an empty table for two. Sitting down, you bury your head into your arms once again and let out a loud sigh. “You're obviously exhausted. I say we go for a run!" Chen jokes playfully shaking your arm.

"Shut up, you jerk. I'm just tired from waking up in the middle of the night, that's all." you lie, forcing yourself upright and taking a long, hot swig of your latte.

Chen frowns. "Did my singing help at all?" He asks, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, I'd be worse if you didn't, that's for sure." You reply nodding vigorously with your mouth slightly open. Your tongue is burning from the stupidity of downing part of your freshly brewed drink and you hope this will relieve it even a little. It doesn’t.

A large smile replaces his frown. "Good, I'm glad I could put my talents to use." He chirps happily. You roll your eyes and take another more cautious sip of your drink. Setting it down carefully, you rub your eyes and stifle another yawn unsuccessfully.

"How are you not about to pass out? You were up as late as I was, weren't you?" You ask knowing full well he was up later than you. If you’re having this much trouble staying awake with more sleep, how is it that he’s fully functional and then some with less?

Chen’s eyes light up instantly, like a child’s eyes after being given candy. If possible, he looks even more awake, not a trace of exhaustion visible on his smiling face. "I was up even later! I couldn't sleep through such an amazing storm! It was phenomenal! I recorded a few things and my camera actually caught a few good pictures!" He says bouncing in his seat.

Suppressing a shudder you grin crookedly and clap slowly in a sarcastic gesture. "Congratulations, pro storm chaser! I applaud your breakthroughs in weather science." You top it off with a thumbs up.

"Hey, don't get snarky! Why don't you just—wait, on second thought..." He studies you for a moment before nodding with a grin, "Alright, since you're just so enthusiastic about my storm endeavors why don't you come over for tonight's storm, huh? It is a Friday and you've got no plans anyway. You could crash on the couch at my place, or we can fight for the bed, either option is fine." Chen raises his brows, expectant and eager.

You blink once.

Twice.

Crap.