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Summary
James Wilson could remember the first time he’d realised he might be in love with his best friend.
It felt weird to remember House when they were young. On some days, it felt like the memories didn’t align with the present at all. After all, it was a Wednesday afternoon, and Wilson was sitting on the edge of a worn sofa, running his fingers reverently over the cover of a book that he was never supposed to find.
He thought about the House he knew. It was hard to reconcile the strung-out, miserable man with the young, energetic menace Wilson used to know. And with the man who’d made the book.
They were inconceivably different people.
Yet James Wilson had loved Gregory House back then, and he loved him now.
~
Wilson stumbles across something that he was never supposed to find.