It doesn’t smell right.

That’s the problem.

It’s three a.m. and Jihoon is lying in the bed he shares with Taeil, staring unerringly at the wall. He never sleeps well on international trips; never has and presumably never will.

He’s been prescribed sleep medication and soothing teas and even a mix cd of soft rain forest sounds gifted to him by Yookwon, but nothing has worked so far.

He even knows why, is the thing.

It’s the smell.

The dorm smells like sweat and new leather and dish soap and seven different brands of cologne, and it’s like a salve for Jihoon’s nerves. It’s a little intense at first, admittedly, but it’s something that over time becomes something of a security blanket. Like the taste of his favorite snack or the hook of his favorite song, Jihoon identifies the dorm’s scent with safety, with relaxation and the ability to unwind and sleep in peace.

Hotels and youth hostels are in so way associated with security.

They reek like hospitals, like grime sprayed over with flowery, ultra-sanitary perfume.

It’s an odor that turns Jihoon’s stomach and sets his skin prickling, and sleep evades him just as it always has in these places.

He has no choice but to deal, and that’s what he does.

He sits quietly in the dark, Taeil’s soft breathing and Jiho and Kyung’s combined snuffling in the room’s other bed the soundtrack to his misery. His pillow smells like disinfectant and the comforter like cheap detergent, and it’s nearly cloying in the autumn stillness.

Jihoon suddenly, embarrassingly, finds tears pricking at his eyes.

He turns onto his back fitfully, wiping at his cheeks harshly. He sniffles, loud enough that Jiho snorts in his sleep, agitated, and Jihoon starts to face the wall again, shoulders hunched and trembling in unseen mortification.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder and a soft shushing in his ear, and of course the tears just start to come faster at this, of course they do.

"What’s wrong, Jihoonie?" 

Taeil’s voice is rough but soft, and Jihoon can feel his eyes on him, though he doesn’t turn to meet them.

He ignores the tear he can feel making a slow trail down his right cheek in favor of staring up at the popcorn ceiling. He shrugs, not trusting his voice.

"Tell me."

Taeil is shaking his shoulder gently, slowly, and Jihoon can’t help but look over at him.

Taeil’s eyes and lips are swollen with sleep and shiny without his makeup, and Jihoon thinks it makes him look like a child, soft and young in the nearly nonexistent light filtering in under the door leading to the hallway. His hair is a mess, freshly washed and not brushed, flat on one side and mussed on the other. He looks concerned but not oppressively so, like he’d expected this to happen but is still in no way happy about it.

Jihoon relents and turns to face him.

He says nothing, just looks into Taeil’s eyes, a bit of stiff, starched pillow case obscuring Taeil’s left eye from view. Taeil pushes it down.

Jihoon makes no attempt to speak, tears glittering faintly on his cheeks, but his socked foot finds Taeil’s under the covers.

Taeil reaches out and wipes the sticky tracks away with the rough pad of his thumb, swiping it down over Jihoon’s eyelids and nose where the skin is still dry and smooth.

Taeil hums, urging him to talk, and Jihoon wants to clear his throat but settles on humming back before opening his mouth.

"I miss home," He whispers.

His voice is thick and low, lower than normal, but Taeil doesn’t flinch away from the abrasive sound.

He snuggles closer.

He wiggles over, kicking at the covers until he has enough room to throw a leg over Jihoon’s, an arm coming up to cradle Jihoon’s head. He scoots until he’s just a bit higher on the mattress than Jihoon, cuddling Jihoon’s head into his chest and kissing the crown of his skull.

He says nothing, but Jihoon wastes no time his wrapping the small body in his own arms, pulling him close, nearly smothering himself in the fabric of Taeil’s shirt.

Then he gets it.

Taeil smells like home.

He smells like sweat and new leather and dish soap and his own spicy cologne; like nights spent crammed together on cramped twin beds and kisses stolen between cat naps.

And he knew. He knew why Jihoon was so homesick, knew without even asking.

Jihoon takes a deep breath in through his nose, gripping handfuls of cotton cloth in his fists as his lungs fill with his own special security blanket.

The next time Taeil presses a feather light kiss to his hair, Jihoon is fast asleep.