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Chapter Text

It was stupid and unnecessary by most accounts. But it was important to him, terribly so. He felt a great sense of commitment and responsibility to his patients. Wilson had just pulled a thirty-six-hour shift in the oncology department at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Several oncology team members were currently sick and naturally, he had stepped up and only went home when his hands started shaking.  

He practically stumbled through the front door and into House’s apartment. At what time? He doesn’t even know. Probably evening since House was already home at this point. He wanted to talk with House. He wanted to know how his day had been, about the outcome of his case. In a blur of tiredness, Wilson hangs his blazer and kicks off his shoes before walking towards House’s bedroom in a haze.

House sits propped up on his bed with a laptop. He heard Wilson come home and was honestly surprised he hadn’t just passed out somewhere at the hospital. He looks up when Wilson stands at the open door and hits a familiar pose with his hands on his hips. House gives him a quick once-over, assessing his state with attentive blue eyes. The pose is a little less authoritative than usual and there’s a slight hunch in his shoulders, betraying just how tired the man is. 

“Your cancer kids less dead yet?” House asks as he nods at the bed, indicating for Wilson to sit down before his knees go out. 

“I didn’t actually spend much time in paediatrics,” Wilson sighs while loosening his tie and walking into the room.

His voice has more of a rasp to it than usual and he speaks in lower tones House notes. It sounds nice to his ears. He almost feels sorry for his best friend, but not quite. He could have easily delegated a large number of his tasks, but instead, he was stubborn about it. House couldn’t help but admire him slightly.

“I was mostly just trying to keep oncology afloat,” He continues before flopping face-first across the end of House’s mattress. 

“So you left the kids in less capable hands,” House taunts, “wouldn’t want them to think you actually care about them.”

Wilson has hardly moved from where he lies stretched across the bed and only mutters something in response to House’s comments. His sleepy eyes had closed as soon as his head hit the mattress and his body feels too heavy to move. He’s far too tall to actually fit on House’s bed in this direction and his socked feet stick off the edge. 

House closes his laptop and sets it aside. He bends to get a closer look at Wilson falling into sleep already. He prods him in the shoulder and gets no response. House sighs dramatically and gets up to move Wilson properly onto the bed. After grabbing his ankles and rotating him unceremoniously, House goes to shove him into a more reasonable position on the bed. Wilson grumbles slightly in his sleep but mostly complies. 

House stands over the form of his exhausted friend and shakes his head a him. He goes back to his original spot and resumes working on his laptop for some time. The company is actually nice, Wilson’s soft breathing and warmth beside him is oddly enjoyable. To the point which House entirely neglects waking him or moving him to the couch and just lets him sleep.

Eventually, after growing bored of his work and feeling his own sleepiness settling in, House turns out the bedside lamp and nestles in beside Wilson. It doesn’t feel weird, it’s nothing they haven’t done before, but he feels something different in his chest at the sight of the sleeping oncologist beside him. He wants Wilson here with him.

House sighs and rubs both hands across his face while staring at the ceiling. It is what it is, he thinks to himself. He rolls to his side, facing Wilson and commits his soft, peaceful face to memory. Wilson keeps sleeping even after House gets up in the morning.

Chapter Text

It had been dug out of paediatrics. Or maybe the sleep lab. Somewhere in the depths of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, the deflating air mattress had been procured. The deflating air mattress that two doctors are currently trying to sleep on. After his experience so far, Wilson would thoroughly not recommend sharing any form of bed with House.

He’d suggested Cameron take the couch in his own office since it didn’t really fit him. That was before fully thinking through the idea. He could surely blame this all on Cuddy. House’s patient required constant monitoring in the sleep lab. So, every two hours, he and his team are switching in pairs. Cuddy had asked Wilson to help keep House in check since his plan had been to let his team do all the work. Wilson had agreed grudgingly, knowing this would entail waking House up every few hours.

What he hadn’t thought about was how miserable it would be to try and sleep with the man after House’s team had claimed the other couches. It had been agreed that Wilson and House would take the second shift of the night and are now trying to get some sleep in House’s office with the blinds drawn.

“You know, plenty of couples swear by sleeping in separate beds,” House states out of the blue while staring up at the ceiling.

Naturally, neither of them had been able to sleep yet between their constant arguing and House’s fidgeting. There was no way for them to both lie on the mattress without touching, due to it sinking in the middle spectacularly. It had been steadily deflating from the moment they’d lain down. The two kept rolling together in the middle, no matter what they tried. At this point, in defeat, they had resigned themselves to the fact that this was just how tonight would be.

“For God’s sake, House,” Wilson sighs irritably and frowns into the darkness.

They’re lying back to back, mostly. After much fighting, House is wrapped in the large duvet and Wilson ended up with two fluffy blankets. Stubbornly, neither of them is willing to work together. It’s beyond not ideal.

“Maybe that would have saved your marriages,” House continues in mock conspiratorial tones.

Between House’s chatting and the bowing shape of the mattress, Wilson has lost all hope of sleeping. House’s elbow is sticking into his back and he’s lying uncomfortably on his own arm to boot.

“Can you just go to sleep, House?” Wilson groans, waving his free hand for emphasis and hiding his eyes with it.

“Easy for you to say when your feet don’t stick off the end of this goddamn inflatable nightmare,” House says peevishly, but shuts up anyway.

Quiet settles and Wilson focuses on his breathing. The parts of his body exposed to the air are getting cold, but he doesn’t want to move and give House more reasons to argue. The silence is short-lived lived however, which he should have expected.

“They’ve gotta be lying though,” House says cheerfully, picking right up on his one-sided argument where he left off.

Wilson sighs and does his best to ignore him.

“There’s no way people can actually have a healthy marriage while sleeping like Christian teenagers,” House continues and turns his head to look over at Wilson next to him.

“House?” Wilson asks eventually, looking into the darkness punctuated by dull hallway lights.

“Yeah?” House responds inquisitively while rearranging his duvet for the umpteenth time.

“Shut up,” Wilson says flatly.

“Yes, Mom,” House drawls and pulls a face neither of them can see.

It’s quiet again after that. He knows he’s pissing off Wilson, but also can’t help himself from enjoying it. He can feel the warmth from the other man at his side and can practically feel the anger coming from him too. Wilson grits his teeth when his pillow randomly decides to give up on life and flops off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor.

“You’re breathing funny,” House states in a deadpan tone.

“You’re breathing funny!” Wilson retorts immediately, but can’t help finding it slightly funny.

Without warning, House goes for Wilson’s blanket and snatches it. Wilson groans and wants to pull his hair out.

“You ass,” Wilson says without bothering to add any venom to the sentence.

“I love you too,” House says in a voice dripping with victory.

Wilson huffs and rubs a hand across his face before House rolls over and it forces Wilson to roll too so that they’re face to face. Wilson makes a surprised sound as he’s jostled into a completely different position and has a portion of the duvet thrown over his body. The action is too much for the poor air mattress and it undulates excessively under them.

“House!” Wilson says, raising his voice in irritation and at the arm suddenly replacing his fallen pillow.

“Look, it’s the only way this is going to work,” House says into the now rather small space between their faces in a tone that leaves little room to argue.

Wilson opens his mouth to complain, but closes it. He assesses how he’s now lying. It actually is better than before. He lies on his side and his head rests on House’s bicep, the shared warmth under the duvet is pleasant. His arm is also no longer being crushed under his own weight. It’s rather intimate, but doesn’t bother him if he actually gets to sleep this way.

“Alright,” Wilson says and his voice comes out softer than he had intended.

He hadn’t seen it coming, but now he’s nestled closely with his best friend and it feels good. Feeling safe like this with anyone feels good. Never mind the deflating mattress, this can work when they aren’t fighting one another. Wait, what? He likes this now? Wilson shoves the thought to the side to never be considered again.

Nothing more is said between them and Wilson falls asleep with House’s hand playing idly with his hair.

Chapter Text

House is infinitely glad to be on the way home from the medical convention in Vancouver. The downside was just how late at night their flight is. Wilson and House yawned their way through most the the airport and blearily dropped off bags and made it to their gate, where they bickered until boarding. 

Wilson’s arms are crossed in front of him. His eyes are closed and he’s trying to sleep, but keeps flinching at the turbulence. He doesn’t like it, he knows nothing will ever happen, but it still makes him anxious. It’s completely dark outside and there is literally nothing to see from House’s window seat.

They’re only halfway home and House has grown painfully bored. He stares at the ceiling and is mildly irritated by the terrible turbulence. He just wants something to do. He would talk with Wilson… or argue, but he’s obviously trying and failing to sleep as it is. He had already finished the book he’d brought with him on the way to the convention.

His eyes light on Wilson’s bag near his feet and the book sticking out of it. He swipes Wilson’s journal from the convention out of his carry-on and begins reading his notes. They’d attended several fascinating lectures together and Wilson had written down large amounts about most of them. 

House occupies himself with deciphering Wilson’s handwriting on a lecture that hadn’t been particularly relevant to either of them but was nevertheless interesting. They’d sat together near the back of a large lecture theatre. A young man on stage delightedly waved his hands about while explaining the movement of bacteria with second-order differential equations. House smiles a tiny smile, remembering the argument that had started between him and Wilson while they both tried to recall their decades-old calculus knowledge.

The constant noise is getting to him. Wilson changes his position fussily, turning to the side slightly and his shoulder bumps with House’s. Without thinking, he puts out a hand and places it on House’s knee. He takes a peek at where his hand rests before closing his eyes again. He might not have intended to do it consciously, but his hand is there now and he isn’t backing down. 

House stares at where Wilson’s hand sits for a moment. He eyes it almost accusingly, but doesn’t say anything or move. House goes back to reading Wilson’s journal like nothing had happened. He didn’t really care anyway, if Wilson wanted to touch him he was perfectly in his right to. 

House flips through a few more pages before casually placing his hand over Wilson’s and lacing his fingers with the other mans’. He continues to read as Wilson’s head falls softly to his shoulder and his hair tickles House’s neck. Normally, his friend sleeping on him would bother him and House would have shoved him off without a second thought. But in this instance, he felt strangely touched. Wilson hadn’t been able to sleep without knowing he was right there. 

Wilson’s handwriting all blurs together eventually and House realises how tired he himself is. He rests his head lightly atop Wilson’s and falls asleep contemplating how they had become this dependent on one another. 

Chapter Text

Wilson turned up at House’s apartment after his wife had kicked him out. His ex-wife. He was barely keeping it together if he was honest. The constants in his life seemed to have shattered in a single moment. He’d packed some things without seeing them. He’d forgotten the plot but kept reading. The memories of her shouting at him echoed through his mind too often on the drive here. 

When House opened the door and laid eyes on him, there was a softness in them. Wilson had almost been able to forget what had happened between shitty TV, beer and chips, but the guilt never quite lifted from his chest. He had done so many things wrong in his marriage. The two talked a bit sitting together on the couch, about nothing in particular and time went on. 

House had gone to get ready for bed and Wilson just followed him. House didn’t mention it. They sit together on the edge of his bed. Wilson’s solemn gaze is fixed on his hands in his lap. He still feels awful. 

“I should– I should go,” Wilson says softly without looking at House.

A beat. House’s eyes are intensely on Wilson as he hides his face in his hands. He’s still in his work clothes and his shirt is rolled up to his elbows. House glances at the silver watch on Wilson’s wrist, it’s late. 

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” House replies, his voice just above a whisper. 

Wilson is silently sobbing into his hands. His shoulders shake and he curls into himself where he sits. House resists rolling his eyes at him, he knows Wilson is hurting and will feel better eventually, but he wishes they could just skip to that part. House moves to lie on his usual side of the bed and makes a show of ignoring Wilson. He lies on top of the covers and reaches to turn out the light. 

They stay like that for a little while. Wilson doesn’t know what to do with himself as he leans with his elbows on his knees. He’s trying to even out his breathing and stop himself from spiralling. House obviously wants nothing to do with him and he’ll get up and move to the couch soon.

It’s quiet. The nighttime kind of quiet where they can hear each other breathing and the rustle of clothes and bedding. House huffs a sigh before reaching down to Wilson and clenching his fingers around a wrist. Wilson is caught off guard and finds himself being dragged towards House and placed beside the other man on the bed. 

It surprises him. Wilson thought that House was surely going to ignore him and let him deal with his own shit, but he was now encircled in a soft embrace and lying right beside him. House acts like he’s done nothing and closes his eyes while Wilson is still deciding if he likes this. 

Who is he kidding? Of course he likes it. House’s arms around him are comforting and take so much weight from his shoulders almost immediately. Wilson gingerly returns the loose embrace with one hand coming up to rest at House’s side. He cushions his head with his other arm and lets himself relax next to his friend. It hits him, unexpectedly and gently, that this was what safety feels like.

Warmth and comfort flow between them. Not something most people associate with House in the slightest, but something Wilson always knew he was capable of. It really does feel like it will all be alright when he’s lying in House’s arms. He feels safe and although he feels great remorse for another failed marriage, he knows he can do this. He can get up in the morning and go to work with House. House is his constant. From the outside, it might not seem like it, but House has been more constant and reliable than any other person in his life. 

As the tears dry on his cheeks, he gets used to the feeling of House’s arm slung warmly around his waist. He lets out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and presses his forehead to House’s chest. He can do this.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning. The air feels still. Locked in some warmthless, comfortless state. He wears yesterday's clothes and sits staring at the floor. The grey carpet of Wilson’s office floor is bathed in warm morning sunlight.

He’d lost a patient last night. A young one. It hurt more than usual watching her family take it. There really was hope and then it was all gone. The feelings have dulled now that he’s had some time to process it and he feels a little empty. He should go home and sleep, he doesn’t need to be here at all. His attention gets caught and he looks up when House barges in and limps over to sit with him.

“You look terrible ,” House says bluntly after taking in Wilson’s tired eyes and mussed hair.

“Yeah, well, being up all night would do that, I guess,” Wilson says and smiles, weaker than usual. 

House leans back against the arm of the couch and throws his legs over Wilson’s lap. Wilson frowns and crosses his arms in front of him.

“How’s the case going?” Wilson asks, realising that House must have also been up all night. 

“Discharged,” says House smugly, “and now I get to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

Wilson rolls his eyes as House settles further into the couch and makes it clear he intends to nap right here. He looks more dishevelled than usual, there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is in a state. It must have been a rough case if he hadn’t managed to get home. 

“Well don’t just stare at me,” says House dryly with closed eyes and he opens his arms to Wilson and flaps his hands insitantly.

The offer is tempting. Arms open to him, to comfort, whether House intends that or not. Sleep is trying to drag his consciousness away as it is. He feels heavy and like it takes too much effort to move. Wilson would like to think that he debated it, that he thought for a moment before sliding down the couch and into House’s waiting arms. But in truth, he needed no convincing to lie down with House on the small couch and close his eyes. 

“I sleep better with you anyway,” Wilson admits with a sigh.

He ends up with a cheek pressed against House’s chest. If he had more energy, the position would probably have been uncomfortable. But with the dulling effect of sleepiness, his standards have lowered. 

House’s hand hovers for a moment before resting lightly on Wilson’s shoulder. His long fingers are warm and Wilson finds himself involuntarily relaxing under the touch. It had been too much effort for his muscles to keep him upright anyway. 

Wilson lets out a long breath. He allows himself to settle an arm around House’s middle. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a nap with someone. It’s actually kind of nice, he admits to himself. House is warm and solid under him and his presence is more reassuring than Wilson would have pictured. 

Neither sees it, but they’re both smiling when they fall asleep.

Chapter Text

He walks through the hotel corridors at a brisk pace. It’s late in the evening after a day full of medical convention events. Wilson is looking forward to doing it all again tomorrow, but also is looking forward to lying down after being on his feet all day. 

He tries to open the door to their room quietly, but isn’t particularly successful and it opens with a clatter. The room is dark and the curtains are drawn. He stumbles a little after closing the door behind him and plunging the room back into darkness. 

A soft light turns on with a click. Wilson’s gaze flicks up from kicking off his shoes to see House reaching over to the bedside lamp. His heart swells at the sight of his sleepy husband blinking at him with a gentle smile. Wilson smiles back at him and tosses his tie to the side to be forgotten until morning comes. 

“Hey,” Wilson says softly as he pads towards the bed.

“Hey,” House says back groggily, but there’s affection in his voice. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Wilson says apologetically as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Wasn’t asleep, was waiting for you,” House says and stretches his arms above his head where he lies.

Wilson tips his head to the side and flashes his smile, appreciating his beautiful husband. 

“C’mere,” House murmurs and encircles Wilson’s waist with strong hands and pulls him into bed.

Wilson smiles again and can’t help a small giggle as he reaches out a hand to touch House’s stubbled cheek lightly. He’s been placed right on top of House, knees either side of him. Wilson leans down and kisses him on the lips, brief but filled with affection. His lips are soft and warm, familiar and soothing. House hums contentedly as Wilson buries his face into his neck. 

The scent of House close to him is relaxing, but he still feels worn out and tired like a school boy after a field trip. House’s arms come up around him to stroke his back in intricate patterns. Before long, Wilson’s breathing turns soft and even. He’s fallen asleep, still mostly clothed and on top of House. 

House lets him stay that way for a while. He continues rubbing his back lightly and holds him near. Eventually, though, he carefully moves Wilson off him and tucks him into his side with an arm around his shoulders. He turns out the light and catches sight of his own wedding ring. He feels truly, truly content as he rapidly follows Wilson into dreams.