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Rusty loves sleeping. Maybe much as he loves eating and bathing in the sunlight outside, when the weather allows it.
On the other hand, Rusty always hated waking up. Not because he was tired, but often because he didn’t have something to do during his day.
Eating and laying in the sun aren’t exactly very exciting hobbies, especially when you do it all the time.
The days he jumped out of bed right after waking up, were heist days.
The prospective of seeing Danny, Reuben and Saul again was more than thrilling, especially when it involved planning something illegal.
But that isn’t often.
So, the boredom takes over most of the time.
Sometimes he goes clubbing, trying to look for a spark of something he lost long ago—if he ever found it.
If something happens, it only last for a night, sometimes even less. It’s difficult to have a deep and meaningful bound with someone who’s just looking for some fun during a night out, or who only cares about his good looks.
And even if he looks like it, Rusty doesn’t want something cheap and with no intend of lasting.
Not anymore.
The arguments, the sleepless nights, the guilt, the void between him and those people he tried to be serious with, all of this took a toll on him.
Maybe it’s because he’s getting older, but what Rusty wants now is comfort and stability.
Something he barely had in his life of constant inconsistency.
He tried traveling, too. To pass time and cure his boredom, especially when Danny’s in jail. But he already went everywhere he wanted, because after his first job, when he was still a kid with so much to learn, he wanted to indulge in all of his wants.
So, in the span of three years, he’s been everywhere he wanted.
But as much as he loved his trips, and as he still appreciates it when he goes to Spain or Italy sometimes, going to sleep in those crisp, clean and luxurious hotel sheets still isn’t amazing, and hated waking up.
Because every time he woke up, he was reminded that he wasn’t at home—but when was he ever ?
A house or an apartment isn’t always a home.
Even at his ‘home’—more like one of his numerous houses—he hates waking up, because he never feels like he belongs in this bed.
He never found the perfect place to call his home and to settle in for good.
He never found the place that he never wanted to leave, or where he felt at ease.
Even the monoï interior spray he likes so much doesn’t calm his nerves when he’s anxious, unable to fall asleep when he’s god knows where, thoughts spiraling in his head.
That would often ruin his nights.
He may love sleeping, but the poor baby has insomnia. And when he wakes up, he’s already bored and anxious.
But right now, Rusty Ryan is fast asleep, eyes closed, features peaceful, and his mouth slightly open. He hums as he starts to wakes up, a small smile starting to form on his face as he gains consciousness.
And now, his favorite part of the day.
Waking up. But next to her.
The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is her face as she’s in a deep slumber. Relaxed eyebrows, a bit of drool on her pillow, limbs stretched out, taking up most of the place in the double bed.
The first thing he smells is her scent, clinging to the sheets, the pillows, her skin, his skin—the only one his nose process.
The first thing he feels is absolute comfort, due to the pleasant sensation of her soft skin against his.
He gets closer to his beloved, his arms embracing her with all the delicacy of a lover. As he does so, her soft hair tickle his jaw.
Talking about hair, he reaches up to brush away from her forehead a stray strand of wild strands, before burying his face in her neck, and inhaling.
What he loves about waking up next to her, especially in her house, is that he’s smothered by her.
By her body, by her scent, by her being.
In her house, everything is so unique and so undeniably her. From the fancy princess bed with the white draperies to the comfy blankets and orange curtains, giving that gentle glow when the light hits just right, to the smell of her favorite ambiance perfume, down to the all the silly trinkets and out of the ordinary furniture, like a leaf shaped coffee table, a piano cd rack, a Pink-panther lamp in the living room and that stupid Lego toilet paper holder in the restroom—everything here is typically her.
Even if it can seem silly or overwhelming, or even ‘too much’—says people with a white, minimalist designer house—Rusty adores it. It feels cozy, and everywhere he looks, he finds comfort and amusement in every little piece of her that she put in her place.
Living in her house feels like being inside her embrace, these four walls tinted of her personality and her warmth.
He never felt like he belonged somewhere or felt at home quite like here.
He never feels more at home and at ease than in her little sanctuary, especially in the mornings, when he’s like that, in her bed, body pressed against hers, peppering little and gentle kisses all over her neck and face, not wanting to really wake her up but still wanting to show affection.
If he felt less clingy, he would have gotten out of bed and made breakfast in bed for his precious one, but today, he prefers cuddling her and pressing his face just between her soft chest.
As he sighs, he wonders.
Is there any better place to be than right here, holding the person he loves the most, on a gentle autumn morning while it’s raining outside, buried between her softness and a pile of warm blankets, while she wakes up and the first thing she does is kiss his head and runs her fingers through his hair ?
As she starts whispering sweet words in his ears, Rusty stops any more reflection on that subject, already knowing the answer.
No. This is where he belongs.
She’s the best thing that ever happened to him.
This woman—this amazing, gorgeous, kind, patient, funny, gentle and sassy at the same time woman—is his home and his reason to wake up.
When she heard soft sniffles, she held him even tighter, arm wrapping around his waist and forcing his head to bury itself in her neck.
“Are you crying, Rust ?”