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Wilson never usually takes this long. House had seen him do this countless times. Okay, maybe not countless, but far too many times for House’s taste. Still. Wilson usually moves quite fast and propose to them a mere few months after they’ve started dating. But not with him.
They’ve been dating for a year and a half now, and Wilson isn’t showing any sign of wanting to marry House. It’s upsetting.
House fidgets on the couch in from of the telly. He tries to tell himself it probably means nothing. He’s lost the plot of the movie they’re watching – something about musketeers? Why the hell did you chose that, Wilson? – as a single sentence loops into his brain.
Will you marry me?
It can’t be that hard. He decides he can wait until the end of the fight scene. He doesn’t.
“How long has it been, by the way?” He tries to be casual about it.
“We’re only halfway into it. I told you if you didn’t like it you could go to bed. It’s a classic, I want to watch it.”
Wilson can be so dense, sometimes. Don’t make this difficult.
“No, I mean, us.”
This times, Wilson pauses the movie and furrows his brow like he’s actually counting the days.
“Er, yesterday, I think? Or was it Monday? That time in my office. I’m not in the mood tonight.”
And he presses play again.
He’s doing this on purpose.
“No…” House says, dragging the “o” like he’s talking to a very slow child. “I mean, us, as a couple.”
The movie stops one more time, leaving one of the character in an awkward position, his mouth hanging open as he’s been cut in the middle of a sentence. He looks like he’s screaming in frustration. House relates. Wilson finally turns towards him.
“I don’t know… A year? No, more than a year. We started dating in October…”
“A year, seven months and three days.” House corrects him.
He hadn’t known he had been counting. He hates that he can feel his skin prickle in anticipation and regrets that the bulge in the front pocket of his jeans suddenly looks so big. He can actually sense the ring become heavier and heavier against his thigh – his good thigh – and for one moment he fears he won’t have the guts to go along with this.
“Yeah… That’s… a hell of a long time, now that I think of it. Your point being?”
House takes a sharp breath and casts a glance at the musketeer on TV to gather some strength. It doesn’t help at all, and now he feels a little giddy, like a teenager before a first kiss. It’s ridiculous.
“You know, I just think we should just move on.”
He knows he won’t be able to finish his speech if he is to look at Wilson while talking, so he keeps his eyes on the musketeer’s distorted face.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Wilson’s voice couldn’t sound less nervous. House can hear the amused smile playing on Wilson’s lips and he knows he already won.
“No, I mean move on to the next level of relationship. You know, the natural progression: bros, best bros, best bros with benefits… husbands.”
Wilson doesn’t answer and House isn’t sure what to say next. Wasn’t it obvious enough? Does he really have to tell the thing out loud? After one minute of complete silence, he should look at Wilson, but he just goes on:
“It wouldn’t have to be a big thing, you know. Just… good food and beers at the end. I know you hated the ceremony… the other times.”
Great Greg bring up the exes right now is the good time to talk about them shit what am I doing
“Well, at least I hated it. All that religious crap. I guess for us there wouldn’t be any. With the gay thing and all…”
Now that he’s started, he can’t find the will power to stop babbling. He can’t even turn his damn face to see how Wilson is reacting. The guy still hasn’t made a sound.
“Actually, I bought a ring? See if it fits.” He blurts out as he throws the box on Wilson’s lap. “I think you can change it if you don’t like it.”
And I can return it if this goes horribly wrong.
He tries to look flippant and grabs his beer when he feels Wilson reaching for the box and opening it. He has chosen a plain gold ring; the kind they often allow you to put small messages on. He had no idea what the proper message was when you’re proposing to your best friend of twenty years, so he put nothing. Maybe he should have. But that would have been terribly sappy. He takes a sip of his beer.
Finally, Wilson speaks.
“You took your time!”
House almost chokes. Wilson is smiling.
“Excuse me?” He has beer spilled all over his t-shirt, but tries to remain composed.
“You bought that ring what? Three months ago?”
“You saw me buying it?”
“You bought it with my credit card!”
Oh, yeah. The credit card.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“After all the times I proposed, it’s time you do the work! ”
“But that doesn’t count! You didn’t propose to me the last times!”
Wilson is chuckling and he shakes his head slowly as he raises from the leather couch, the box still in his hand.
“Just this once, you did it. And now you know what it’s like! Isn’t it a wonderful experience?”
“Fuck off!”
He meant to sound offended but the grin creeping on his face ruins the effect. Instead, he sounds delighted, downright cheerful, as he looks up to Wilson’s face. They’re beaming at each other. They probably look very stupid, but House doesn’t care because Wilson takes the ring off its box and puts it on his finger. It’s time to diffuse the tension.
“Still not in the mood?”
Wilson huffs a breathy laugh and held his hand out to help him stand up. House fist pumps in victory before taking it.
“And, for the record, I actually did propose to you. And I did that right! In a restaurant, in front of an audience.”
“It doesn’t count. And that guy is the only audience we need.”
House turns off the TV and the screaming face of D’Artagnan disappears.