Merry lay quiet, his eyes closed and his fingers running through Pippin's curly hair, Pippin sprawled out on the bed next to him with his head on Merry's chest. The rain outside pattered quietly against the windowsill, and Merry could see the room light up a bit through his closed eyelids, a flash of lightning. He counted four seconds before a rather ominous boom of thunder rattled the windows, and he felt Pippin stir a little on top of him, heard a small whimper.
Merry shushed Pippin quietly, not knowing whether Pippin was asleep and dreaming, or whether he was awake and trying to go back to sleep. Merry settled his head further into his pillow, allowing his fingers to get caught up in a knot in Pippin's curly locks, gently moving his fingers around to pull the clump of hair apart. Pippin moved his head against the bare skin of Merry's abdomen in his sleep – or maybe he was awake, Merry still wasn't sure – and Merry opened his eyes to find Pippin's face contorted in a puzzling expression, either fear or confusion, or maybe disgust, almost like Pip could smell something rancid.
Merry smiled to himself and looked around the room, lightly illuminated by the single candle burning next to his bed, the small, dancing flame sending shadows parading over the walls. Another flash of lightning shown itself into the small room, lighting it up like day time, and this time Merry only counted two seconds before the thunder boomed and shook everything around him, including Pippin.
His head shot up, and Merry lay there for a second and watched as Pippin pushed himself up onto one elbow, looking around the room, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes still closed.
"What, what is that? What's going on?" Pippin's voice was small, seemingly far away, tired. Merry smiled and patted Pippin's back.
"It's just a storm, Pip. Go back to sleep."
"Oh, right," Pippin mumbled, laying his head back on Merry's chest and snuggling closer to Merry's body.
They were quiet for a long while, Merry just laying there, gently rubbing Pippin's shoulder with the palm of his hand, mulling things over in his mind while he watched the room be illuminated by flashes of lightning, counting the seconds until the thunder boomed to figure out how close or far away it was. Pippin shuffled his legs around and turned his face upwards, laying a small kiss on Merry's jaw bone. Merry looked down into Pippin's large, sleep-filled eyes and smiled, tilting his face down until their lips connected for a moment, and Merry pulled away to nuzzle himself down, closer to Pippin, placing his cheek on Pippin's forehead.
"What're you thinking about, Merry?"
Merry thought about the question for a moment and shrugged against Pippin. "I don't know, I'm just thinking."
"Merry?"
"Yes, Pippin?"
"What do storms make you think of?"
Now Merry felt puzzled. First, he thought of reasons why Pippin would be asking such a question – was he trying to hint at something, or was Pippin genuinely curious as to what Merry thought of when he thought of storms? Then he thought of what Pippin might have thought of when a storm was going on. Then he thought about storms, and how he liked to watch the bolts of lightning dance across the sky, how he loved to count the seconds between the flash and the boom of thunder. He loved waiting for the thunder.
He was sort of stumped, and really didn't know how to answer Pippin's question, and so he answered it with another question.
"What do they make you think of, Pip?"
"They make me think of the world," Pippin answered almost immediately, his voice still thick with sleep, sort of groggy. "like how some people are nice and bright and wonderful, but they're usually followed around by big, nasty monsters, thundering around and trying to hurt them."
Merry laughed, turning his eyes down to find Pippin's eyes closed again, his face straight and showing no emotion. "Really?" Merry inquired.
"No, not really. But you asked, so I answered."
And now Merry felt dumb for over thinking the question Pippin had asked and remained quiet while another flash of lightning illuminated the sky, thus the room, and Merry counted eight seconds before the thunder boomed, this time not loud enough to shake the windows.
The storm was moving away.
Pippin started tracing circles over the skin of Merry's stomach with his finger, humming a song Merry wasn't sure he was familiar with. But he listened, closing his eyes as Pippin's hand ran across his skin, and he let himself be lost in the melody of the song.
The air around them had started to thin out, the storm moving away and the rain lessening its pattering on the windowsill. And as the rain faded, so did Pippin's song, as Merry's mind started to, one last time, mull over the question that Pippin had asked him.
What did storms make Merry think of?
At first, Merry thought that storms made him think of storms – reasonable enough logic there. But then his mind started to lean in another direction, one that made him wonder why he thought that way. Storms made him think of Pippin and himself.
Thunder and lightning worked in a weird way, Merry thought. You could have thunder without the lightning, but if you saw lightning, you'd have to hear thunder afterwards. That was just how it worked out, how nature made thunder and lightning coincide. One could be independent of the other, but the other was always dependent on the one. And that's how Merry felt Pippin and himself were like.
You could have Pippin without Merry, and he'd be fine, happy, drunk off of what surrounded him, enjoying life and being pleased. But you would never see Merry without Pippin nearby. Merry couldn't live without Pippin, the two were like a mug and beer – without the mug, you couldn't drink the beer, and without the beer, well, you'd just have a mug in your hand.
When you saw Merry, you'd always expect to see Pippin following right behind him, on his heels, smiles on their faces and laughs in their throats. When you heard Merry's voice, you'd wait for Pippin's right afterwards, to laugh, answer, or comment on what Merry had said. When someone talked about Merry, you'd always wait for them to mention what it was that Merry had done or was going to do with Pippin, and then you'd wager on what would happen to either or both of them – or, at least, that's the way Merry felt like everyone thought.
Merry smiled and poked Pippin in the arm. "You know what storms make me think of, Pip?"
"Hm?"
"You."
And Merry thought about it some more, and decided it was true. When he woke up in the morning, when he ate, when he went to bed at night, he was always waiting for Pippin to be there, too, just like when he saw a flash of lightning and he waited for the thunder.