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One of the things Wilson enjoyed most was cooking. Cooking always helped him relax and improve his skills. Honestly, he knew he was pretty good at it. Of course, the “complicated” part came when he tried to innovate and looked for different foods to prepare, as this caused his current partner to start complaining about his strange inventions, and those complaints would continue even after he had tasted what Wilson had prepared and loved it (he never said so openly, but, as they say, the eyes never lie).
Speaking of the king of Rome... House should be arriving soon. That day, Wilson had the day off and House had to go in for his shift. House had complained all day yesterday, claiming that it was unfair that he had to go to the hospital and Wilson could stay home, adding that they always went together or spent their days off together.
Wilson always laughed and never agreed with House, even though he knew it was true. No one at the hospital could say that they had ever, even once, seen one without the other during the day. For those closest to them, it was normal to see them together anywhere at least once a day; for those who were not close to House, the same was true. It didn't matter whether or not they knew the nature of the relationship between him and Wilson, everyone would always say that they were together in the hospital corridors.
Wilson smiled as he finished chopping the onion and wiped away the small tears caused by the vegetable's acidity.
The last time he had thought about how close he was to someone romantically had been three years ago, during his last long-term relationship. Wilson had hidden his attraction to other men very well. Well, he had never been specifically attracted to them, but rather to a certain type of personality. It was the same with women, to a greater extent for obvious reasons, and with the few men he had dated in his life, it never lasted more than a few months; just long enough for House not to realize that he was dating someone who was not a woman with fiery eyes and striking curves that ignited the flame that Wilson, at times, believed to be extinguished.
He had been with that guy, Tom, for just over a year. Looking back on their relationship from the present, Wilson began to feel more slowly as he compared the situations that came to mind.
Although he and Tom did not work in the same place, Wilson noticed the comments made by his then-boyfriend's friends when they went on group dates. Wilson hated group dates, as they prevented any kind of intimacy within the couple, but Tom made it clear from the beginning that he couldn't leave his lifelong friends behind, so the oncologist never complained about the dates they couldn't have alone. Tom's friends often commented on how little he talked about Wilson, and Wilson, perhaps naively believing that it was too early to talk about a formal relationship, didn't take it too badly, even though he was surprised that Tom had never mentioned him to his group of friends. And if Wilson said he wasn't in the mood to go out with everyone, Tom would roll his eyes, say a curt goodbye, and leave, not returning until dawn, without giving any further explanation or paying attention to Wilson's concerns about him coming home completely drunk.
“Hey, Wilson, my team invited me to the bar tonight. Want to come?”, House would shout down the hallways whenever a last-minute plan came up.
Too many times to count, House invited Wilson to whatever gathering came up. No matter what it was, Wilson would end up receiving an invitation from House, who would assure him that the others already knew about it. More than half the time, this wasn't true, and his presence was a surprise to House's team—an extremely mild surprise, to tell the truth, since one of them, usually Foreman, would comment with something like, “I told you he'd invite him.” If Wilson declined the invitations, House would leave for a few hours, during which time he would bombard Wilson's cell phone with messages about how bored he was, and end up returning home earlier than expected.
“You're back early”, Wilson would comment, without taking his eyes off the television.
“I got bored”, House would reply, casually. Then, without adding anything else, he would sit down next to Wilson and watch the program with him, regardless of whether it was one of those he often criticized.
That wasn't the only comparison that came to Wilson's mind.
He had been dating House for six months, and during that time, Wilson found plenty of details to compare with what had been his “relationship” with Tom years ago.
“Maybe I don't want you to touch me,” Tom snapped one night when Wilson came over to hug him and looked at him in dismay when he pulled away. “God, you're too clingy sometimes. I'll tell you when I want you to touch me. If you're so desperate for contact...”.
It wasn't the only time Wilson heard those words, and from then on, he made sure not to brush against Tom when he sat with him on the couch and only let him kiss him when he came home from work if Tom initiated the display of “affection.” His kisses were abrupt, as if he needed the contact, even if he didn't feel intimate. When they went to bed, he didn't dare move too much for fear of touching him and making him angry. They were uncomfortable nights, without a doubt.
Maybe I really am too clingy, Wilson thought one morning after Tom kissed him on the cheek as a greeting, without speaking. From then on, Wilson accepted any contact from Tom, no matter how brief or abrupt. He avoided initiating any contact for fear of upsetting him again, and no matter how uncomfortable he felt with each approach, he accepted whatever Tom wanted.
“If it were anyone else, I know you would have thrown them off at the first touch,” Cuddy had whispered mockingly one afternoon when she walked into Wilson's office and found him sleeping against House's shoulder after an exhausting day. Wilson was in a semi-conscious state, so he managed to recognize Cuddy's voice and House's growl.
“If it were someone else, they probably wouldn't even try to touch me,” House replied quietly, without removing his arm from around Wilson's shoulders.
Everyone knew how reluctant House was to physical contact, especially from people he wasn't close to, and even those who could be considered close to him had to be discreet when patting him on the shoulder. With Wilson, as always, it was different. House wasn't good with words, but he was excellent when it came to physical contact. They had known each other for years, and Wilson never suspected that House might enjoy physical contact beyond sex (the list of prostitutes spoke for itself).
At first, Wilson was worried that House would think he was too clingy or “needy,” so if he wanted to do something as simple as hold House's hand or lean on his shoulder, he would make slow, awkward movements, as if asking for permission to get closer. House would just look at him as if he were silly and pull him closer to hug him himself.
In the kitchen, while trying to focus on the task of chopping one vegetable at a time, Wilson smiled as he thought about the times he shyly approached House to hug him or take his hand in a casual gesture of affection. It wasn't until House himself, as expected, realized this and told Wilson that he could take the initiative if he wanted to.
“Don't you want to?”, Tom snapped one night when he tried to initiate sex with Wilson and Wilson barely returned his kisses. They were in bed, fully clothed, and Tom had climbed on top of him while kissing him passionately.
“I don't know... I don't feel like it”, Wilson replied quietly. The way Tom looked at him made him look away, not knowing what to expect.
Tom had pulled away from him with an annoyed grunt. Wilson remained still, tense, for a few moments, not knowing whether to move or not.
“It's not like I'm missing out on much...”, Tom muttered, pulling back the covers to lie down and cover himself with them.
Wilson had never felt insecure about his body, but those comments tended to affect him, especially coming from his partner. Tom used to make “jokes” when they went out with friends back then and Wilson was eating and drinking beer, pointing out that he was the one who ate and drank the most (another vile lie) and then, if Wilson stopped eating or politely declined what was offered to him, Tom would roll his eyes and ask sarcastically if he was offended by a simple joke.
In private, it wasn't much different either. He didn't usually say anything when they were in the act, and on nights when Wilson didn't want to have sex, his comments could be even more hurtful than at other times.
“What are you doing?”, he asked House one morning as he changed out of his pajama top and into one of the shirts he wore to work.
“Admiring the view”, House replied, looking him up and down. Consciously or not, he bit his lower lip slightly, and Wilson saw in the mirror that he was devouring him with his eyes.
Wilson could always tell when House was undressing him with his eyes, and sometimes he wasn't even trying to be... “sensual.” It was enough for him to read files and frown when he came across things that caught his attention, to tilt his head if there was something he didn't understand in a conversation, or to simply tuck his shirt into his pants. Any of those things made House bite his lip, probably imagining what they would do if they were in the privacy of their home.
Intimacy had never been a problem for them. Neither of them was really shy when it came to each other's bodies, much less modest when it came to exploring every part of them. With House, Wilson didn't feel insecure about showing his body, but he did feel a little overwhelmed when House kissed him and laid him down on the bed to lie on top of him. He was never rough or anything like that. However, some nights, Wilson wasn't in the mood for sex. He wasn't good at expressing his lack of desire, but, as expected, he didn't need to with House.
“Don't you want to?”, he asked gently, even though he was sure of Wilson's answer just by looking at his face.
“Hmm... I don't know, no... I don't really feel like it", Wilson replied softly, not knowing what to expect.
House just smiled, leaned down to kiss his forehead, and hugged him tenderly, reassuring him that everything was okay.
Wilson couldn't remember ever feeling so secure in non-sexual intimacy.
“James, I'm sorry, but... God, look what you made me do!”, Tom roared after the first slap.
They had argued because Wilson could no longer tolerate all of Tom's behavior: coming home late, not responding to his messages, dismissing his concerns, and worst of all, acting as if they weren't in a relationship. Wilson never went so far as to check his cell phone or control who Tom talked to, but his partner did. He questioned everything he did, looking over his shoulder when he was texting House or a colleague at the hospital. Suddenly, Wilson began to realize that Tom was asking him more and more often for explanations of what he was doing, who he was talking to, and where he was going after leaving the hospital.
Wilson had had enough and told him that he had no right to complain when Tom himself was secretly sending messages and going out to bars until the early hours of the morning, probably to sleep with the first person he came across.
It was those words that caused Tom to turn toward him and his hand to cross Wilson's cheek. The oncologist shut his mouth, put his hand to his cheek, and looked down, not knowing how to react. Although he had had failed relationships before, he had never been assaulted.
Tom offered a passive-aggressive apology: he admitted that what he did was wrong, but blamed Wilson for “provoking him.”
And so it went the next few times.
“What happened to you?”, House asked, frowning at the bruise on Wilson's forehead.
“I hit myself in the bathroom”, Wilson replied, too quickly for House's liking. “It was an accident”.
“Yeah, I don't think you meant to hit yourself on purpose”, House snapped, scrutinizing him with his gaze, perhaps trying to read his mind.
Wilson avoided House as much as he could until the older doctor caught him in his office and asked him why he was walking with his head down more and more and couldn't put his cell phone down. Feeling trapped and exhausted, Wilson burst into tears and admitted what was happening in his relationship. And not only that. He uncovered his arms and showed House the purple marks Tom's fingers had left after a violent struggle when Wilson tried to leave the house.
The oncologist still couldn't forget the fury he saw in House's eyes when he admitted how many times he had been beaten by his partner. House could be indifferent to many things, but there was no way he would ignore the fact that his then-friend was being abused.
He remembered House taking his cell phone to make a call despite Wilson's protests that he should stay out of it. He remembered the words he said to get Tom to come to the hospital as soon as possible. He remembered feeling helpless despite being in a public place when Tom marched toward him like a wild animal about to catch its prey.
And he remembered perfectly the crack of his nose when House's knuckles hit it with a force that no one knew.
“It hurts a lot when they do that to you, doesn't it?”, he snapped at Tom, who was lying on the floor, clutching his nose.
Coming to his senses with a start, Wilson realized he had wasted time navigating his memories. He had stopped chopping vegetables and wasn't even halfway through what he needed to use.
Well, no home-cooked dinner tonight, he thought. He put everything away, washed the utensils, and decided to order Chinese food. House would be fine as long as there was food, anyway.
He called the restaurant, ordered the food, and as soon as he hung up, the door opened.
“Honey, I'm home!”, House announced in a joking tone. He always arrived and shouted the same thing when Wilson got home first.
Wilson laughed and went to greet him. They kissed each other hello, and Wilson caught the adoring gleam in House's eyes. Wilson couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him with such love.
“I ordered Chinese food. I didn't get around to cooking anything”, Wilson said, going to the refrigerator to get some beers.
“I figured you'd be spending more time on other things”, House admitted, “so I got a head start”.
Wilson looked at him blankly, and House, smiling smugly, picked up a bag that Wilson hadn't even noticed.
“I brought Chinese food, too”.
They looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
“I guess we'll have food for a few days”.
“Next time I'll make sure to leave something ready”, Wilson said.
They had dinner with a movie playing in the background while House told Wilson about that day's consultations and made him laugh with the best answers he had given to patients.
Managing to control his laughter, Wilson could only think how lucky he was.