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Wilson’s eyes swept over the familiar chaos of House’s apartment as he searched for his wallet. He knew he'd left it on the coffee table, but it had disappeared, buried under the usual clutter that defined House’s life—magazines, pill bottles, take-out containers. And now, apparently, an endless number of lollipop wrappers.
"House,” Wilson looked at his partner while rifling through the pile of papers and CDs, "did you see my wallet?"
House, lounging on the couch with his feet up, barely looked up from the TV. "Did you check under the candy wrappers?"
Wilson sighed. He had noticed them before, of course. The apartment—and House’s office, for that matter—was littered with lollipops, discarded wrappers, and sticks. They were everywhere. At first, Wilson found it sort of funny. Now, not so much.
He shoved aside a stack of unread mail, uncovering three more wrappers and, thankfully, his wallet. He stuffed it into his pocket, exhaling with mild annoyance. House, popping another lollipop into his mouth with a satisfied smirk, didn’t seem to care.
Wilson sat on the arm of the couch and stared at House, who was currently preoccupied with whatever daytime soap opera was on. “Are you really going through that many?” he asked, watching as House twirled the lollipop between his fingers.
House didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “What, you’ve got a problem with my oral fixation?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Wilson said, a little defensively. “But they’re everywhere, House. Your desk, your bathroom, your couch… I found one in my jacket pocket yesterday. How many lollipops do you go through a day?”
"Enough to keep me happy." House shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “It’s either this or I start smoking.”
Wilson stared at him, unsure how to approach this. It was starting to feel like more than just a quirk. The lollipops had become almost obsessive. He thought of all the times he’d seen House gnawing on the plastic stick, absentmindedly flicking it from one side of his mouth to the other while deep in thought, or aggressively working it between his teeth when he was agitated.
"Seriously," Wilson pressed, "what’s going on with the candy? I’ve never seen you go through something like this before. It’s… well, it’s kind of a lot."
Finally, House turned to face him, his eyes sharp and calculating. “What, you have a problem with autistic people now?”
Wilson blinked, taken aback. “What? No, I don’t—where is this coming from?”
House didn’t miss a beat. “You’re freaking out over the lollipops like it’s a big deal, like it’s something weird or unhealthy. Maybe it's because you think they’re a coping mechanism, and you don’t like coping mechanisms that aren’t considered ‘normal.’ But hey, that’s classic neurotypical judgment.”
Wilson was floored. For once, House’s caustic response wasn’t just a deflection or a joke—it actually made sense. Slowly, pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The constant oral stimulation, the way House seemed to focus better with something in his mouth, the repetitive nature of it… It wasn’t just an odd habit. It was a way for House to self-regulate, to manage his mind when it felt too chaotic, the same way his Vicodin did for his pain.
“You’re… you’re saying you’re autistic?” Wilson asked, still trying to wrap his head around the shift in the conversation.
House rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying anything, except that you’re overthinking it. I like lollipops. They help me concentrate, they’re sweet, and they give my mouth something to do besides insulting people. What’s the issue?”
Wilson sat back, suddenly feeling guilty for even bringing it up. The thing was, it made sense. House’s constant need for stimulation, his ability to hyperfocus on his cases while the rest of the world faded away, his difficulty with emotional intimacy—it was all there, hidden behind his sarcasm and deflection.
He let out a slow breath, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was judging you,” Wilson said softly. “I just… didn’t get it. But now I do.”
House’s eyes flicked to him, unreadable for a moment. Then he shrugged, popping the lollipop back into his mouth. “Good. Now, if you’re done psychoanalyzing me, the show’s getting good.”
Wilson couldn’t help but smile, even as he reached over and swept a handful of wrappers into the trash. He’d have to get used to them—just like he’d had to get used to everything else that came with loving House.