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Wilson wasn’t feeling very well. The past few days hadn’t really been merciful, if he was being honest. His mental health had gotten much worse recently, his mind was cloudier than usual and his sleep schedule had gotten shorter and messier due to stress. And those shitty antidepressants weren’t working, too. Well, that’s what you get for choosing a job as a doctor. Right?
His usual morning routine hadn’t changed, though, except for maybe a few more minutes of laying in bed and mindlessly staring at the ceiling or stopping mid teeth brushing and spacing out. A quick shower, since he often forgot to do it the previous night, a separate routine for his hair after and then there’s just the changing into his work clothes part and breakfast and then he’s ready for work.
Of course there’s also the often mulling and overthinking part, followed by constant headaches and stomach problems. But Wilson chose not to think about it that much.
——————
Wilson arrived at work later than usual which added him even more stress than he was already in. His hair was disheveled as he hadn’t had enough time to brush it and the eyebags under his eyes were more visible. He forgot his morning coffee, too. As if it couldn’t get any worse, House immediately appeared in his line of sight, limping towards him with that mischievous smirk and twinkle in his eye that made Wilson want to throw a tantrum like a toddler.
“Someone’s late to work today,” House hummed, looking him up and down. “Hooker?”
“Forgot to set up my alarm last night,” Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed, wanting the small talk to reach its end as fast as possible as he felt a dull ache arise in his head, a headache threatening to form. House just cast him a calculating glance that lingered a beat too long for ‘sane and platonic’, nodded quickly and made a bee line towards his office without another word.
Wilson felt suddenly emptier without his best friend’s presence, immediately regretting his wish of being left alone. It was like a warm blanket had been ripped off of him during winter, and his mood dropped even more. He decided not to question the sharp ache in his chest too much and walked away, thinking about the stash of paperwork already waiting for him in his own office. He convinced himself that the faster he occupied his mind with something to do the better.
Wilson continued his work for the next few hours. A few check ups on his current patients - a 72 year old man, a 26 year old woman and a little teenage girl who’d been there for some time now. Some more paperwork. A meeting. But the thing that upset him the most was the fact that House hadn’t showed up in his office once. No dramatic barg-in, no interrupting his work with his life drama like he’s some sort of therapist now. Nothing. Wilson was sitting by himself in his office and if he were to be honest right now, he was about one turn of a paper sheet away from a breakdown.
He must be busy with a case, Wilson reasons. It wasn’t uncommon for the diagnostician to shut out the whole world to think. Then what was so different about it this time? Why was Wilson feeling all bitter and beat up because he didn’t get enough attention from House today? It almost felt pathetic to actually word out. Like as if he couldn’t function without the attention from a grumpy middle aged man. House was usually the needy and dependent one in their weird relationship. Wilson was a man of decency. Not the other way around.
——————
Lunch time came, Wilson and House were sitting at their usual spot in the hospital cafeteria. House complained about his patient and gossiped about a new, apparently slutty nurse, flailing his arms in every direction and scoffing dramatically. Wilson pretended not to notice as more and more fries magically disappeared from his plate and instead he let his lips curve into a soft smile, feeling some of the tension loosen in his chest. He couldn’t care less about anything else. He was just pleased he could spend time with his best friend again.
House’s voice was cut off when he noticed Wilson looking down at his plate with such an empty stare the diagnostician would’ve though he was a corpse. He studied the man before him with a glare. Wilson didn’t even seem to notice that he’d stopped talking.
“What’s up with you?” House blurted out, sounding genuinely curious and confused. Wilson’s head snapped upwards, facing him.
“What do you mean?” the oncologist’s voice carried a hint of anxiety.
“You’re quieter today. No comebacks to my sarcastic comments, no exasperated sighs or lectures on human rights. Your eyes are glassy, hair’s flatter,” House could’ve pointed out things that were wrong with Wilson for the rest of the day.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wilson nervously averted his gaze somewhere to the left. He’s avoiding eye contact, House mused. He’s uneasy. Another symptom.
Before either of them could say anything else House’s beeper went off. Then his phone buzzed. He took one look at both and sighed with raised eyebrows.
“Gotta go. Patient’s vomiting piss. Fascinating, isn’t it?” House plastered on the fakest, sarcasm dripping smile he could possibly pull off which carried the message of ‘I so don’t wanna deal with this right now’ and reached for his cane. Wilson put up a hand in a silent ‘it’s okay, bye’ and then he was all alone again.
——————
The next time Wilson gets to see House again is during one of his differentials. Technically, there’s no reason for him to be there, but he’s already finished most of his work for today and he was certain he could afford watching his best friend yell at his team and berate them for their (sometimes not even relevant) mistakes. It was a great show, really.
Despite the doctors’ voices being fairly loud, Wilson couldn’t find it in him to listen. Every word pouring out of House’s mouth came in one ear, came out another. It was almost ridiculous how intensively the oncologist’s irises were locked on his best friend’s figure in silent awe, definitely blushing, and appreciating almost every single move he made, every visible muscle, every face expression. He found himself imagining them both in situations - them holding hands, hugging, maybe cuddling. Or more - kissing…
God, these fantasies were getting out of hand. As if he hadn’t already had a lot on his mind lately. He’s acting like a teenage girl! He shouldn’t have these thoughts. House was his one and only best friend, he couldn’t afford losing him like that, not now. Wilson knew House wasn’t really a touch-y and feel-y person, much to his dismay - because Wilson was so incredibly touch-starved for House right now. How hadn’t he realized it sooner? It was so obvious he was almost sure half the hospital already knew.
It wasn’t even anything sexual, really. Wilson craved the gentleness and affection more, even though it was definite House would never be that, not for him at least. Everytime they were close - on the couch, in the elevator - Wilson’s brain gave out one, single command: get closer. Closer, closer, closer. He needed to get closer.
Maybe it wasn’t a crush? Maybe he wasn't gay after all? I mean, all people want to hold their friends as tightly as possible until every part of their body merges with the other’s and never let go, maybe sneak in a peck on the lips or two. Right?
“Wilson?” Chase’s voice tore through Wilson’s fantasies and brought him back to Earth. The oncologist looked around the room urgently, desperate to find out what was happening as fast as possible. House’s team had their eyes locked on him - Cameron’s sparking with soft concern as always, Foreman’s flat but exasperated and Chase’s confused, almost challenging. And, the cherry on top - House’s unimpressed, icy blue gaze piercing right through his soul with a lazy smirk.
“Earth to Jimmy. We don’t fantasize about twice-your-age nurses from the floor below at work!” the diagnostician quipped, leaning on the whiteboard and pointing at Wilson with his cane accusingly. The latter just rolled his eyes, unfazed by his friend’s teasing, but a huge wave of relief washed over him as he realized everyone else would just brush it off as exhaustion from work. Well, it wasn’t completely a lie.
“I said the patient’s all yours now.” Well, maybe it was a good idea to come here after all. Wilson nodded, despite not knowing literally anything about the patient due to his daydreaming, and stood up to leave the office. “Just don’t sleep with her. Heard she’s into girls, what a bummer,” he heard House sigh dramatically after him. Wilson didn’t even bother to react as he pushed the glass door open and left.
——————
The patient had been taken care of and now Wilson was in his office, sorting through even more piles of paperwork. The sun outside was beginning to set, the sky slowly taking on a darker shade of blue. He didn’t see House any more after the differential, the case was over and the man must’ve already left the hospital. Lucky bastard, Wilson thought as he signed one more paper, the sound of his pen filling the dull silence of the office.
A soft knock sounded behind the door. Definitely not House, the man never knocked. “Come in,” Wilson answered. He heard the authorative click of heels and looked up to see Cuddy.
“You’re still here?” she asked, her voice dripping with disbelief and motherly concern. Wilson wasn’t at all surprised by how casually it sounded - Cuddy was not only his boss, but also his close friend.
“I just have to finish all this and I’m done,” Wilson sighed, leaning his head on his palm.
Cuddy pursed her lips. “Wilson, look at you. You’re exhausted and you look like crap,” she pointed her hand at him, referencing the dark eyebags under his eyes and his slumped posture.
“I’m a doctor,” Wilson bit back, then quickly lowered his tone. “Sorry. It’s just been a lot going on recently.”
His boss nodded slowly with understanding, her face softening. “I see. That’s another reason why you should be going home now. The paperwork can wait. You need rest, Wilson,” she pressed. “Maybe you could call House to, I don’t know, help you out? You might not believe me, but he actually does care about you.”
“‘House’ and ‘caring’ in the same sentence,” Wilson chuckled to himself humorlessly, though it lacked the usual bittery accent.
“I’m being serious, Wilson.” Cuddy propped her hands on his desk and leaned closer. “He thinks he’s being all slick like a fox with his feelings and shit but the look in his eye is unmistakable. I can’t believe that you, out of all goddamn people, haven’t noticed it yet.”
Wilson didn’t look convinced. He looked at her with his pathetic puppy eyes and she reciprocated, twice as intense, with a sharp edge to it.
“Okay,” Wilson finally gave in, sighing resignedly. “I’ll go home.” That woman really had some kind of power over him.
“Good boy.” Cuddy patted his shoulder and smirked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. Wilson’s eyes widened and he couldn’t keep the slight blush from appearing on his face. That man got flustered really easily, it was kind of funny.
“I’m not calling House, though.”
She patted his shoulder and turned towards the door, about to leave. “Go home, Wilson,” she pointed a commanding finger at him and left, slamming the door behind her.
——————
The ride back home was peaceful and pleasant. The streets weren’t as crowded as usual and were much quieter than in the morning. A soft tune was playing from the radio, Wilson wasn’t really sure what song it was. The oncologist had to stop himself from falling asleep twice. He was so fucking tired. He just wanted to lay down on his bed and never move again. Cuddy was right, he did need the rest. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if tomorrow he came to work a bit late again?
Wilson fiddled with his keys a beat longer than usual, fingers failing to cooperate, but finally turned the key in the key hole and opened the door to his apartment, its unique and stiff but still welcoming smell making his shoulders relax.
A few steps in, he kicked his shoes off, not even bothering to put them in place. He hung his coat and slowly turned towards his kitchen until he froze. Quiet, a bit muffled sounds were coming from the living room. The TV was on. Wilson slowly walked into the living room, expecting a burglar (why would a burglar watch TV?), yet he was proven wrong (well, not completely wrong) as he saw House sprawled on his couch like he owned the place, some lesbian porn showing up on the screen. Typical House. The man calmly averting his gaze from the TV screen to Wilson, as if he weren’t at all bothered by his presence. Well, Wilson was.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He blurted out, clearly offended and annoyed at his plans being ruined.
“Hi, darling. How was work today?” House answered with a honey sweet voice, his face expression composed, a smug smirk forming.
Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not dealing with House’s bullshit. Not today. “Gh- House, get out of here,” he hissed through gritted teeth, clearly holding himself back. “And turn that thing off, for fuck’s sake.”
“I was thinking we could watch those new episodes of the soap opera I’ve bragging to you about,” House continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “heard that Jeremy and Nick are boning.”
Wilson tightened his fingers into knuckle-whitening fists, feeling frustrated tears well up in his eyes. He was kind of feeling like throwing a tantrum.
Instead he sucked the tears in and exhaled a shaky breath. He couldn’t convince House to leave for shit anyway. He slumped down on the couch beside his best friend and put an arm over his eyes. The diagnostician gave him a calculating, almost offended look, as if trying to read hieroglyphs as a three year old. “You’re not gonna say anything?”
Wilson didn’t respond, only slumped further into the couch.
“No complains, lectures, threats? I literally broke into your house, Wilson.”
“You have a spare key,” Wilson mumbled, a little irate.
House sat up straighter, fully turning towards his friend. His eyes shone with challenge. He was not backing down now. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked firmly.
Wilson revealed his face, letting his arm fall back into place beside him. He couldn’t quite look House in the eye, not yet. The feelings he was feeling were complicated, unpredictable, opposite… like oil and water. He didn’t know if he would be able to maintain his facade while looking straight into those icy blue eyes. Everything was so complicated lately, ugh.
“Just- shut up and let’s watch that damn soap opera,” he managed out, his whole body tensed up from his raging emotions.
House put the TV remote on the coffee table and fixed his eyes on Wilson’s . “No.”
“W-what do you mean ‘no’?” Wilson asked bewilderedly, trying to look away but not being able to tear his eyes from his best friend’s intense gaze.
“No,” House repeated, drawing out the syllable. After a pause, electricity hanging in the air, he spoke again. “You’ve been getting on my nerves all day, you bastard. A kind of puzzle I could not solve. Care to share the reason why?” Despite House’s harsh words, his tone remained shushed and dangerously calm.
“Wh- All day? We’ve only met, like, three times at work today! Have you been spying on me?” Wilson asked.
House ignored his question. Instead, he pressed further. “Come on, what’s going on in the golden boy’s head?”
Wilson sighed sharply. “Just drop it, House.”
“What am I, a dog?” House asked, putting a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Didn’t know you were one of them kinky, Wilson. People are just so boring nowadays, aren’t they?”
“Drop. It.”, Wilson practically barked (ha!) at him, blood boiling with anger. He was completely torn. Anger at House, yes, but also anger at himself. For wanting the attention. For desperately longing for his touch, his comfort. For thinking it would ever be real.
Wilson’s rage dissipated the moment it flared, replaced by exhaustion. He fell against the back of the couch again, body completely giving up. He stared into nothing in particular, a disgusting and painful feeling arising in his chest and stomach. “Just… leave me be.” Please don’t.
House’s mind went blank. Every sarcastic remark he had had just disappeared from his head. Normally, he would ruthlessly push Wilson as far as he could to get the information he wanted, and if he didn’t then he’d find another way to get it. This time, though, it was different. The way Wilson’s face remained neutral, not even mad anymore, just tired. How quiet and small his voice became. House sat there, unable to think of a response. This wasn’t a frequently seen look on Wilson.
The diagnostician, still and quiet, observed Wilson. That’s all he could do now, observe and analyze. Because feelings were hard. Avoidance was easier, safer. House didn’t do feelings. Unfortunately, this time that seemed to be the case. The only thing that mattered. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. What was he supposed to say? ‘Be a man, Gregory.’ ‘You’re pathetic, Gregory. Grow up.’ ?
Thankfully, though, he didn’t have to say anything as Wilson practically fell on him and their sides collided, surprising the hell out of House. The oncologist rested his head on House’s shoulder without a word and just stayed like that, barely even breathing.
House froze, eyes wide open, and he was almost completely certain his heart had stopped just then and there.
He didn’t dare to move just yet, instead he let his eyes fall on the younger man on his left. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, staring at the carpet on the floor as if it were the most interesting thing ever. His hair was scattered across his forehead, slowly moving as House breathed into it. He smelled like everything House had ever imagined Wilson would smell like - all soft and sweet yet with a spicy accent to it. It was so intoxicating.
After a minute of hesitation (during which Wilson hadn’t moved an inch), House finally decided to wrap his arm around Wilson’s shoulders and pulled him impossibly closer, drawing small circles with his thumb on his arm. He wondered nervously if the gesture came off as too romantic.
Wilson melted immediately. A content sigh left his mouth and his body went limp, slumping against his best friend’s. House caught him just before his head fell on his lap, turned and pressed Wilson against his chest, snaking his arms around his middle while Wilson gripped his shirt. He was so warm.
“I’m tired, House,” Wilson whispered after a while. House felt his chest tighten weirdly at the words. Soft sniffles filled the room, Wilson was crying into his shirt. Something protective snapped in him and his hold on Wilson’s middle tightened. Wilson just grasped House’s shirt tighter and the latter rested his chin on top of his head.
“You comfy now?” House asked softly, still internally cringing a little at the vulnerability. His instincts were screaming, telling him to stop, to run away. But he was not planning on doing so anytime soon.
“Hm.” Wilson shifted a little. “I like the way your throat vibrates when you speak,” he hummed quietly. House’s breath caught, he hoped Wilson hadn’t picked up on it, and he felt weird warmth creep up his neck into his cheeks.
“Easy there. I might actually start thinking you want to jump me.” Wilson didn’t have an answer to that. He just snuggled deeper into the crook of House’s neck, relishing in the vulnerability and comfort of it all. He was right there, sighing with pleasure as he was being held by his best friend, the smell of his cologne tickling his nose. What else could a man ask for?
House tried to move out of Wilson’s grasp to grab the TV remote and turn off whatever was playing on the screen, but Wilson quickly held onto him tighter and wrapped his fingers around his wrist. His voice was hoarse and groggy when he spoke. “Don’t.”
“Sorry, sorry,” House murmured as he retracted his hand, which then quickly found its way into Wilson’s hair, gently running his fingers through his chocolate brown locks.
All of it was so new for him. He never showed that much affection towards anyone, even Stacy barely got any. He really hoped it was enough this time.
He was willing to try for once, for Wilson. Because Wilson stayed. He always stayed.
Soft little snores filled the quiet of the living room and and it took a few seconds for House to notice that Wilson had fallen asleep.
‘When a person is near someone they deeply trust, their brain releases oxytocin which lowers stress and causes them to relax.’
He felt his heart swell, a soft smile tugging on his lips. He’d never realized how much he needed this. Something snapped in House. I need to hold him. Protect him. Love him.
He fell back on the couch, dragging Wilson down with him. House rested his head on the couch’s armrest while Wilson was sprawled against him, chest to chest, heart to heart and head tucked in the crook of his neck. The older man cradled his head with his hand and the younger let out a soft sigh and snuggled deeper into him. He feels safe around me, House remembered, as if the thought shocked him and made him feel all fuzzy and warm inside at the same time. Too late he realized how dopey and stupid his grin was.
He passed out on the couch not long after, limbs entangled with Wilson’s, his hand gently drawing comforting circles on the man’s back as he drifted into sleep.