The fight was epic but Bill for the life of him couldn't remember what it was about. Started about some stupid domestic thing, one of those little squabbles he and Saul had been having in the past few weeks since they finally decided to move in together.
Except Saul had never stormed out and vowed never to come back after any of those.
Bill stalked around the kitchen, tossing the remnants of his frozen dinner, container and all, into the sink and stacking empty beer bottles into a neat row on the counter. He tried not to imagine Saul propped up on a bar stool, gesturing with a bottle at some hot young thing sitting next to him.
That thought, depressing as it was, was better than the image of the love of his life slinking back to Ellen and saying he'd made a mistake.
Bill poured himself a glass of Ambrosia from the bottle sitting on the table and stomped up the stairs to their bedroom. Already, this place felt more like a home than the one he'd shared with CarolAnne ever had. He could hardly ignore the voice in the back of his head wondering if their dream had gone wrong so quickly.
He brushed his teeth, noting fondly that Saul had once again left his toothbrush on the counter rather than in the holder, and shed his pants and tanks. He swiped up Saul's boxers, flung on the floor near the shower, and tossed them into the laundry chute as well.
He knew sleep would be impossible but he was determined to try. Frak Saul and his dramatics. He would be back.
He had to come back.
Bill managed maybe fifteen minutes in the bed before he couldn't stand it any longer. Saul's smell, the musty scent of their earlier lovemaking, invaded his nostrils and brought tears to his eyes.
He grabbed his blanket and pillow and made the command decision to sleep on the couch. He made it halfway down the stairs before turning around to go back for Saul's ratty old pillow instead.
That thing had been the subject of one of those domestic spats, a small, playful one. Bill joked the damn thing was probably a biohazard. Saul huffed and recounted the story, one Bill had heard many times before, about how he'd had it since his freighter days and couldn't sleep without it. Bill said something about having to accept yet another old relic in his bed and the pillow was forgotten, shoved on the floor, when Saul growled and pounced on him.
Bill's lips curved into a sad smile as he curled up with it and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. Somehow here Saul's scent was a comfort and he soon found himself drifting off to sleep.
He woke to the sound of a key in the front door. He held his breath, staring at the entry way as he waited for Saul to enter the dim room. When he did, Bill was surprised to see he wasn't stumbling at all.
"Hey."
His voice sounded rough, liked he'd been smoking.
"You decided to come back?"
Saul seemed to be sizing him up and for a long moment he didn't move or speak.
"Came back for my pillow. You know I can't sleep without it."
Bill drew in a sigh of relief. This was Saul's version of an apology. This was his way of asking to come back.
"I don't know, I've got pretty fond of this pillow."
He punched it lightly and settled back down on the couch.
"Thought you didn't want an old relic in your bed."
Bill grunted and Saul walked over so he was standing above him.
"Well, if you've changed your mind, would ya consider accepting one more?"
Saul held out his hand and Bill saw that it was shaking. No matter where he'd been, Saul was just as afraid they'd frakked it all up as he was.
Bill grabbed Saul's hand to stand and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Always."