Georg came into the hotel suite he was sharing with Gustav to find his roommate face-down on his bed, spread-eagle. The bassist halted in the entryway, then slowly set down the bag he was carrying.
 
"Uhm…" he murmured tentatively, not sure if Gustav was asleep. He didn't think so, Gustav didn't sleep on his stomach. "Gustav?"
 
"Mmf," came the thickly muffled reply; it sounded like the bed had responded. Gustav raised his head a bit and turned it to look over at Georg. The drummer had a look of absolute bliss on his face. "Hey."
 
"Hi. Are you alright?"
 
"Fantastic. Why?" He smiled softly at Georg and then went nose-down again in the duvet. Georg felt incredulity crawl across his face and wondered fleetingly if Gustav was high. He mentally smacked himself for the thought. May as well wonder if Gustav dressed in drag and danced a chorus line in his off-hours; that would be less out-of-character than drug use.
 
"Because it looks like you're having sex with the bed."
 
There was a thoughtful pause. "No, that would look like this," the muffle said, and then the bed rocked gently as Gustav half-heartedly humped it. Georg burst out laughing.
 
"Alright, alright! Should I leave you two alone for a minute?"
 
"Hardly," Gustav snorted, stilling and rolling a bit to the side to gaze sleepily over at Georg. "It's just that I think this is the nicest bed I've ever lain on. And whatever fabric softener they use smells amazing. It reminds me of home for some reason."
 
"Yeah?"

"Yeah, come here and smell this!"
 
Georg stifled a laugh but complied, moving across the plush carpeting to perch on the side of the bed. He gave it an experimental bounce; he hadn't had time yet to even try out his own bed. Gustav was right, it really was nice. "Damn, it's really soft…"
 
"No, seriously, get down here and smell this blanket. It reminds me of…" Gustav inhaled deeply against the bedcover. "Either my mom's detergent or your mom's, I can't tell which."
 
Georg laughed and stretched out alongside Gustav on the bed, facing him. He pressed his nose to the bed just inches away from Gustav's and breathed. "Mmm…" he sighed out. "My mom's."
 
"Is it?"
 
"Yeah…smells like heather." Georg drew in another deep breath, suddenly understanding why Gustav was so obsessed. One smell of this stuff just wasn't enough; it was addictive, triggering tiny explosions of half-formed memories in Georg's mind that he couldn't quite reach, kept chasing by taking more and deeper breaths.
 
"See? I told you you needed to smell it," Gustav murmured, and Georg opened his eyes to find his friend's face a bit closer than it had been before. The bassist smiled fondly.
 
"Seems weird we'd smell something familiar here. We're a million miles away from home."
 
Gustav nodded, his eyes distant for a moment before they focused and wandered about the lavish hotel room. It was without question one of the very nicest hotels they'd ever stayed in, which was certainly saying something, all wood and marble and hand-laid tile, delicate stucco plaster and golden light fixtures that looked suspiciously real. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere and the bedsheets were folded crisply and with arrow-straight precision. Fresh flowers and fruit on the table in the lounge had to have been shipped in just moments before their arrival, because when they had first walked into the suite it had smelled of apples and sunflowers. Just outside the enormous windows of their rooms New York City seethed and fumed in damp grey chill, loud and harrying and dirty, but wrapped up in this room it was easy to forget for a few moments that they were, indeed, very far from home in the middle of one of the world's biggest cities, surrounded by people who did not know them or care about them or even speak their language.
 
Georg could see the same thread of thought wending its way through Gustav's tired brown eyes. The older boy settled himself more comfortably in the bed, snuggling down in the comforter that smelled like a little house in a little town in a country that Georg had never thought of as "little" until he'd seen this one, half a world away.
 
"I vote we stay in tonight," Georg finally broke the silence. "Bill's already angling for a night on the town, but jet lag's killing me. I haven't even recovered from the trans-Atlantic, yet."
 
Gustav's lip curled at the corner. "I second that vote," he said, and, as if on cue, a yawn interrupted him. "Plus it's too fucking cold out. And this bed is really warm and soft and smells like Germany. I don't think I'm going to move all night."
 
Georg laughed helplessly, and it dissolved in a pathetic groan. "Damn, I'll have to move if I want to get to my own bed…"
 
Suddenly it seemed that the last remaining handful of inches of bedspace between Georg's nose and Gustav's had just dissipated into thin air, and Gustav's sigh tickled Georg's cheek. "Well I vote you don't bother with going to your bed. Just stay here." Gustav glanced at Georg up-from-under long eyelashes, looking a bit sheepish. Georg laughed, again, this time just an amused rush of air out of his body. He could feel his smile crinkle his eyes, and gently bumped Gustav's nose with his own.
 
"You vote that, do you?"
 
"Yes. I do."
 
"Well then," Georg whispered, his lips just brushing Gustav's as he spoke, "I'll second that."
 
"Good," Gustav was barely able to mumble before Georg pressed their mouths together.
 
Less than ten minutes later, the two of them had fallen asleep, curled up facing each other on top of the pristine bedclothes, mouths held so close together that they shared deep, heather-scented breaths between them and slept all the more soundly for it.