Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Friday, August 22nd was a weird day.

House had been, as usual, hiding in Wilson’s office to avoid Cuddy and more specifically: clinic hours. He had dealt with about three stupid patients before he lost his patience and frankly just didn’t want to deal with it anymore, so he hid. 

He liked being in Wilson’s office, as not only could he avoid clinic hours there, but he could also annoy Wilson, which was certainly a bonus. He sat on Wilson’s desk, extending his bad leg as much as he could as that tended to provide some relief (although minimal), and played games on his Gameboy.

He also made sure to talk a lot, as he knew that Wilson was clearly busy with some paperwork and distracting him was pretty fun. Monster trucks were obviously a recurring topic in their conversations, especially considering House had acquired two of possibly the best tickets to the biggest monster truck show in New Jersey and was practically begging Wilson to go with him. House was not particularly keen on begging, but he would for monster trucks (monster trucks are cool and thus worth it).

“I will go with you,” Wilson agreed after a bit of convincing, “but could you be quiet please? I need to work on this.” He gestured to the paperwork in front of him, giving House an exasperated look.

His tone was serious, and that probably meant that House shouldn’t mess with him… but it was too tempting to not.

“Make me,” House had retorted.

Wilson suddenly yanked him by the tie, bringing their faces so close that their noses nearly touched. He didn’t say anything, he just stared at House with furrowed eyebrows and a stern look on his face.

House wanted to make a gay joke here, but he found that he couldn’t speak. Hell, he could barely even breathe. The only noises that came out of his mouth were very confused sputters.

“Shut up,” Wilson had whispered, and House could practically feel the words on his face.

It was hot.

Fuck.

He had a problem.

Before he could begin screaming at himself internally for allowing himself to be even momentarily attracted to his best friend, he heard the clacking of heels in the hallway.

Shit.

House gasped, looking down at the pager in Wilson’s hand.

“You ratted me out?” He asked, placing a hand on his chest as if incredibly offended.

“Should’ve been quieter,” Wilson shrugged, letting go of House’s tie and leaning back in his chair with a slight grin on his face.

“Asshole,” House grumbled before making his way to the door as fast as he could, attempting to escape before Cuddy arrived, but ultimately being too late.

The door opened just as he was about to reach it, and he was greeted by Cuddy giving him a look that was a mix of disappointment and frustration (a pretty typical Cuddy expression if he was being honest).

“Clinic hours, House,” she reminded him impatiently, all but dragging him out of the room and to the clinic. 

He sighed and decided it best to just accept his fate: having to deal with even more stupid patients.

He was absolutely going to kill Wilson.

-

“How were clinic hours today House?” Wilson asked as he walked into House’s office, smugness written all over his face.

House rolled his eyes in response, flipping him off and going on a rant about all the extra idiots he had to deal with due to Wilson’s “betrayal.”

“Today was just snotty nose after snotty nose after dumb teenager trying to get high off of melatonin,” he groaned, tapping his cane against his foot frustratedly.

“How come you always get the stupidest patients?” Wilson asked, “cause that last one is mildly to severely concerning.”

“Cuddy has it out for me,” House replied, shrugging, and now it was Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Maybe if you actually.. I don’t know.. did your job for once then she wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah I get it,” he sighed, pinching his nose bridge in annoyance. “You two are hanging out too much,” he remarked, “you’re starting to act like her.”

“God forbid I try and convince you to be responsible,” he muttered, eyes rolling once again.

“I’m incredibly responsible,” House shot back, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Wilson frowned.

“Would it kill you to go a single day without being endlessly snarky and sarcastic?”

“Probably, yes.”

The two then made their way to the parking garage, bickering in a way that made everyone who had the misfortune of being in their path incredibly annoyed and mildly uncomfortable.

They then got on their respective vehicles, Wilson with his car and House with his motorcycle, choosing to say their goodbyes despite the fact they were headed to the same apartment.

House let himself think as he sped (just a little over the speed limit) through the city, reflecting on the situation he was now labeling “The Tie Incident of 2006.” 

Why had Wilson chosen to do that of all things??

It had been vaguely (well, a little more than vaguely but whatever) homoerotic, and while it had unfortunately been quite effective, he wasn’t sure why Wilson thought that would've been the case.

It was strange.

The way he himself felt about it was also strange, as he’d been living with Wilson for a while and never found himself attracted to him like that (well technically he had but that was only in dreams or when he was high on Vicodin or drunk, which surely didn’t count).

Right?

Right.

He knew he was bisexual, he’d known that for a while, but he (again) wasn’t attracted to Wilson.

He was very.. well, kind of , sure of that.

…

Maybe he should just stop thinking.

He got home before Wilson did, as usual (House drove a lot faster, much to Wilson’s dismay), and decided to watch some monster truck program on the couch, bad leg sprawled out on the coffee table.

Wilson announced his arrival by swinging the door open and gently setting his bag down on the kitchen table. House turned his head to face him and immediately patted the cushion next to him, offering Wilson a seat.

“Wanna watch this with me?” he asked, pointing at the screen with his cane.

Wilson smiled slightly, nodding and plopping down onto the couch next to House, their knees ever so slightly touching. House handed him one of the two beers that he had placed on the coffee table and smiled as he took a sip.

“Thanks,” Wilson grinned, eyes full of a warmth that House had grown accustomed to, but never fully understood. Wilson was probably the only person to ever look at him like that, and he frankly had no idea why.

Wilson watched in silence as House occasionally rambled on about a certain model being showcased, the two of them slowly drinking away the beer in their bottles. 

It wasn’t too long before the show unfortunately ended and Wilson decided that he was going to go to sleep, forcing House off the couch and laying down on it despite House’s offer to let him sleep in his bed with him (he was joking.. mostly).

House sighed in defeat and made his way to bed, laying down and popping one final Vicodin to help him sleep. 

“Sweet dreams Wilson!” he called out before turning off his lamp. 

He heard some tired grumbles coming from the couch in response, and he couldn’t help but smile (only slightly).

After about an hour of pain-filled tossing and turning, House finally felt his eyes begin to slip shut.

-

“Wilson?” House asked, rubbing his eyes slightly and sitting up.

Wilson was standing at the foot of his bed, an expression on his face that House couldn’t quite read, which was very odd considering Wilson had always been incredibly obvious with his facial expressions.

“Hey,” Wilson said finally, a tone to his voice that did something weird to House’s head.

“..Hey.”

House paused, unsure of what to say for once in his life.

Wilson walked closer in a tentative manner, before gently sitting down next to House in bed.

“Mind if I sleep here?” he asked, a nervous smile on his face.

House was frankly unable to form any coherent sentence at the moment, so he simply nodded in response.

Wilson climbed under the covers, laying on his side in a way that left the two of them face to face.

House was so unbelievably fucked.

Wilson looked so handsome in the dim lighting provided by the moon, the soft light gently cupping his face and glistening within his brown doe-like eyes. House was suddenly hit with an intense urge to place a hand on Wilson’s cheek and feel his skin underneath his fingers. It must’ve been soft.

“House.”

House then became aware that he was staring, incredibly obviously as a matter of fact.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning to face the other direction in hopes to prevent more weird trains of thought such as that one.

Unfortunately it didn’t work however, as he felt a warm hand lightly land on his own, fingers intertwining. 

“Don’t be,” Wilson had finally replied, barely above a whisper. He pressed his forehead gently against House’s shoulder blade, and House yet again found himself unable to breathe.

His hand moved from House’s hand to instead rest on his chest, fingers gliding across the fabric of his shirt. House fucking shivered .

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” Wilson pointed out, and House could practically hear the asshole’s smile in his words, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I-“ House was cut off as Wilson’s other hand gently slipped into his pajama pants, fingers tracing over the now prominent bulge in his boxers. He let out a half-gasp, half-moan that was honestly embarrassing, but he was unable to stop himself.

Lips made their way to the back of his neck, sucking gently, then roughly on his skin, leaving him panting and rolling his eyes in pleasure.

“Is this okay?” Wilson asked, whispering the question into House’s ear before gently nipping at it.

House nodded breathlessly, incredibly confused but not thinking for a second about complaining.

“Turn around.”

House did so immediately and was met with Wilson’s lips on his, and he (despite his better judgement) melted into it instantly. Wilson slipped a hand into his pants again, gently stroking him, before sliding his tongue into House’s mouth, kissing him even harder.

House gasped and moaned between kisses, his hands gripping onto Wilson’s waist as if he would disappear any moment—as if it was just a dream.

Unfortunately for House, it was just a dream.

His eyes shot open and he awoke panting and immediately aware that he was, in fact, incredibly hard.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

As aforementioned, yeah, he’d had some dreams about Wilson before.. but never anything like what he’d just experienced. He frankly was unsure if he’d ever been that turned on in his entire life.

Turned on by his fucking best friend for god’s sake.

Damn it.

He began to fear that he may, in fact, be attracted to Wilson.

Work that day was certainly going to be awkward.

-

Work that day was incredibly awkward.

First off, Wilson immediately approached House in the lobby and began talking to him about some new case: a woman who had been dealing with abdominal pain, weight loss, and fatigue. 

House tried his best to avoid eye contact, “Did you check for ovarian cancer?”

Wilson nodded, “One of the first things we looked for. I think we should check the rest of her body though to rule out any other type.”

“Sounds good,” House agreed, “let me know when you get the results.”

And with that he walked away, sighing out in relief.

For once, he was actually relieved to have clinic duty.

Any sane person would’ve probably tried to actually confront their problems instead of ignoring them, but House was anything but sane, so he opted to ignore them. If he could simply pretend the weird tie incident and the (even weirder) dream didn’t happen, then everything would be fine and go back to normal.

He was sure of it.

Well… mostly sure.

..Okay maybe only partially, but whatever.

As he began to examine the first idiot, he quickly discovered that the “tumor” on his back was simply a cyst (and not even that big of one at that), and was immediately reminded why he hated doing this so much.

After going through his usual routine of scaring and bullying the patient before telling them what was actually wrong, the patient left and almost immediately Wilson entered. 

“What was up with that one?” Wilson asked with a grin, shutting the door behind him.

“A cyst,” House deadpanned, “he thought it was a tumor.”

Wilson furrowed his brow, “How?”

House shrugged, “Almost sent him to you just to freak him out.”

Wilson rolled his eyes before handing House the test results, “Do no harm,” he reminded.

House shrugged in response, “Hm, no cancer?”

Wilson shook his head, “Nope, better get your staff together.”

House looked over the results again, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he began to think.

“Good luck,” Wilson smiled, patting him on the shoulder and leaving.

House’s face felt warm. Really warm.

He was so fucked.

Chapter Text

“Alright, so what could potentially cause all these symptoms?” House asked the ducklings, who immediately began shooting out answers (even ones that made no sense—typical).

It took a minute before Cameron finally suggested the possibility of Celiac disease, which House thought could’ve very well been probable.

“Makes sense,” he said, “do a blood test to make sure.”

The ducklings then ran off to go to the test, leaving House (thankfully) alone. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, tossing his ball up into the air and catching it repeatedly as a method of distraction.

Don’t think about Wilson.

Wait.

Did thinking about not thinking about Wilson count as thinking about Wilson?

…

Probably.

Shit.

Speaking of Wilson, the monster truck festival they were going to together  was tonight, which made House dread being at work even more than usual.

He was very ready to see the monster trucks.

..And Wilson.

He smacked himself in the forehead with the ball, sighing in annoyance at this (somewhat) newfound attraction.

“..Uh, House??”

Cameron had returned with the lab results in her hand, but was (understandably) giving House an incredibly concerned look.

“Helps me think,” he answered before she could ask. “What are the results?”

“Positive for Celiac disease,” she answered, setting the results down in front of him and giving him a chance to look at them himself.

“Alright then,” he said finally, “go and break the news to her I suppose. No more bread sticks.”

Cameron rolled her eyes and left, taking the results with her as she went to inform the patient of her misfortune.

The patient had been obviously disappointed, but very much relieved that it wasn’t anything deadly as she had feared.

Thankfully it meant that he was almost done for the day, only needing to take on clinic duty for a little bit (a little bit was already too long but whatever).

So after dealing with a couple more idiots, House was entirely free to go home and get ready for his night out with Wilson. Wilson however was busy with some paperwork again and so House passed by his office quickly before leaving.

“Hey Wilson.”

“Hey,” Wilson looked up at him for a moment, grinning slightly, “what’s up? ..Do I need to page Cuddy again?”

“Won’t be necessary, just wanted to tell you to wear something sexy tonight,” he said, shooting Wilson a wink, who simply frowned in response.

“Right. I’ll make sure to borrow one of Cuddy’s tops,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in a typical Wilson fashion.

“Looking forward to it,” House grinned, ignoring Wilson flipping him off as he left the room.

As he drove home, he briefly pictured Wilson in Cuddy’s clothes out of curiosity, but he found it more disturbing than anything.

He looked sexier in his own clothes.

…

Fuck.

-

Speaking of clothes, House was rummaging through his drawers and feeling incredibly conflicted. He tapped his foot on the tile floor beneath him impatiently, annoyed at his brain for not immediately giving him an idea of what to wear.

He sighed, eventually deciding to wear a red button up shirt with his biker jacket, a pair of faded jeans, and the same belt that he always wore. Wilson had often commented on it, jokingly asking if House needed him to buy him another belt, but House would just shrug and decline. He liked that belt and he didn’t exactly see why he would need more, plus, belts don’t exactly get dirty.

He walked into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror for a moment, and he frowned into his reflection. He looked scruffy as usual, and it deeply frustrated him. His eye bags were prominent as ever, his hair scraggly and his skin pale. He sighed deeply, briefly rubbing his eyes as if that would do anything to reverse the damage he had done to himself by consistently getting barely any sleep.

His mind drifted back to Wilson, his pretty brown eyes, soft looking skin, well taken care of hair, sweet pinkish lips-

He smacked himself on the forehead.

Unfortunately that was not an effective enough method at getting his thoughts to stop, and they simply kept going.

Wilson was so handsome, and House scolded himself for even thinking for a moment that the dream he’d had the previous night had been real. 

Plus, Wilson had basically a constant stream of girlfriends and wives, he didn’t like guys like that.

House was very sure of it.

Interrupting his brooding, the front door creaked open and Wilson announced his arrival. 

“House, I’m back,” he called out, “gotta get ready but I shouldn’t take long.”

House took a deep inhale before opening the bathroom door and walking out, finding Wilson standing mere feet away from him.

For a moment, House could’ve sworn he saw Wilson’s eyes dart down and up, but he had to have been imaging it.

He had to have been.

Wilson wasn’t gay.

Again, House was certain.

Wilson smiled at him, but something about it felt off. House wasn’t sure why, but it just was.

He seemed to regain his composure quickly, telling House that he liked his outfit (with a more genuine smile this time), and practically scurrying into the bathroom with his clothes. 

He waited for what felt like a little too long, but Wilson eventually left the bathroom, his eyes looking puffy—he’d been crying.

“Hey Wilson are you alri-“

Wilson nodded far too quickly.

“I- uh.. lost a patient today,” he answered after a short pause, although it didn’t seem even remotely convincing.

House decided to be nice for once and not push him, instead comforting Wilson as if he actually believed him.

“I’m sorry,” House murmured, and unfortunately that was basically the best method of comforting someone that he had.

He was typically really good at reading people, but while he often understood when people were feeling down, he wasn’t really sure how to fix that. He would just stand awkwardly and pat them on the shoulder stiffly or say “sorry” even if he had no involvement with the reason they were sad.

Wilson understood this though it seemed, and he gave House a soft smile (definitely House’s favorite kind from him).

While he appreciated every grin he got out of his friend, the small ones always felt the most genuine somehow, and he liked the way that Wilson’s lips looked when the edges were only slightly curled.

Wilson wiped a remaining tear from his cheek and began walking to the door, leading House with him.

“Ready to go see the monster trucks?” Wilson asked, and House grinned.

“Hell yeah,” he nodded, and Wilson laughed slightly.

As they got to the parking lot, House turned to look over at Wilson and stopped walking.

“Want to ride with me?” House asked, regretting the question as soon as it had left his mouth. He knew full well that doing so would be a mistake as he would likely melt with Wilson’s hands on his waist and breath on his neck for that long, but he imagined Wilson wouldn’t be fond of the motorcycle idea anyway.

Wilson had that weird look on his face again, it was brief, but there. He expectedly declined going on the motorcycle as it was “too dangerous” (House rolled his eyes at that part), but he did offer for House to ride with him in his car.

House sighed, beginning to walk to Wilson’s car.

“Alright, we’ll take the boring vehicle,” House muttered under his breath, and Wilson frowned at him.

“I prefer the term safer.”

House rolled his eyes, “ I drive plenty safe.”

“Uh huh..”

“Yes. I do.”

Wilson laughed, “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten your license revoked at this point, y’know, given all the speeding.”

“Hey, I only speed when I’m late for work.”

Wilson stared at him blankly, the words “but you’re always late for work” remaining unspoken.

“Well, I don’t speed, so we will be much safer with me driving,” Wilson teased.

“Yeah, unless one of your seven evil exes attempts vehicular manslaughter on us during the drive.”

Wilson frowned.

“Funny,” he deadpanned.

“I know,” House grinned smugly, and Wilson groaned in annoyance.

And with that Wilson stepped on the gas, beginning their relatively short drive to the festival.

-

The festival was super crowded despite them having arrived pretty early, so finding a parking space was difficult, but they managed to find one near the entrance eventually.

House practically dragged Wilson to the arena the minute they were done with the insane line out front, a huge grin on his face.

“Come on,” House whisper-shouted, looking back at Wilson and laughing at his eye rolls that were becoming plentiful as of recent, “time for the monster trucks!”

Wilson shot him that same soft smile from before, and he nearly melted.

Shit.

At least the show was about to start, so he was going to have some form of a distraction from the weird, increasingly frequent thoughts.

On their way to the arena, there was a small bar section that House immediately noticed.

“Wilson, there’s a bar,” House announced, grabbing Wilson’s arm and stopping him.

“Yeah I noticed,” Wilson sighed, “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

House rolled his eyes in response.

“Come on, just one beer?” House requested, still holding Wilson’s wrist.

“I assume I’m paying?”

House nodded, giving him an incredibly smug smile.

Wilson groaned in annoyance.

“Fine.”

House dragged him to the bar and Wilson bought a beer for each of them (although quite begrudgingly). They began to sip on them as they made their way to their seats, which thankfully were in the front so they didn’t need to walk up a shit ton of stairs.

House was very much thankful for that as his leg was killing him. He normally would’ve taken another Vicodin despite most definitely having more than he should for the day, but Wilson had been on his ass about that as of late.

House was beginning to worry that Wilson had some weird super-hearing ability that only applied to the noise of him taking out pills from his bottle, as basically whenever he would pop a pill it felt like Wilson was lurking ready to tell him about how bad it was for his liver.

He understood that Wilson was worried about him, and he appreciated it, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. Wilson being right in general was annoying, and unfortunately he often was.

House set his beer down in the cup holder and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips and pulling a lighter from his pocket.

Wilson frowned at that, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes as House lit it.

“House-“

“Yeah, yeah,” House waved him off, “cigarettes are bad, I’m aware. So is Vicodin and that’s never stopped me.”

Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his hand.

“Well if you start excessively coughing or experiencing chest pain, let me know.”

“Will do Mr. Oncologist,” House nodded, saluting and drawing yet another exasperated sigh from his friend.

Before House could annoy him any further, the announcers called out that the show was starting, and House’s lips were immediately sealed.

The show was really cool (as House expected), and the seats especially helped enhance the experience. House would point at individual trucks and turn to Wilson to rant about them, and Wilson just grinned at him softly again. They drank their (honestly pretty shitty) beer and of course made bets as to which truck would win (House won the bet if that wasn’t already obvious).

Bets with Wilson were fun, largely because he usually (always) won them.

Wilson sighed as the truck House predicted would win did, handing him the twenty bucks and feigning irritation, but the grin on his face made it clear he wasn’t really.

“You know more about this than I do, it’s an unfair advantage,” Wilson claimed as House took the money from his palm.

“Too bad,” House shrugged, giving him a teasing grin.

Wilson laughed, and House found himself staring again. Wilson’s soft brown eyes were filled with that familiar warmth, and speckles of amber from the lights danced within them.

Wow.

He quickly looked away, pointing to the cotton candy stand and practically dragging Wilson out of his seat.

“Do I have to pay for this too?” Wilson questioned, crossing his arms as he walked alongside House, slowing down to match his pace.

“Preferably,” House replied, grinning at his friend’s annoyed-but-not-really-annoyed eye roll.

Wilson sighed again, but he ended up buying them two cotton candy cones, much to House’s delight.

They ate them on the way out, heading to Wilson’s car and talking as they did so. House suggested watching one of those weird bird-centered nature documentaries and Wilson agreed with a laugh.

Wilson paused as they reached the car, turning to face House for a moment.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” he said, smiling slightly.

House nodded in acknowledgment before getting into the car with him, the two grinning at each other still as Wilson started the engine.

Chapter Text

“You’ve been acting weird, House.”

House rolled his eyes at that, and Cameron frowned.

“Most people would tell you that’s normal for me,” he responded, deflecting as best as he could. She rolled her eyes in response.

“Weirder than normal,” she clarified, crossing her arms and staring at him as if she wanted him to actually talk about what was going on.

She was right (though he wouldn’t admit it), he had been acting weird as of late. It had been a few days since the ‘Tie Incident of 2006,’ and he was still acting differently—spacing out and staring at Wilson for way too long way too frequently, namely. 

“One of my favorite hookers moved,” he joked, once again deflecting, “I’m in mourning.”

She scoffed, shooting him a glare.

“I know something’s wrong,” she shot back, not budging, “tell me what it is and I’ll leave.”

“Nothing’s wrong-“

“Does it have something to do with Wilson?”

House froze, only for a moment, but she noticed.

“What did he do?” she asked, despite House attempting to lie and tell her that it didn’t have anything to do with a certain doe-eyed oncologist.

“None of your business.”

“..So Wilson is involved.”

“…”

“Don’t we have a case today?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“No, I’m trying to do my job.”

She rolled her eyes at him and handed him the file on his desk, seemingly giving up on getting him to tell the truth.. at least for now anyway.

He looked down at the file, reading that apparently the patient had experienced a sudden onset of chronic leg pain, namely gathering in the knees, 7 months ago, and the pain had yet to subside. Alongside that, he’d also been dealing with hot flashes, chills, fatigue and incontinence.

He stood up and followed Cameron into the differential room, writing the symptoms up on the whiteboard as usual to get them started.

“Alright kids, what do we think?” House asked as he finished writing the last symptom on the board.

“Could be Lyme maybe,” Chase suggested, “the bites aren’t always obvious, he could’ve easily missed it.”

House wrote that on the board, thinking that it could very well be probable.

“Maybe sciatica? He said it’s worse on one side right?” Cameron offered, and House added that as well.

“Spinal stenosis could also be possible though,” added Foreman, and House wrote that down next to the others.

“Alright, get an MRI and some blood tests then,” House ordered, and they scurried off to go do their tests.

-

“My bet’s on Lyme,” Wilson declared, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You wanna bet?” 

Wilson laughed slightly, shaking his head.

“You think it’s Lyme too,” Wilson pointed out, “no point in betting if we both think the same thing.”

House shrugged, taking one of Wilson’s fries and grinning at his annoyed expression.

“Are you ever going to buy your own food?”

“Preferably no.”

Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to look annoyed, but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth made it clear that he wasn’t really.

He was cute.

…

God damn it.

He felt tempted to punch himself in the face after that one, but he didn’t want to look more insane than he usually did in the middle of the cafeteria on a Tuesday afternoon, so he refrained from doing so.

“You should actually talk to the patient this time around,” Wilson said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts (which was much appreciated).

“Just because we’re both crippled?

Wilson shrugged, “Maybe you can share some of your wisdom acquired from dealing with your own chronic pain.”

House sighed, “I would say to take a shit ton of Vicodin, but that’s probably not good advice for a 15 year old.”

“That’s probably not good advice for anybody of any age.”

House rolled his eyes, snatching another fry.

“I’m serious though,” Wilson told him, “you should try to talk to him.”

House scoffed, but he decided he’d do it if only to give Wilson some peace of mind.

-

House opened the door, seeing the patient for the first time. He was a pale (likely anemic) and scrawny kid with light brown hair and an incredibly frustrated expression on his face. He and his mother—a very republican looking woman with bleach blonde hair and far too orange concealer—had clearly been arguing before his arrival. 

They stopped and both turned to look at House, their argument ceasing.

“You don’t have to stop arguing just because I’m here,” House clarified, “Feel free to keep going.”

The mother frowned, “who are you?”

“I’m Dr. House,” he introduced, not even attempting to smile at her. He hadn’t really heard any of the argument but he figured it was a safe bet to take the kid’s side considering the mother looked like she watched FOX News religiously. “What are you arguing about?”

The kid—Finley? Or was it Finnick? He wasn’t sure—groaned and gestured to his leg.

“She’s convinced my leg isn’t getting better because of my negative attitude,” he answered, doing air quotes during the words “negative attitude.”

The mother turned to him, scowling.

“You’re so negative all the time. If you convince yourself that you’ll never get better, you never will.” 

“Being positive won’t help either,” he shot back, frowning.

She was about to say something back to him, but House cleared his throat to prevent that.

“Pain won’t get better just cause you pretend everything’s fine,” House said, frowning deeply. The mom rolled her eyes but she had shut up, which House viewed as a win.

“You probably have Lyme disease, by the way.”

Finnick (he was pretty sure that was the name, as weird as it was) looked up at him, incredibly confused.

“I barely even go outside-“

“I can tell.”

Finnick frowned, but he was clearly stifling a laugh.

“Also, you were in the mountains in North Carolina last August,” House added, “you could’ve definitely gotten it then.”

Finnick sighed, spinning his forearm crutch between his fingers.

“Will the leg stop hurting eventually if that’s the case?” he asked, eyes filled more so with defeat than with hope.

House was silent for a moment.

“Hopefully,” he answered.

Finnick nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Thank you.”

House nodded and left the room.

-

“I talked to the patient,” he announced to Wilson as he walked by him in the hall, “you’re welcome.”

Wilson smiled at him, “What did you say?”

“Told him to do drugs.”

Wilson shook his head, laughing a little.

“I’m sure,” he grinned, “see you later, House.”

And with that he walked away, and House, admittedly, stared for a little too long.

He turned back around to find Cameron staring at him , eyebrows raised practically all the way up to her hairline.

“Oh my God-“

Fuck.

“You love Wi-“

House dragged her into his office, quickly preventing her from yelling what was now his biggest secret to the entire hospital.

“I don’t,” he whispered as he shut the door behind him.

“Everybody lies,” she whispered back.

“…”

“..So how long have you-“

“I don’t.”

Cameron rolled her eyes, scoffing at him.

“I don’t!”

He was starting to get defensive, but frankly he needed to. He couldn’t risk Cameron telling the rest of the ducklings and then probably the whole hospital that he had a dream about Wilson grabbing his dick.

“House, come on,” she groaned, “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

House sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Couple days ago.”

Cameron practically cheered.

“Why are you so excited about this-“

“Chase owes me twenty dollars now,” she answered, grinning.

“What.”

“Oh yeah, we bet on whether or not you were bisexual a couple days after I started working for you.”

“That’s an old bet,” House observed, and she nodded.

“Yup, and he better pay up.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t tell anyone,” House pointed out, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms.

“Relax, I’ll just tell him I got tired of waiting and decided to just ask you if you were. Bye House!”

And with that she practically skittered away, no doubt running to Chase to get his twenty dollars.

House sighed, but his lips were slightly upturned, as it felt oddly.. good to tell somebody he could trust about his most recent thoughts (although he’d never admit it out loud). 

He then made his way to his motorcycle in the parking lot, overhearing Chase sighing and handing Cameron the 20 bucks as he walked through the hallways. He smiled slightly, stifling a laugh at Chase’s annoyed expression.

Good for Cameron,  he thought as he left, thoroughly amused by their antics.

Chapter Text

House entered his apartment, obnoxiously declaring his arrival as usual.

This time however, he wasn’t met with an exasperated reply from Wilson.

Odd.

It was then that House noticed the sound of soft, slow breathing coming from the couch.

He quietly walked around it to find Wilson curled up, clearly deeply in slumber. This was even more strange seeing as it was only 5:30 pm, and Wilson wasn’t the type to nap. 

He got closer and noticed more with each glance: the blanket that had fallen on the floor in front of the couch, the empty beers on the coffee table, and most importantly Wilson’s tear-stained cheeks. 

House fought the urge to wipe the tears that remained away, having to pull his hand back to prevent himself from doing so.

He instead grabbed the blanket from the floor, gently covering Wilson with it.

He couldn’t help but worry about the state Wilson was in, especially considering the whole “crying in the bathroom the other day and obviously lying about the reason” thing.

He had no clue as to what could possibly be going on with him, and it frustrated him deeply. 

He sighed, gazing at Wilson for what was certainly too long, but he couldn’t manage to pull his eyes away.

He just looked tired and sad and House hated seeing him like that. It had been part of the reason he’d bailed him out when they met—seeing those beautiful brown eyes filled with hopelessness had been too much for House to bear, even though he hadn’t known him at the time.

Wilson’s face twitched, his eyebrows furrowing and frown deepening, and his breathing quickened.

Nightmare, House recognized, and he placed a hand on Wilson’s shoulder, rubbing circles on it with his thumb.

Wilson’s eyes shot open and he stared at House, tears quickly returning. 

“Wilson, what’s wrong-“

Wilson looked at House’s hand and tensed visibly.

Oh.

Right.

House removed his hand quickly, feeling like an idiot for even trying that.

“Sorry,” he muttered in response, “..I’m worried about you.”

Wilson looked confused, and the worst part about that was that House knew why. 

He was awful with emotions, he knew it, and he typically didn’t care how that impacted people around him.. but with Wilson he did.

With Wilson he really did.

He wanted to tell Wilson how much he meant to him, how much he cared, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

“..It was just a nightmare,” Wilson said dismissively, quickly sitting up and looking away, seemingly unable to meet House’s gaze, “rough day at work today, I was tired.”

“What was it about?”

Wilson’s breath shook for a moment, his shoulders tensing.

“Doesn’t matter.”

House frowned.

“I’d say it does,” he replied with a lot more bite than intended.

“It doesn’t.”

“Does.”

Wilson sighed, holding his head in his hands in frustration.

“Please, House.”

His voice sounded raw and desperate, practically pleading.

House looked away, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

Wilson nodded silently, eyes filled with so much defeat it hurt House to even look at him.

“..Do you want takeout?” House asked, switching the subject (which Wilson seemed incredibly thankful for).

Wilson nodded, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

Not long after dinner, Wilson had decided he wanted to go back to sleep again, clearly not in the mood for conversation.

House agreed to give him his space and began returning to his room, however he paused at the door.

“Wilson?”

Wilson didn’t respond.

House wasn’t even sure he’d heard him. 

Regardless, he continued.

“If you ever feel like telling me.. please do.”

With that he walked into his bedroom, closing the door without even checking that Wilson had been awake to hear him.

It was then that he heard Wilson’s voice, so quiet it was barely audible.

“Goodnight, House.”

-

House heard what sounded like a loud gasp from outside his room, instantly worrying him.

He got up as fast as he could, grabbing his cane and flinging the door open.

He was met with the sight of Wilson clearly panicking, his body trembling, his breathing ragged, and his face covered in a mix of sweat and tears.

He looked absolutely terrified.

House hated everything about the expression on Wilson’s face.

It was the most miserable and scared he’d ever seen him, he hated it.

He needed to help and, despite his lacking of skills at comforting people, he gave it his best shot.

He approached him slowly, carefully, and Wilson’s eyes locked onto his.

“Wilson-“

“Go away, House.”

Wilson’s words were shaky and he looked away, his breaths still far too shallow.

“Wilson.”

Wilson looked back, damp, wide eyes meeting House’s.

House sat down next to him on the couch, holding out a hand for Wilson to hold as he’d heard that could sometimes help.

Wilson looked down at it for a moment, then back at House as he instead wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly, pressing his tear-stained cheek into House’s shoulder.

House was frankly shocked, but he quickly hugged back, rubbing slow circles on Wilson’s back in what was his best attempt at being comforting.

Wilson’s body shook in House’s arms, tears merging with the fabric of his shirt.

It took a while for Wilson’s breathing to get back to normal, but he managed to calm down, his breathing eventually being at the same pace as House’s.

“I’m disgusting,” Wilson murmured into his shoulder.

House frowned, “No, no you’re not”

“I shouldn’t be..” he started to say, but trailed off.

“Shouldn’t be what?”

Wilson pulled back, his arms still on House’s sides but his head lifted so he could look House in the eyes.

“I’ve been married to three different women,” he started, voice still slightly shaking, “but no matter how many times I try I could never make myself actually.. want any of them.”

Oh.

He looked away, but decided to continue.

“I should want them,” he said, voice breaking, “I need to.”

There was a moment of silence, neither of them knowing what to say to continue the conversation. 

Then House broke it.

“You want.. men?”

Wilson looked away, his silence being an answer in itself.

Then he took a deep breath, seemingly working up the courage to say something.

“I want.. you.”

Wilson had said it so quietly that House barely heard it, but he did, and his entire body froze.

What.

What the fuck.

…

Was he being serious?

From the looks of it, Wilson was being serious. His eyes were filled with a mix of worry and genuine, genuine want, so much so that House momentarily forgot to breathe.

“..You.. want..?”

Wilson nodded wordlessly, looking away.

“I know I shouldn’t. Being.. gay is…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to.

House frowned.

“It’s not.”

“But-“

“It’s not.”

He lifted a hand up to Wilson’s cheek, gently wiping the tears away. Wilson stared down at his lips, eyes full of desperation and what was now need.

Wilson’s eyes met his, “Can I..?”

House nodded, “Please.”

It was then that Wilson tentatively leaned in, breath shaking with both anticipation and guilt. When their lips connected, House hoped that Wilson was able to finally see how right it was, how well their mouths fit together and how beautifully their soft sighs mingled in between them.

He wanted to kiss the self-hatred out of him, to clean the words he almost said out of his mouth with his tongue. He wanted to hold Wilson in his arms until he grasped how utterly idiotic his previous thoughts had been.

He needed him to know that there wasn’t anything wrong with him.

He really did.

“I love you,” he whispered between kisses, “that could never be wrong.”

It was then, of course, that he woke up.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

Again?

He groaned, smacking his head on his nightstand in frustration.

Of course that was a dream. Why wouldn’t it be?

He sighed, looking at the clock next to him.

Time to get ready for work, he thought, even more unenthusiastic than usual.

He grabbed the bottle of Vicodin from the nightstand and took one immediately, sighing and getting up out of bed.

Today was going to suck.