Chapter Text
House had spent the whole day away from the hospital, his patient’s life was nowhere near in danger and his underlings were running around doing every test fathomable, as had become their routine over the years, to set up his home. Wilson had been at work doing miserable Wilson things, as House liked to say, caring a little too much for his dying patients.
Wilson had made sure to be in his office by lunch time, playing poker online, hoping it would seem as though he was busy slaving away at emails on his desktop computer. He scowled as his screen displayed “LOSER” in a large red font, clicking his crappy mouse aggressively to search for another opponent. Red light hit Wilson’s eyes once again, and again. Another aggressive click hit his mouse, something gnawing away at his conscience.
“Alright.” he muttered as he stood out of his seat, rolling up his sleeves, and heading for the door.
Walking past the conference room, Wilson made note of the lack of tired bodies sprawled out on uncomfortable office chairs. He shook his head in disappointment.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he mumbled under his breath, throwing his arms in disbelief as he saw the stethoscope on the door handle of House’s curtained office.
The now pissed off oncologist made his way into the cafeteria on his own, getting a salad in anticipation of his menace of a best friend suddenly appearing.
—
Wilson picked up his coat from his office after having spent the whole evening with a particularly unfortunate patient. She had just turned 40 years old, developing falcine meningioma after having completed a PhD on the effects of anti-depressants on the brain and body. She had been the first of her family to go past a Bachelor’s degree.
Wilson was tired. The woman’s husband had drilled him for all the possible risks of the surgical procedure combined with radiation.
The disconsolate doctor only wished for a quiet evening with his best friend, sitting on their couch whilst watching a crappy soap opera, eating cheap Chinese take out.
Right. House. House had been away the whole day. If it hadn’t been for Wilson’s new patient, he would have tracked the crippled diagnostician down as though hunting for a deer that had limped away after being shot once. What was he doing?
—
Unlocking the door, Wilson revealed House’s small, comfortable smelling, warmly lit apartment. House was sat on the couch, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. The TV was playing some medical looking show, which Wilson did not recognise.
He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He took off his leather-clad Oxford’s, heavily throwing his coat onto the wall-mounted hooks. He was tired, he was hungry.
“Hey” the word fell out of his mouth with weight as he walked around the couch and sat next to House, thigh to thigh.
House turned over to him, face shaven and hair more askew than usual, taking in the disheveled man before him. Huh.
“Who died this time?” the man in his 50s asked as Wilson was handed a box of kung pao chicken and a pair of chopsticks. Snide.
“I don’t want to talk about work today, House.” Wilson sighed, shoveling the food hesitantly into his mouth.
“Was it that kid? Guhh… what was her name again… Jeanette? Did you finally amputate her leg?”
The shorter man glared, a clear sign he wanted House to just… shut up.
“Where were you all day, missed you at lunch.”
Wilson caught a brief sparkle of excitement, the kind House gets whenever he’s been plotting.
“My favourite prostitute needed to be bailed out of prison after she was caught smuggling exotic guinea pigs over the border.” House barked. Sarcastic.
Wilson knew better than to engage, having had more than 20 years to become desensitised to House’s deflections. Uncharacteristic.
“Are you… ok, House?” Wilson questioned after a moment of silence. Sure, House would make inappropriate and snide remarks, but not at Wilson. Not in the comfort of their home. Wilson’s perfect eyebrows were arched in genuine concern as House busied himself with his phone. Was he… smiling?
Wilson stood up, placing his hands on his hips, looking down at house.
”Alright Greg. I don’t know what you’re playing at! Or scheming. But I’m going to take a shower.” He turned to leave, but snapped his body back around towards the, yet again, concentrated face of someone who was attempting to read fine text on their phone.
“Don’t order any prostitutes, female NOR male while I’m in there.” He threw an accusatory finger and left, without response from House.
—
Turning off the shower head and grabbing his towel to dry himself, Wilson heard House’s faint voice seemingly… conversing with someone?
“I told you not to call Caramel again House! Or is it that texan boy this time?” the shorter man called out, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.
He wrapped the towel around his waist, leaving a messy mop of hair on his head, walking into the living room.
“Is my McGill sweater still here?” he faced the gruff man.
“Yeah I had the kids in my basement wash it for you.” Wilson looked a bit dumbfounded.
“Oh don’t worry! I pay them in energy drinks and vapes… kids can’t even handle real smoke nowadays.” he mocked, looking towards… the fire place?
Wilson decided to just go get changed before House became even weirder than usual.
He stepped into the bedroom, fishing out fresh underwear and his McGill sweater, pristinely grey as ever, from one of the drawers that was dedicated to him. As the oncologist took off the towel, House rushed into the room, panicked.
“Wilson don’t-” Wilson had his back turned to House.
“Jesus alright House! I’ll close the door next time. What’s gotten into you *Doctor House*” the diagnostician limped to the window sill, stretching his hands out towards the top of the window.
“You’re gonna get me banned *Doctor Wilson*.”
“Ba- Banned? What sort of drugs have you injected yourself with this time? Don’t tell me…” Wilson put his hands on his towel-clad hips.
“You’ve found another experimental drug to inject yourself with.” He hoped he was wrong.
House picked up the wonderboy oncologist’s pyjamas and rushed him to the bathroom.
“Change here, I’m going to sleep, you can take the couch.”
“But House-” the door slammed.
—
1AM. Wilson could still hear House speaking in his room. He could not sleep.
1:30AM. He could still not sleep, there was a cheerful air to his roommates tone. He could not sleep.
2AM. Things finally quieted down.
Wilson sat up on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands, having given up on sleep.
He got up, pacing back and forth in front of the couch for a moment, the room half-lit by a streetlamp in the street. What was wrong with him?
He stood in front of the door to what should have been his bed for the night. Opening the door as quietly as possibly, he found his mystery of a best friend asleep on the left side of the bed, facing towards the door. He stood there, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. What did he get himself into this time?
He gently sat on the right side of the bed, staring at his best friends disheveled hair. He sat closer, lying down to face House’s back, gently petting down stray wisps of hair.
“I miss you…” he whispered. “Why did you kick me out? What’s gotten into you House…”
Eyes becoming unfocused and drowsy, Wilson drifted off to sleep whilst cuddled up to House’s back, hand in his partners hair.
—
Wilson awoke to his face being nested in the diagnostician’s chest and to his head being cradled by his arm. He looked up at House.
“Good morning sleepyhead.” House smiled warmly. “The viewers haven’t stopped screaming since last night.”
Wilson blinked, face turning red. “V… viewers? House, what is going on.”
“I told you a few weeks ago about my new hobby didn’t I?”
“Hobby, what-” Wilson turned his head to look at the phone House was holding. A bunch of messages saying ‘Hai Wilson!!!’ streamed in along with some Wilson would rather ignore.
He sat up on his shoulder, facing House.
”Have you- Have you been streaming since yesterday?? Is that why you were gone the whole day?”
He lied down next to House, face planting. “God… I should have known. You idiot.” He laughed.
House was smiling next to him.
“Good thing I didn’t call Caramel over.”