Even the way he slept was neat, Grell noted. Neat, but stylish. Lying on his back, legs together, one arm by his side, the other curved upwards, his hand resting just above his head. His face was relaxed, his expression no different than the one he wore when he was awake. It was almost as if he had merely closed his eyes for a second. Grell smiled. He himself was lying on his front, his arms wrapped around his pillow, one leg brought up beside him so his foot rested lightly against William's knee. He wiggled his toes. It was an odd feeling, being in William's bedroom. It was dark in a black way, rather than dark in an absence-of-light way. The four poster bed and it's silk sheets were unfamiliar. Comfortable, but unfamiliar. They were just... not his. ("I'm never going to yours again, Sutcliff. The mess is atrocious." Will had complained.)

It was a room that suited William so well. The hard oak floors, the black walls ~and the silvery-grey pattern of a vine that trailed up the wall opposite the window~, the neat desk with organised files of paperwork, the wardrobe filled with numerous black suits ~that looked the same to Grell, even though Will insisted that each one was unique~, the bookcase ordered neatly by genre ~and then alphabetically by author's surname~. It was an elegant room. Elegant in a masculine way, like the man that occupied it.

Which was probably why Grell felt so out of place. His room, his home, was splashed with colour ~red, of course~ and strewn with discarded stuff. ("Everything's in it's proper place. That just happens to be on the floor." He'd insisted to Will.) Paperwork, clothes, books, everything. The only time he saw mess on Will's floor was on one of their nights, because by the time he'd woken, Will had already left for work, having tidied, folded and placed Grell's clothes neatly on the corner of the desk.

It was almost annoying to Grell, the fact that Will always woke early. He was an early bird, whereas Grell was a night owl. Which unfortunately meant that Grell missed the moments where the morning sun hit Will's face, illuminating the calm smile and the inevitable hair ruffled from sleep ~ and the night before~. At least that's how he thought of it. The one factor that seemed to make up for the loss of the mornings was the nights. The times where he got to watch Will fall asleep. The times he got to hear his breathing steadily get heavier ~Will was insistent that he never snored, although even if he did, Grell would probably find it endearing~ until he closed his eyes. Always neat, his eyes fixed on the ceiling blankly ~unlike Grell, who watched Will every second he could~ until they closed.

During the working day, too, they had their differences. Will's policy seemed to be 'deny everything', whereas Grell found it better to share his troubles -and gossip, of course- with those he could trust not to repeat them. ("If this gets out, Sutcliff, it's not just your job you'll lose." Will had threatened.) Their offices differed ~duh~, Will's was much like his bedroom, all wooden floors and tidy oak furniture, with a small black fireplace along the big wall, while Grell's was just plain. He hadn't bothered decorating, because he'd figured that with Will as boss he could get fired at any moment, and when he was finally sure his job was safe he tended to spend more time in Will's than his own ("What are you doing here again, Sutcliff?") anyway, so he'd put it aside as pointless. There were white walls, a grimy grey carpet, and a cheap pine desk covered in unfinished paperwork. ("Sutcliff!".)

Also, Will never let anything slip. Not even a 'that's not what you said last night' ~which seemed to be Grell's favourite line, much to Will'a annoyance~ passed his lips at work. Whereas Grell loved stirring it up. Of course, no one believed him ~he knew that if they did Will would have his head on a silver platter~ because he'd never been secretive about what he wanted from Will ~or Sebas-chan, for that matter~ before it was mutual.

But truth be told, it wasn't their differences that made what they were so fun, in Grell's opinion. The days were alright, the nights amazing, and the late night/early mornings peaceful. But it was the evenings that he really lived for. Hiding in his office until seven ~by that time everyone else had gone home, even the workaholics~ and then sneaking along the corridor to Will's office, and curling up on the leather sofa in front of the fire while Will tutted and worked overtime at his desk ~because cuddling on the sofa was so not Will's style~. Just being able to be there, making small talk and watching Will get flustered and blushing when Grell flirted or made suggestive comments. Seeing Will's face that one time, as he'd opened that present, the red tie ~which he did wear, often, just never to work~. On a separate evening, Grell had kindly taught him to un-knot it with his teeth ("It's a valuable life lesson."), and they'd somehow managed to leave the office very late that evening.

And then there was what came after the evenings. The passion, the fire, the beautiful crimson fireworks. And then the peace and calm of the dark. It got more familiar every time. But to Grell, it was almost the best. But no matter how many times it would happen, Will would still amaze him.

Because even the way he slept was neat.