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Dr. Gregory House, the world knew his name — and unfortunately, at this very moment, so did you. He was standing by his whiteboard, glaring beautiful ice blue daggers; as if you had legitimately done something wrong.
The only thing you actually did do was hand Dr. James Wilson, your boss, a stack of files he needed to go over. It was the reason he stopped by House's office in the first place, the friendly pleasantries that had become a staple only followed suit. And the only reason you were in his office was to see Dr. Eric Foreman, so all in all, it was a chain reaction that didn't deserve the third degree glare.
Sighing in annoyance, you throw your arms down to your sides and face the diagnostician head on, "what, House?" You finally break the silence, startling your bystanding colleagues, "what could you possibly be pouting about?"
"I am not 'pouting'."
"You're glaring," Wilson added from beside you, "which is your version of pouting."
His glare somehow became sharper, icier, "I'm jealous."
"You're what?" Dr. Robert Chase chimed in, he was already in a black roller chair behind the glass conference table. Seated next to him was Dr. Allison Cameron, and across from the two of them was Foreman (who, by the way, was still holding your paperwork hostage), each one seemed highly absorbed in the argument you were brewing.
Ignoring the Australian, House grabbed his cane and pointed it at you accusingly, "L/N, I think you're in love with Wilson."
A quick scoff left your lips and you smacked his cane away from your face, it was your knee jerk reaction to being completely exposed.
"Oh, come on, House! Who isn't at least a little bit in love with Wilson?" Cameron gestured, defending you from her boss. Your face still felt warm, but you were thankful that some of the metaphorical heat had been taken off of you.
House did his signature squint at her, but at least he wasn't glaring anymore. No, instead, his next sentence sent your eyes into thin slits; "his wife, for one."
Anger respiking at the downright cruel comment, you snatch your paperwork from in front of Foreman, "screw you, House!" You seethed, leaving the conference room posthaste. The laboratory coat you wore billowed behind you, halting when you stopped to sink into Wilson's office couch.
You really had no time to collect yourself, as said doctor entered mere moments after you dramatically collapsed. "I'm sorry," you spit out quickly, feeling like a complete and utter idiot for putting him in such an awkward position.
"What for?" He asked, "you weren't the one who insulted my marriage."
"Still."
"Is it true?" He questioned you again, but this time you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
Leaning back, you fiddled with the paper stack in your hands — anything to draw your attention away from his eyes, "is what true?"
"Are you..." Wilson seemed to be searching for the right words, like he was afraid he'd offend you if he put it all out on the table; either way he moved to sit down beside you when he said, "...in love with me?"
Your heart leapt (and with it your gaze). He was looking at you with that 'soft boy' expression he'd gotten so good at, big brown eyes and all. However, a frown was the only thing you could offer him, "you and your wife are going through a rough time, James." You used his first name quietly, afraid to say it any louder than a whisper, "I don't want to take advantage of that situation." You were completely ready for him to agree with you, tell you how responsible your thinking was, and send you off to treat your first patient of the day. That was Wilson, the voice of reason.
"Then take advantage of me."
"I know, I — wait, what?"
He smiled sheepishly, and it looked as if all the weight had been taken off his shoulders. The first thing it made you think was, 'how could a grown man be so boyishly cute?' Followed by, 'should I kiss him?' While the first question would remain forever unanswered, the second answer was clear; yes, and you were going to do it now.
Twisting in your seat, your knees knock against his unceremoniously. Wilson startled slightly at this, intaking a sharp breath when you held his face in your palms.
"Your hands are warm," he murmured, shutting his mouth when you leaned forward and pressed your lips against the corner of his smile. But it wasn't enough yet; you could never get enough of this oncologist — and so you kissed him again...and again...and again...and again.
Wondering hands found their way around your ribs, gliding all the way down to the small of your back, pulling you closer than you ever thought you'd get in his tiny office.
The two of you kissed each other until the door was flung open for the third time. Jumping off the sofa, you and Wilson saw the culprit, House.
"So, I was right?"