Chapter Text
It was a normal enough workday. Wilson had two terminal diagnoses to hand out before his daily lunch date with House, the standard fair. Nothing unusual had happened around him recently, something practically unheard of when your best friend is a hurricane of mischief. It was mundane, bordering on boring, not that he would ever admit that aloud. He did care about his patients but he also loved the hustle and bustle of the Diagnostics and all its craziness. He missed House ruining his day by interrupting his patient meetings incessantly. Recently though, there actually was a case and House was unusually interested with the patient, often leaving Wilson by himself in favour of the child.
At home, House's lack of presence was apparent, there was too much quiet for Wilson. He needed the noise, stimulation of House's shit tv and fantastic music. At least he had the TV to himself long enough to rewatch some of his favourite musicals that House mocked him for. Eventually even that got boring and he had to resort to spending his evenings still at the hospital, getting a head start on paperwork and foolishly hoping to catch a glimpse of House. Eugh he felt like a school girl, rerouting herself so she could maybe catch a glimpse of some dumb boy she had a crush on en route to her lessons. It was such a juvenile thing to do but fuck it, a guy could miss his husband.
Now he’s struggling to fall asleep, all alone on their bed. It had been boring, mind numbing, so why hadn’t sleep claimed him? It had every other day of the week. Was his subconscious experiencing FOMO? The night was a calm one, some distant sounds of cars brushed past the window, nothing exciting, hardly anything worth staying up for. Was it time to start counting sheep? One, two, three… Nope, that wasn’t it. He needed to be up at his normal time, he couldn’t afford the lie-in staying up this late would surely cause.
Yet his mind didn’t seem to want to work that way. For hours after he just lay there, blankly staring at the ceiling, hoping to be swept away.
This blankness lasted for ages until two things happened in quick succession.
He heard the tell-tale beeping of his alarm clock signaling it to be 7:00. He heard the keys being placed and turned in the lock.
Zombie-esque in his movements, Wilson made his way out of bed and into the kitchen where he immediately set upon making a cup of joe. The minute it was ready, he guzzled it down, not caring that it burnt his throat something dreadful.
After placing toast in the toaster, he went out to meet House in the living room. From where Wilson stood, it had seemed that House was still marginally awake, his silhouette upright against the tv. He made his way over carefully, planning to kiss his partner on the cheek. If House pulled away, he would know how it had ended but if he leant into it it would ask more questions than answer.
House did neither.
Wilson was shocked, and quite honestly, a bit confused.
“House? What happened?” He asked nervously.
Silence.
Wilson felt dread climb up his spine, swallowing his vertebrae. Silence was never good, not from House, not from anyone.
”Greg?” He tried again, instead using his first name. A more intimate approach that communicated his ache for conversation.
A mumble.
”What was that?”
A bit louder this time.
“Hm?”
”Goddamn it James! You lied to me!” House eventually exploded, whipping around to face Wilson, an inferno in his eyes.
“What?! No I didn’t,- About what?” Wilson spluttered, confused beyond words.
”You did!”
“About what?!”
“You told me your brother’s name was Danny,” Wilson felt his stomach drop, “so who is this Neil Perry guy who seemed pretty stressed about being told about you?”
“Neil…” the name trailed off his tongue, like honey. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time.
House quietened again. His eyes never leaving the ever shifting quilt of emotion upon his lover’s face.
“Neil-he… I- Wait, why did you tell him about me?! What is he in for?”
House remained silent.
“House please, I’ll tell you everything, just promise me he’s okay,” Wilson begged. House’s expression softened.
“I’m sorry James, it’s not my place to say,” House replied sombrely.
“Neil, no-“ Wilson choked.
“James talk to me, who is he?” House said softly, grabbing Wilson’s forearms.
“He’s my younger brother, and I left his life when he said his first word,” Wilson confessed and then slunk into the sofa cushions like it had exhausted him.
House understood his husband was going through something but he couldn’t stop the cogs in his mind from whirring.
Good ol’ Wilson, still never boring.