Shayne and Olivia in domestic bliss
The sun had yet to rise when he strolled into work this morning, and it has long since set by the time he reaches his apartment door. He sheds pieces of his day one by one throughout the entryway, onwards to the living room. By the time he enters the bedroom, removing his jacket along the way, he hears the drip from the faucet in the bathroom.
It has been a long day in an even longer span of months, the weeks running together with startling fervor; each item of clothing falling to the floor feels like it weighs a ton. Some days this job seems to take its toll on their unit more than others, sacrificing their personal lives for the hamster wheel of media, film, upload, repeat, but this particular stretch of late wears on them more than most. He can't even remember when the last time was they went out for dinner that didn't come in paper bags, for crying out loud.
He saunters in the direction of the bathroom, light filtering through the open door, and he leans on the jamb, taking in the site of her for a brief moment, in all their unfiltered domesticity.
(Sometimes, he can't quite believe how easily they slipped into this life, without even meaning to. It's like one day they woke up, and they were just them.)
She made it home first and beat him to the punch in their wind-down routine, leaning over the sink to gently rub the familiar-scented cream over her face to wash away the sins of the day, which offers him a not-unwelcome view of her toned legs in her pajama shorts. Her hair is swept up in a wild, messy knot atop her head, a far cry from the neatly-pulled-back pony tail she donned at work mere hours earlier.
As she wipes away the lather with the washcloth, she reveals a freshness showing her years. It strikes him how intimate the act is, how few people have ever been permitted to see her this unintentionally unguarded.
He has never loved her more.
(This is something he thinks at least ten times a day. Even after all this time, it hits him that she chose him and he chose her and together they can and will take on the world.)
"Like what you see, Shayne?" Olivia asked.
Her teasing snaps him out of his reverie. This could have embarrassed him previously, but he gave up any shame around her years ago.
"What, you got eyes on the back of your head or something? But, yes, actually, I do, Very much" He said.
"You are such a creep" She chuckles, glancing over her shoulder to meet his eyes.
"I can't help it, you're propositioning a helpless bystander, that's not a fair fight" He said.
"Oh, is that what I am doing?" She asked.
He waggles his eyebrows at her, to which she rolls her eyes, then leaves the room, to which she assumes to discard the last of his clothes and slip into his well-worn sweats.
(How had they become so predictable?)
"You guys finish the video?" She yells as she pats her face dry.
"Yeah, Noah's still got one shot left, but we are practically done" He replied.
She hears him rifling through the dresser drawers, as she continues about her nightly ritual, one which has become so practiced between them, she forgets they ever weren't so intertwined.
She senses his presence looming once again, but thinks nothing of it at first. This is what they do, now: shop talk over Listerine, obviously the pinnacle of romance. They may be boring, but they are boring together, and somehow, that never gets dull.
