Work Text:
Wilson was trying to get through some paperwork before he had to do his rounds, resolutely ignoring the way his clothes felt on his skin. Ignoring the way his shirt scratched and how his lab coat over top was making the scratchy material bunch more in his elbows causing it to physically hurt. He was ignoring the way his clothes made him want to scratch his skin off.
He was fine.
He continued on with his paperwork, ignoring how every shift of his arm caused sparks of pure pain to shoot over his skin.
His, now ex, wife hadn’t meant to wash his clothes wrong, Wilson honestly thought her washing his clothes in general was a mistake. Something done out of habit, or that she hadn’t had enough of her own clothes to do a complete load of laundry.
It was not done on purpose.
She had not went out of her way to wash his clothes wrong knowing full well how it would ruin his day, knowing how he would simply put up with the pain until he got home and had a meltdown. She wouldn’t do that, she didn’t hate him enough to go out of her way to do that. she wouldn’t—
Wilson noticed he had stopped writing. He sighed, forced his mind to shut up and kept writing. He was not distracted by the way his clothes felt on his skin, nor was he distracted because he thought his ex wife had done this on purpose. He was not distracted.
He kept writing. He kept writing until House had barged into his office, saying something or other that Wilson did not hear because he was writing. And not distracted. House, the man who was somewhat responsible for the divorce - but that wasn’t really fair to say. It wasn’t House’s fault Wilson was spending all his time with him. That was on Wilson and Wilson alone, he knew. He just wanted to be angry at House, but he couldn't do that. He physically could not bring himself to be angry at his friend, because he knew it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Wilson.
He was still looking at his paper, not writing. Damn. He should have looked up at House by now - he who had barged in talking about something but was now silent. Silent and staring at him.
Damn.
Wilson forced himself to lean back in his chair, forced himself to look up at the man who had invaded his office. He had also forced himself not to wince at the feeling of his clothes shifting, rubbing against his skin in a hostile manner and made him want to cry. He blinked away any possible moisture in his eyes.
He looked at his friend. He forced a smile, too.
House was studying him, he knew something was wrong as soon as he walked in and Wilson didn’t immediately shift to look at him, or say something - or even groan. There was something wrong and now he was trying to figure it out.
He saw the way Wilson blinked, saw the minute twitches in his face when he finally shifted to look at him. Saw the way he was holding himself stiff and clearly trying not to move too much. “You need to change clothes.”
Wilson's eyes widened at that, he would have had more of an expressive… well, expression, but his clothes were bothering him too much. Damn. He knew. “I need to what?” He was deflecting. It never worked but he had to try, anyway. He couldn’t show his discomfort at work, and he couldn’t change, either. Because if he changed then people would notice and then everyone would know, and that just wouldn’t do. He had a reputation.
“Stop thinking and change your damn clothes. They’re clearly bothering you.” House had walked closer to Wilson's desk, leaning on it a little. Not close enough to cause discomfort, but enough to cause… something. “Change.”
Wilson looked away, avoiding his friend's intense gaze. “My clothes aren’t bothering me.” His voice was a little shaky, because his clothes were bothering him and also because he hated lying to his friend. He hated lying in general, honestly. It always made him uneasy - made his mouth feel gross and his chest feel heavy. He lied anyway - of course he did. It was what humans do - they lie. That's what House always spoke about. 'Everybody Lies'
He felt wrong.
"You can't lie to me, Wilson. I can tell they're bothering you. You're barely moving - you always shift around when I come in here - and your facial muscles are twitching in that specific way they do when you're uncomfortable. Uncomfortableness plus lack of movement means you either hurt yourself - but if you did that you'd be complaining so it's not that - or your clothes are the issue. My guess is your wife washed them wrong - I know how you get about the feeling of your clothes, so does she I bet so it was her last bout of revenge before you moved out." Wilson hated how accurate House could be sometimes.
He let out a sigh, "..Okay, yeah. They're bothering me. But I can't change - I don't have clothes here." That wasn't technically true - Wilson did have a change of clothes in his locker but the shirt wasn't a friendly material, either. On a good day it was fine - but in the state he was in currently it wasn't a good change.
House knew about the spare change of clothes, he also knew that the material of the shirt would've messed with Wilson further - he had tried to steal the shirt himself but didn't get very far. The weird blend of cotton and... something else - he couldn't be bothered to check the label - made House's skin crawl. That was the only reason it was still in Wilson's locker.
He was about to respond to Wilson when he got an idea, smirking to himself he rushed out of Wilson's office as fast as his leg would allow. Wilson prayed that he wouldn't come back for a while - he really did have to get through this paperwork, but he knew, deep down, that House wouldn't give in.
Wilson tried to forget it, tried to ignore his clothes and the nagging feeling from House and attempted to get back to his paperwork. It only worked for a few minutes before he was paralysed with the discomfort. He slipped off his lab coat and threw it onto the sofa - he knew he would regret that action later but currently he couldn't bring himself to care - and hoped that it would be enough to let him get on with his work.
It worked for around ten minutes - and then House had came back, barging into his office without a knock like usual, only this time he was also carrying clothes with him. He dropped them onto Wilson's desk and stared at him as Wilson looked at the clothes - House's clothes. He looked up at his friend. "Why?"
"You said you didn't have clothes here, I did. Change."
"House, I'm not changing into your clothes, we're at the hospital."
"People already suspect we're dating, there's a betting pool. This keeps them guessing."
"We are dating, House. I thought we both wanted to keep it under wraps?"
"We do, but it's still fun watching everyone guess. Foreman's adamant that we're just friends. Now change." He pushed the clothes more towards Wilson, staring at him. Wilson sighed, shaking his head. He was about to say something before House cut him off. "Change or I will make you change. Don't test me, Jimmy."
Wilson knew House would, in fact, actually make him change - and he did not want House undressing him at work. He sighed again, felt his resolve slipping, but he still didn't want to wear House's clothes at work. "People saw me walk in today wearing my own clothes, I don't have an explanation as to why I changed."
"Say one of your cancer kids puked on you, or something. Lie. Just change your damn clothes." House was getting closer to giving in and forcing Wilson to change, he rounded the desk to stand next to Wilson instead. He was about to speak again when there was a knock at the door and Chase poked his head in. "Sorry- House, our patient-"
"Daddy's busy trying to convince his idiot best friend - your other father - to change his damn clothes."
"...What?"
"I said Daddy's busy. Go play with your siblings."
Chase just stared at him, stunned. He had forgotten what he had came in to get House for, and quietly left, closing the door behind him. House looked back to Wilson. "Change."
"I'm mildly afraid of how easily you slip into some weird parent role with them."
"Well, Chase already sees me as some kind of father figure. I feed off of that. Now change." House's gaze was intense - well, it was always intense, but this time it was more so - and Wilson's resolve slipped away. He sighed. "Yeah, okay. Fine. Can you shut the blinds? I don't particularly want to risk someone seeing me changing. And uh.. lock the door, too?"
"Oh, if I didn't know better, Jimmy, I'd assume you were coming onto me." He wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke, but did turn to close the blinds and lock the door. He would have left, too, but he didn't want to deal with his team. Their patient was quite boring, if he was honest. House started picking around Wilson's office, looking at the silly knick-knacks placed on the shelves. He was listening to the slow shuffle of Wilson as he moved to change, to the quiet rustle of fabrics. It was one of House's favourite things to pay attention to - the sounds of a person just moving around - just simply.. existing. It brought him an odd sense of calmness.
House also enjoyed listening to Wilson's soft breaths, it reminded him that he was, in fact, alive. He needed those reminders sometimes, he'd often have nightmares about losing Wilson in horrid ways. He blinked that thought away, placing a sculpture of a... bear? He thinks it's a bear, back onto the shelf. It was ugly and had an odd feeling to it. He turned to look at Wilson, who was readjusting the band tee he had just finished putting on. He smiled at him. This was something else House enjoyed - Wilson wearing his clothes. He always looked good in casual, House thinks.
Wilson relaxed, House's clothes were always soft and comforting - they also always smelled like him, which was a bonus - and let out a contented sigh. A small smile appeared on his face and House's heart melted a little at the sight. He slipped the shirt House had given him over the t-shirt, taking his time with buttoning it up. He was still a bit anxious about people asking questions, but otherwise he felt better.
House approached and snatched Wilson's other shirt from him, his face scrunching up in disgust at the feeling of the fabric. "God, you really were going to torture yourself with this? What is wrong with you?" He had shifted his grip on the offending clothing item so that it was between his index finger and his thumb instead of his whole fist. He watched as Wilson's cheeks reddened a little, how he fidgeted with the pair of jeans House had also given him to change into. "I felt bad - Julie had washed them so.." He shrugged, avoiding looking at House, "I felt I had to wear them because she went out of her way to do that."
House stared at him, and felt something akin to murderous intent burn through him as he listened. "She knew you'd do that. This was her getting revenge. God. I'll kill her." Wilson could hear the anger in his tone, and it made him feel... better? It felt weird to think that, but the idea that House was somewhat protective over him felt nice. He found that he didn't mind that House was threatening to murder his ex wife. He shook his head. "You can't kill her, I don't know what I'd do if you went to jail."
House shrugged, "Probably find a way to join me." He paused, watching Wilson prod at the jeans instead of getting on with it and changing. "Change into the jeans, I assume your stupid dress pants feel just as bad as this shirt does." Wilson looked at him, a little surprised. "I will. Don't you have a patient to deal with? Chase did come in here not long ago-"
"If it really was that urgent he'd have came back. Now change."
"Stop watching me and I will."
House huffed, but turned away to snoop at the other shelf in the office. He was barely paying attention to the things he was picking up and moving around, more focussed on the quiet sounds of Wilson slipping out of his shoes, the slightly louder jangle of his belt buckle and the soft rustle of fabric as he removed his pants and slipped into the worn jeans. He was inspecting the teddy bear on the shelf when Wilson had sat back into his chair, signalling that he was finished changing. House turned back to him, picking up the discarded pants between the same two fingers he was holding the shirt in.
"Good. Now I'm off to burn these."
"House, please don't burn my clothes. They just need to be washed."
"You let me have no fun."
Wilson was about to respond when there was a knock at the office door once again, and House groaned. "Wilson and I are having hot gay sex in here!! It can wait!!!" Wilson put his head into his hands. "It can't wait, our patient almost died!" That was the muffled Australian accent of Chase, and House thought he sounded embarrassed. Good.
He turned to Wilson, looking him up and down and deciding that, yeah, Wilson in his clothes was a good thing. He nodded to himself and came closer to the other man, mumbling quietly so the duckling waiting outside the office door didn't hear him. "I'll kill anyone who questions you, keep names. Also you look good."
Wilson looked up at him, his eyes soft. He smiled, leaning up to plant a soft kiss onto House's cheek. "Thank you, for helping me. Now go, I have work to do and you have a person to save. I'll see you at lunch."
"I also have these clothes to burn," Wilson rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. At this point, he was expecting House to actually burn the clothing, but he hoped that he wouldn't. "I'll tell you about the case later."
And with that, House turned to leave, unlocking the door and slipping out through a tiny crack so that the doctor waiting outside didn't see Wilson, a smirk on his face and Wilson's clothes in hand. Wilson listened into the conversation currently happening outside his office door, but tuned out as soon as he heard Chase asking if he and House were actually having gay sex. He didn't want to listen to House's elaborate lies.
Wilson picked up his pen and started back up on his paperwork, the voices outside his door fading away.
Later, when he had left his office to do his rounds and grab lunch, he felt the other staff's eyes on him but found that he didn't mind, not really. Not when he had the comfort of House wrapped around him even when he wasn't next to him. It was nice.