Rust notices, in between waves of silence when his thoughts capture him and pull him away from the shore of the present, that Will's consciousness is gradually fading. Sleepiness also comes in waves over him, like hypnotic lulls between small bursts of responsiveness.
The world works in waves, patterns. Heartbeats, the pattern of wave crashes, the rise and fall of the sun... It's natural. Exhaustion finally grasps Will and pulls him under the surface of sleep...
And Rust doesn't mind.
The guy needs it; he has been shy about sharing details about his mental health, but apparently sleepwalking hasn't stopped with the encephalitis and brainwashing. Something about turning over to setting his empty coffee mug on the table and seeing Will slumped and still in the chair comes to Rust in the form of mild relief.
Rust thinks he's going to spend the next couple of hours trapped within wakefulness -- he grabs books, his notepad, case notes, and sprawls across the floor just at the foot of his bed, intending to work.
It's maybe an hour later that he catches himself drifting. Sleep, real sleep beckons; it confounds the detective, almost draws ire from him as he forces his eyes open to re-read the same sentence in a well-worn paperback book another three times.
It must be Will's breathing: that deep, slow rhythm of lung expansion and contraction. It's the only sound in the room once the rain finally relents and lightens up to a gentle, crystalline tapping outside. Rust's eyes close heavily, lids dropped like two solid anchors into an ocean.
All right. Rust will reap the side-effects of Will's presence, asleep in his chair beside his bed. He can practically hear Marty's voice in his head, nagging at him like always, telling him how he needs to 'take better care of himself,' and yet, Rust feels much less reluctant to oblige than usual.
The lights in the apartment are out, save for the bedside lamp, when Rust drops down quietly onto his mattress. He lets his body relax, feeling aches and tension in his back that had been easier to ignore while he upright and much more awake. He lets his body take half a minute to sink into the bed, let the bobbing-rhythm of water-like waves rock his mind to and fro. Shit, he might actually get some real sleep tonight.
The stretch of silence, all in sound and air and gravity, is like a bubble so gently rupturing. For an unnaturally extended moment, nothing but the hum of space and waves dulls out every sound, until the clattering of equally tired raindrops slowly punctures the barrier of nothingness. Eyes heavily lidded and eerily still, Rust finally reaches up with incredible precision, fingers silently wrapping around the rotating swatch for the lamp. With a grinding snap, the light goes out.
The suddenness of a sound has Rust launching back into awareness -- he doesn't know if he's sitting up yet or not, only that he can simply feel his mind is spinning as it tumbles out of sleep. He has no idea how long his eyes were shut, but it seems like it was only a few seconds, given that his skin hasn't even had time to fully warm the surface of the bed where he's been laying.
Will's voice speaks his name, and Rust's hand clamors back for the light switch. "What-- what, what is it," he groans low and tiredly, rolled onto an elbow and looking around the room. Will sounded startled, did he hear a noise outside--?
The response he gets is an apology, for falling asleep. Rust sits on his elbow and stares at Will with glazy eyes, looking as though he's trying to fight being annoyed, and is only half-successful. "It's...fine. That's what bedrooms're for." Insert humorous counter-argument that this is actually the living room, yeah yeah, Rust knows.
A deep breath hisses into Rust's lungs as he leans back, free hand scrubbing at his eyes. "If I was really an asshole, I'd 've made you drive home... You're prob'ly safer sleeping here for a few hours 'fore you get back on the road."
no subject
The world works in waves, patterns. Heartbeats, the pattern of wave crashes, the rise and fall of the sun... It's natural. Exhaustion finally grasps Will and pulls him under the surface of sleep...
And Rust doesn't mind.
The guy needs it; he has been shy about sharing details about his mental health, but apparently sleepwalking hasn't stopped with the encephalitis and brainwashing. Something about turning over to setting his empty coffee mug on the table and seeing Will slumped and still in the chair comes to Rust in the form of mild relief.
Rust thinks he's going to spend the next couple of hours trapped within wakefulness -- he grabs books, his notepad, case notes, and sprawls across the floor just at the foot of his bed, intending to work.
It's maybe an hour later that he catches himself drifting. Sleep, real sleep beckons; it confounds the detective, almost draws ire from him as he forces his eyes open to re-read the same sentence in a well-worn paperback book another three times.
It must be Will's breathing: that deep, slow rhythm of lung expansion and contraction. It's the only sound in the room once the rain finally relents and lightens up to a gentle, crystalline tapping outside. Rust's eyes close heavily, lids dropped like two solid anchors into an ocean.
All right. Rust will reap the side-effects of Will's presence, asleep in his chair beside his bed. He can practically hear Marty's voice in his head, nagging at him like always, telling him how he needs to 'take better care of himself,' and yet, Rust feels much less reluctant to oblige than usual.
The lights in the apartment are out, save for the bedside lamp, when Rust drops down quietly onto his mattress. He lets his body relax, feeling aches and tension in his back that had been easier to ignore while he upright and much more awake. He lets his body take half a minute to sink into the bed, let the bobbing-rhythm of water-like waves rock his mind to and fro. Shit, he might actually get some real sleep tonight.
The stretch of silence, all in sound and air and gravity, is like a bubble so gently rupturing. For an unnaturally extended moment, nothing but the hum of space and waves dulls out every sound, until the clattering of equally tired raindrops slowly punctures the barrier of nothingness. Eyes heavily lidded and eerily still, Rust finally reaches up with incredible precision, fingers silently wrapping around the rotating swatch for the lamp. With a grinding snap, the light goes out.
The suddenness of a sound has Rust launching back into awareness -- he doesn't know if he's sitting up yet or not, only that he can simply feel his mind is spinning as it tumbles out of sleep. He has no idea how long his eyes were shut, but it seems like it was only a few seconds, given that his skin hasn't even had time to fully warm the surface of the bed where he's been laying.
Will's voice speaks his name, and Rust's hand clamors back for the light switch. "What-- what, what is it," he groans low and tiredly, rolled onto an elbow and looking around the room. Will sounded startled, did he hear a noise outside--?
The response he gets is an apology, for falling asleep. Rust sits on his elbow and stares at Will with glazy eyes, looking as though he's trying to fight being annoyed, and is only half-successful. "It's...fine. That's what bedrooms're for." Insert humorous counter-argument that this is actually the living room, yeah yeah, Rust knows.
A deep breath hisses into Rust's lungs as he leans back, free hand scrubbing at his eyes. "If I was really an asshole, I'd 've made you drive home... You're prob'ly safer sleeping here for a few hours 'fore you get back on the road."