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wilson felt stupid. he felt really, really stupid. how could he not have seen this coming, really?
he'd thought he knew him best, but he assumes he was like any other guy or girl House decided to play with for a while. at a point he couldn't even fully blame House— he was being stupid, thinking anything good could come from this. he took another long swig from his washed out, shitty beer.
right now he was staying at some dingy hotel before he could get his bearings again. having been kicked out of he and bonnie's place, now he and House's, it was all just too much. he shacked up at the closest place he could and would rarely leave his room. god, he was stupid. he was letting some music play on his ipod mini that he didn't really care for, until, a familiar melody had hit his senses.
oh god. now, really??
as the trumpets to no me queda más played through the small speaker of his ipod, wilson gripped his beer just a little tighter. he held his head and let out a series of frustrated exhales until they were becoming a little too worrisome. he needed to calm down.
but he couldn't. not when the song playing perfectly explained exactly what he was feeling. he was angry, of course, but he was mourning too. not just the loss of a lover (that of which he's no stranger to), but the loss of such a strong friendship he had. rather— he thought he had. was it all that strong if it were a couple more, hard hitting arguments that tipped them over the edge? or was it just that, that they were only meant to stay friends, and wilson had fucked it up by pushing to be something more. the words sung echoed through the cramped hotel room as wilson hugged himself a bit tighter. he didn't want to cry. not now, not ever.
but he couldn't stop thinking.
certainly hearing 'i had a hope in the bottom of my soul, that one day you would stay with me,' was not helping his case one bit. he hated House, he hated getting into petty arguments with him, he hated how accusatory and selfish and how much of a prick he is; but he hated more how that was all a lie. wilson knew he loved House exactly for who he is. the selfish, entitled, arrogant genius doctor he is. it'd be even more fucked up to admit to himself that's probably why he likes him so much— because House is who he is through and through.
how stupid was wilson to have fallen in love with someone who had no regard for him at all? to willingly get into a relationship knowing how things would go? he was like a kid again, naive and believing you can get through anything with love. he wants to hate him, so so badly, but he can't. so the next best thing— hating himself. wilson didn't even realize the wetness on his face before he was starting to shake. god, james, pull it together.
maybe, wilson began to think, there's something fundamentally wrong with me, reflecting on all of his failed marriages -- but this time was different. it was different with House and it always was. it was scary to admit. wilson felt no temptation with others, he felt nothing awry when either was upset - there was an understanding. an understanding between the two, that only they ever got. House was for wilson, and wilson House. that's how they'd always been. but as the song finishes with, 'and even if you always give it up, for me -- it was the most beautiful thing', wilson feels even emptier than how he did before. he sniffles, chokes up a sob, and finally forces himself to calm down. he needs to stop drinking.
it was much later than he originally thought (from when he started his night of drinking) and he desperately needed to go to bed. he needed the night to end already. he climbed into the right side of the bed instinctively, as if his lover would join him on the left. House had only slept on the left side before— all his other lovers took the right. yet, wilson's instincts led him right back to House's side like it always had. wilson turned off the lamp and willed himself to sleep.