Chapter Text
The chaos began early that day, reflected Wilson, after the fact. Earlier than usual, anyway.
The first thing he did that Monday morning was roll over.
A second after he'd thrown his weight sideways-- in mid-roll, actually-- he panicked and thought "Oh shit. This is where I fall off the couch, bang my nose on the floor, and have House laugh at me for an hour because I'm too dumb to remember I'm sleeping on a couch instead of a bed."
A second later, Wilson rolled right into House's left side, banged his nose against House's cheekbone, and was so pleasantly surprised by the lack of painful falling he'd expected that he settled down into a very relaxed and content bearing, with one arm wrapped around House.
It took the two of them five more seconds to realize what was going on, and only half a second after that to part sharply, stare into each other's eyes, and say, in perfect synchronicity, "What the hell?"
Wilson reflected that perhaps he had been spending far too much time at House's apartment.
There was a long, awkward silence, during which Wilson tried to remember exactly what he'd been dreaming about before he decided to roll over in bed with House, or, barring that, what he'd been doing the night before that had resulted in him getting in bed with House. A quick check under the blankets revealed that yes, they both did have their boxers on, and Wilson's brain caught up with him at that moment and demanded to know what he would have done had they not had on anything at all.
Wilson suddenly found this all very funny, started giggling, and rolled the other way.
This time he did fall off the bed.
Apart from the initial impact, he found the carpet very soft, and was laying there quite comfortably until House rustled a bit on top of the bed and poked his head over the edge to stare down at Wilson. Wilson thought he looked ridiculous with his bedhead and wide, incredulous eyes, and curled up on himself to giggle some more.
"What the hell is wrong with you? What were you doing hugging me in bed? What were you doing in my bed?" demanded House. Wilson thought House's rapid-fire questions sounded a bit too much like those of his own internal voice, and hiccupped once in an attempt to stop laughing. House didn't know, either? Must have sleepwalked, then. Though if that was the case, the question became: why was he sleepwalking, and why into House's bed?
House reached down and grabbed the end of the blanket, which Wilson had pulled off the bed with him when he fell. Wilson obligingly rolled over some more-- rolling was quite fun, he hadn't had a chance to do it since he was little-- and grinned stupidly up at House when the blankets had been recovered to their position on top of the bed and not hanging off its side.
"And stealing my blankets, too," grumbled House, trying to reposition himself comfortably on the bed again, obviously preparing to go back to sleep. Wilson grabbed the side of the bed and attempted to hoist himself back up, and caught a glimpse of the bedside clock on the opposite side of the bed.
Nine-thirty a.m.? He suddenly stopped laughing.
"House!" he shouted, "we're late!" And with that, he grabbed a corner of House's blanket and let himself drop back to the floor with a thump, dragging the blanket with him.
House yelped once and made a grab for the blankets as Wilson stole them yet again, missed, and resolved to let Wilson know exactly what he thought of his blanket-stealing once they got to work. Preferably with lots of public humiliation involved, and with a good chance of making the entire hospital staff believe they really were gay. Not that House would care, if it taught this stupid blanket-stealing roommate of his a lesson.
Wilson got to his feet, almost staggered sideways into the bed, and dashed into the living room to find his suitcase and clothes. House tried to ignore the cold air against his bare arms and legs, but couldn't, and finally struggled up and shuffled into the bathroom.
The rest of the morning passed in relative calm, broken only by House mixing up the lunch containers Wilson had prepared the night before-- one vegetarian salad, the other with chicken-- and making a subtly sexual quip about Wilson being a meat-lover when he attempted to switch them back.
Wilson could almost believe that nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them.
However, it was only when Wilson clambered into his car to drive himself and House to work that he remembered, vaguely, why he'd walked half-asleep into House's room to be near him.
The smell of blood.