Home
Title: Home
Pairing: MinKhun
Genre: fluff
Rating: PG
Summary: Home has never been one specific place, but one specific person.
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The blanket is warm, almost suffocating. Nichkhun rolls over and makes sure the blanket is covering his head-covering everything from his toes to his blonde hair. He smiles to himself as he basks in the feeling of being safe, cocooned in a down-feather coverlet.
It is a gift from home, and he cherishes it. When he lies here like this, half-asleep, he breathes in deeply and he feels as if he were back in Thailand. He can smell the spices from the foods his mother cooked that settled into the fabric. He likes that his mother made the coverlet herself, that it is not store-bought, because then it would smell only of the plastic it had been stored in.
And so he closes his eyes and imagines home and he can almost feel it.
There is movement under the covers, and a warm hand-hotter than the stagnant air beneath the coverlet-slides up his back.
Nichkhun rolls over and settles against the warmth-it crawls atop him, covering him, smothering him with the heat of skin and the smell of shampoo and sweat. And this new heat surrounds him as a puff of air brushes his ear and tickles him, “Good morning.” The voice is husky with sleep, scratchy like a cat’s purr.
And Nichkhun smiles wider.
He is not in Thailand. His mother is not downstairs cooking him breakfast. He is in Korea.
But he is with Minho…and because of that, Nichkhun feels very much at home.
Pairing: MinKhun
Genre: fluff
Rating: PG
Summary: Home has never been one specific place, but one specific person.
---
The blanket is warm, almost suffocating. Nichkhun rolls over and makes sure the blanket is covering his head-covering everything from his toes to his blonde hair. He smiles to himself as he basks in the feeling of being safe, cocooned in a down-feather coverlet.
It is a gift from home, and he cherishes it. When he lies here like this, half-asleep, he breathes in deeply and he feels as if he were back in Thailand. He can smell the spices from the foods his mother cooked that settled into the fabric. He likes that his mother made the coverlet herself, that it is not store-bought, because then it would smell only of the plastic it had been stored in.
And so he closes his eyes and imagines home and he can almost feel it.
There is movement under the covers, and a warm hand-hotter than the stagnant air beneath the coverlet-slides up his back.
Nichkhun rolls over and settles against the warmth-it crawls atop him, covering him, smothering him with the heat of skin and the smell of shampoo and sweat. And this new heat surrounds him as a puff of air brushes his ear and tickles him, “Good morning.” The voice is husky with sleep, scratchy like a cat’s purr.
And Nichkhun smiles wider.
He is not in Thailand. His mother is not downstairs cooking him breakfast. He is in Korea.
But he is with Minho…and because of that, Nichkhun feels very much at home.