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Wilson is right there.
House knows he’s there. He can reach over, run his fingers through Wilson’s hair.
His chest rises and falls rhythmically, and House is tempted to press his fingers to his neck and check his pulse. He almost wants to limp out of bed, and grab the cold stethoscope in the bathroom and check. Just to make sure he’s still breathing, make sure he’s not lost.
House sighs. He reaches over and brushes a stray hair out of Wilson’s face, and for a second House thinks he hears his breath hitch, but he goes back to snoring softly. He stirs slightly, and House almost flinches, almost moves his hand away. He strokes Wilson’s hair with his thumb and listens to Wilson’s breath.
House’s hand wanders around Wilson’s face, gently. He’s not letting himself poke anything, in risk of waking him, but he runs his index finger along Wilson’s nose. His finger travels down slightly. He runs it over Wilson’s lips, feeling a soft breath press against his skin.
He doesn’t deserve this.
The thought hits him like a train, and he knows it’s true. He doesn’t deserve this relationship, he doesn’t deserve Wilson. He doesn’t deserve Wilson’s gentle nature, or his soft touch, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve to be feeling Wilson like this, unmasked, vulnerable.
He’s warm to the touch. As expected– he’s there, right there. House shifts a little closer moving his hand to Wilson’s neck, feeling his pulse.
It’s fine. It’s normal, he’s perfect. Just as he should be.
God, it’s horrifying.
Wilson stirs when House’s finger brushes his ear, a particularly sensitive spot for him. House flinches slightly, pulling his hand back as Wilson’s eyelids flutter open.
Wilson hums softly. “House?” He asks, reaching out blindly, brushing his shoulder.
“Go back to sleep.” House whispers, putting his own hand on Wilson’s. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s fine,” Wilson murmurs sleepily, “Why are you awake?”
House locks his fingers with Wilson’s, who slowly reaches out to pull House closer to his chest.
“Nightmare.” He admits, listening to Wilson’s heartbeat. Steady, like his pulse, like his breathing. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Wilson sits up slightly, adjusting himself for House.
“I’m not going back to sleep without you.” He sighs, still sleepy. He rolls over and lazily pulls House into a hug.
“Wilson.”
“Greg.”
“…James.”
House waits a while, realizing he hasn’t heard Wilson’s breath deepen, or slow down just yet.
“You’re not asleep yet.”
“Neither are you.” Wilson replies, almost exasperated. He pauses, his eyes adjusting to the dark. “Is that my McGill sweatshirt?”
“I was thinking.“ House starts. “About Kutner—“
“It wasn’t your puzzle to solve.” Wilson seems to perk up quickly, the sleep falling from his previously sluggish movement.
“I still don’t understand—“
“Nobody does. You’re not slowing down. Nobody knew, Greg.” Wilson runs his hand through House’s hair, still not grown back after Mayfield.
“I never figured it out.” He muttered, his hands trembling as he grips the comforter.
“Nobody did.”
Wilson looks at House, that soft, familiar, stupid look on his face.
House grabs his face. It’s not violent. But it’s fast, and it’s desperate.
“I need to know you’re real.” He says, his voice breaking like he’s going to beg. Wilson looks back, sitting up, and he whispers.
Wilson pauses. House looks at him, and Wilson gives him that look.
It’s not pity. It’s never pity. It’s understanding. It’s love.
“Poodle.” He whispers, his voice soft.
House sighs and chuckles softly.
“Do you need to talk?” Wilson asks, lazily holding onto House’s hand as if he’s going to leave.
House looks almost content for a second. His brow furrows and he shakes his head before Wilson pulls him close into his heartbeat.
It’s steady. It’s perfect, just like he is. Wilson pauses before getting up and walking to the bathroom, coming back out with the stethoscope.
Wilson puts the earpieces in for House after warming the stethoscope up with his breath and hands. The slightly chilly metal presses to Wilson’s unclothed chest and House hears his heartbeat. It’s steady, and it’s so, so real, and it’s so, so perfect.
“Are you gonna be okay now?” Wilson asks as House takes the earpieces out. He nods, slowly, and puts the stethoscope on his nightstand.
Wilson lays back down, adjusting himself and gesturing for House to lay down with him. He wraps his arms over him and squeezes three times. House lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Night, Wilson.”
“Goodnight, Greg.”