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House usually won bets, so when he placed a bet with Wilson, of course he was confident. The bet said that if the patient had a neurological problem, Wilson had to wear a fur suit to work. However, if the patient did in fact have cancer, House had to wear a dress and wig the next day.
House was sure he was right, so when Chase walked up to him the next day with a grave look on his face he wasn't worried at all. He just knew he was right.
“Stage 4 cancer,”
“Wut?” House was absolutely sincerely flabbergasted at the words that had just came from the aussie’s mouth.
“The patient,” Chase paused like he was trying to get a 4 year old to spell Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia much to their dismay, “has stage 4 lung cancer,”
“And who diagnosed this ‘theory’ of yours?” House had to enquire for legal purposes but he also knew what the lead oncologist was like.
Chase hesitated before responding, normally House would've trusted anything Wilson had said so either they had argued or they were fucking. To be fair, Chase was joking with himself when he thought about the latter. “It was Wilson,”
House sighed and rubbed his thumbs into his temples. God he hated that man. And yet, for some unknown reason, he always came back. More importantly, Wilson always came back to him which was more than Stacy ever had. Wilson had priority over everyone else in House’s mind but sometimes he did just want to punch him.
He stood up and winced a little at the pain in his leg. He tipped four vicodin pills into his hand and threw them down his throat. He opened his balcony door and climbed over the fence to his left.
When he entered Wilson’s office, he was sat there with a smug smirk on his face.
“Hey House, how's your neurological theory coming along?” Wilson's smile had never looked that genuine. House had noticed that when he talked to other people his smile often didn't reach his eyes like it did when he was with him.
“Oh I’m so sorry, Sir Wilson,” he did a mock bow and an atrocious fake British accent, “May I please see the scans you got your diagnosis from,”
Wilson chuckled slightly at the sight of House pretending to be a peasant for him.
He held out the folder to House and snorted his tea due to laughter as his face flushed with horror. Wilson was right, Wilson was always right.
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, now please go and mourn in your own office,” Wilson said in the usual Wilson manner.
House responded in the usual House manner, “Of course you look forward to it you kinky freak,”
He was leaning ever so slightly on his cane in the doorway. He stared Wilson down as he sat down at his desk. House (jokingly) bit his lip at Wilson, just to piss him off.
Wilson raised his eyebrow at him and went back to sorting his files.
“Really?” House asked
“What? I told you to leave and you refuse to do clearly you want something, but knowing you it's not going to be good. So, I'm choosing to ignore you,”
“Bruh,” and House walked out.
As much as Wilson didn't want to admit it, of course he wasn't oblivious that House and him had an unusual friendship. Sometimes they caught each other's gaze for just a millisecond too long. When their fingers brushed a jolt would go up his spine. Once, at a party they had played spin the bottle and House and Wilson had kissed. It wasn't the normal awkward party kiss that only lasted for a second at most, it was an actual kiss. He always blamed it on the alcohol and drugs but somehow it felt different. Hetero normative male friends don't look back on the night they kissed, whilst drunk, three years ago. So yes, Wilson did love House but he knew it was better for both of them if he kept quiet. It was pretty clear that House fancied Cuddy so what was the point in trying.
He glanced at the door one more time praying House would come back before slumping down into his chair. His body curved to the shape and he just lay there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling before he was rudely interrupted by two knocks. The door slid open and Cuddy stood there holding a clipboard.
“Wilson, can you go and check on House? He's pacing around his office and an old lady in the clinic room below him is complaining,” poor Cuddy didn't know how much pain Wilson was in right now. He never thought he would be the one to pine. He tended to get every woman he wanted, not that he really wanted them. He didn't actually have that much of an interest in women which is why he struggled to uphold functional relationships. They tended to crumble inwards whenever House took an interest.
He huffed as he stood up, “I'll go see what's up,”
Cuddy looked relieved and stepped aside as he left his office. He didn't like to hop the balcony fence between their office ever since he slipped over the railing and sprained his wrist. House had laughed that ridiculous laugh of his and helped him up. Conveniently, since they work in a hospital they had a splint on hand for him but he still couldn't use his wrist for a week. House had been suspiciously helpful that week without too many sarky comments about how silly he looked. When his wrist finally healed he couldn't help but be a little sad that his best friend wouldn't be by his side anymore. Sure the pain had gone away but so had House.
He opened the door to House’s office and sure enough saw him pacing back and forth. He paused and looked up, “Back so soon, wow you really cannot get enough of me,”
He was obviously joking but Wilson couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. He was so close to the truth. So close to the truth that would end their friendship. That was the only thing in Wilson’s life he was sure of; he loved his best friend and his best friend would never love him back.
“Yes House, I’ve come back to savour the sight of you not wearing a dress,”
House rolled his eyes at him and chuckled then returned to pacing. The sound of his cane tapping the floor was like the tick of an old clock, slow and rhythmic.
“You’re staring..” House spoke, raising an eyebrow at Wilson. House took another step towards him, his blue eyes locked on Wilson’s brown ones. His eyes often followed him everywhere he went. He had gone on holiday to the Caribbean with his girlfriend 4 years ago and even then all he could see in the water was the blue of House’s eyes. Wilson adored House’s eyes - they were like sapphires that shone ever so slightly under moonlight.
“You wish,” he paused and scratched the back of his neck with his hand. He felt like such a fool. He felt very specifically like a high school boy who loved the guy he formed with. He and House had been so very different. He had made him feel safe but House made him feel dangerous and excited.
“Quit pacing, your pissing off a granny downstairs,”
“Fuck the granny, I’m working,”
“I would rather not fuck a granny, thank you for the offer though,” Wilson obviously didn’t want to have sex with an old woman or even make jokes about doing so but the thought of making house was enough to push him to do anything.
A small chuckle escaped House’s lips and he smiled, “You know that’s not what I meant but the fact your mind pushed you to that means you are one strange person Doctor Wilson,”
“Ohhh, you think I'm a strange person now? Guess I’m cancelling your vicodin prescription," Wilson teased, shrugging his shoulders in an almost cartoonish manner. A grin had spread across his face at this point and he laughed
“NOOO, don’t cancel my will to live,” House held a hand to his chest and pretended to cry into his hands, “How could you do this James?”
Wilson looked at House pretending to cry before him and couldn't help but see the irony. House had no idea how many times he had made him lie on his bathroom floor sobbing to himself over the love he would never get to pursue. He felt a small throb in his chest as House lifted his hands away from his face. His lips curled slightly in the corner of his mouth before a full smile flashed across his face. He then put on his best poker face and said in a serious tone, “Seriously though, please don't cancel my prescription,”
Wilson couldn’t help but laugh at him, “Don’t worry I won’t. But seriously though stop pacing about,”
The malevolent idea sprung into his head then. He didn’t know why it just did. Wilson jumped forward and snatched House’s cane from his hand cackling as he did. He spun on his heel and darted out of the door.
“HEY, JAMES!” House called out from behind him sounding slightly flustered. He loved it when Greg called him James; it made him feel like they were more than just colleagues, more than just people who hung around at work.
He ran around the corner to look at House’s mortal enemy, the flight of stairs. He knew he would never be caught if he hid in there.
As he looked back one last time, Cuddy made eye contact with him. She gestured for him to wait so he did. This joke was with House not Cuddy who could potentially make him lose his job. Not that she would ever fire him, seeing as she had almost lost her job for him.
“Wilson, House is saying something about you stealing his cane?” She seemed surprised and amused at the idea of Wilson taking anything from House let alone the thing he needs to walk.
“That’s ‘cause I have,” he held the cane out to her and she chuckled under her breath.
“You are gonna have to give that back I’m afraid,” she sighed, “It’s a physical aid, apparently he legally ‘has’ to keep it on him at all time,”
He debated giving it back but then remembered House would not return it if it was the other way round. So he turned around and yelled back at Cuddy, “No can do I’m afraid, proving a poin-”
He caught his foot around his other ankle and yelped as he fell forward, hitting the ground.
There was no pain for the first few seconds, just adrenaline, but then the agony hit him like a moving plane to the head. He lay there in torment until nothing.
It had been 2 months since Wilson had shut his eyes. Two months since those beautiful chestnut coloured eyes had closed. Two months since the smile had run away from his face.
House sat at the side of his bed looking down at Wilson’s face under the too-bright lights. The slow beep of the electrocardiogram next to him was steady. Which obviously was good but House wanted to hear irregularities because it means something would change and he could wake up. He just wanted his best friend back. A singular tear rolled down his cheek and into his rough, short beard. He hadn't had the energy since Wilson fell. He just spent every night lying down contemplating everything. Thinking about the fact that if he had gone after him this wouldn't have happened. Or if he hadn’t pissed around with him. The curse of their friendship was that they never knew when to stop.
The first few weeks he had blamed Cuddy for not stopping him before he fell but deep down he knew there was nothing more they could've done.
House’s biggest regret was not telling him how he felt before it was too late. Wilson could die and he would never know his best friend was a homosexual. More specifically in love with him.
As he looked at his friend's soft lips, he longed for him to wake up and kiss him. They could've lived for each other rather than living near each other.
“Hey House?”, it was just Chase, truth be told, in the time that Wilson had been out he had warmed up to Chase. The Australian didn't seem as annoying anymore, “Why is there a dress in your bag?”
House turned around to see Chase holding up a deep red dress with a halter neck line.
“Oh, that's Cuddy’s,” House waved his hand dismissively at him
“You… have Cuddy’s dress?” Chase inquired
“Yes?” House realised how weird this probably looked. Obviously he was not sleeping with his boss, he just asked to borrow it for the bet and whilst she had thought it was weird she hadn't really minded. Cuddy was also negatively impacted from Wilson’s coma so she had wanted to make it up to him.
“Either you're sleeping together or you're a drag queen?” Chase laughed, “Which is it?”
House looked up at him, with one raised eyebrow, “It’s for a bet I had with Wilson,”
“Okay…” And he walked off
He gazed back down at his best friend lay on the hospital bed. He looked so helpless laying there. House just wanted to cradle him in his arms and sob with him. He also wanted to kiss him, like they had that night at the party. It had meant more to him then he would ever know but they were just friends. Just friends who ate lunch together every day. Just friends who would lock eyes from across lecture halls back in their student days. Just friends who spend all their work time together and the time spent apart is filled with longing for the other. Just friends who had broken down in each other's arms.
House intertwined his fingers with Wilson’s and let more tears flow down his face. How much longer would he have to wait before they could cry together. It was so lonely without him, sure Cuddy was a good friend but nothing would ever beat the feeling that coursed through his body when their shoulders brushed.
He just wanted to laugh with him again.
The door opened behind House again and he ran his hands across his eyes swiftly to wipe away the tears. “Yes?” he turned around and rolled his eyes. It was Cuddy
“House, you owe me clinic hours,” Her eyes darted to where House’s hand lay.
His face flushed red and he pulled away, “I know I do I'll do them tomorrow,”
She sat down next to him and placed her hand on his back. He bent over and rubbed his forehead with the tip of his cane
“House, you said that yesterday,” her voice was soft and calculated like when you tell a toddler it's time to go home from a playground
“And I mean it today.” he sighed lightly. He wasn't trying to prove a point, he was just tired. He hadn't slept in three days and it was catching up with him
“How much did you sleep last night?” Cuddy inquired, her voice still calculated.
“Enough,”
“Don't lie to me, House. Lie to yourself as much as you want but not to me,” Cuddy responded
“Fine, I didn't sleep,” House quipped back, raising his voice slightly.
Cuddy looked resigned, “Go home House, I'll stay with Wilson,”
He couldn't be bothered to fight anymore so he stood up and left out, the pain in his leg worse than usual.
When he got home, the door was still unlocked. He must've forgotten to lock it before work. He walked into the kitchen, hobbling as he went, and opened the cupboard. He took out his bottle of Jack Daniels and took a swig. He set it down on the side and swallowed another 4 tablets.
Now he was home he let himself break down. It was a dangerous game, having the alcohol next to him and allowing himself to feel the weakness of the day. He took another mouthful of the alcohol and cried.
He slouched to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The warm water was soothing against his skin. He turned the temperature up and let the water burn his skin before turning the tap off.
His eyes darted to the blade that lay on the side of his sink. He took it and swiped at the skin on his left leg. The blade felt cold and as he shut his eyes he saw Wilson’s smile. God what would he think of him if he woke up. As the blood ran down his thigh, he slashed again. Wilson's eyes were the next thing to appear. They were the calm, rich brown that reminded you of a place you had never been but missed anyway. Familiar in a way that didn't make sense. The third slash made him see James’ hair. The soft hair he had wanted to run his hand through so badly. It was the sort of grounded brown that felt like the truth. With the fourth slash, Wilson’s voice echoed around his head. His very voice, how it sounded like the elegance of the silk in the sky and like Mount Vesuvius, so strong and proud that it made him pray for his forgiveness and his love for him to just hear his very voice again.
He was about to make the fifth cut when he felt his pager go off in his pocket. He rolled his eyes and trudged out of the bathroom. He dried himself off and slipped into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He hoped that he wouldn't have to stay for too long, because now he thought about it he was insanely tired. He hobbled out of the door towards his motorbike. The helmet slipped over his face perfectly and he hopped onto the bike. As he pulled out of his driveway, his neighbour walked past and waved. God he really didn't like that neighbour, he was too nice.
The wind on his arms was something not many people would enjoy, however not many people enjoy sitting in the shower cutting themself. House is not many people.
When he arrived at the car park and got off his bike, he stumbled slightly, his leg taking his wait for a bit too long. He helped in pain until he noticed Cuddy storming towards him. Her face was contorted into a look of sheer rage. Her brows were furrowed ever so slightly and her mouth was being held straight. The fury didn't reach her eyes, they were still soft like they were when they had been at Wilson’s side.
“HOUSE! Do you have any idea how long you took?” she was yelling. No case was ever that important to her and House knew that.
“I took precisely 4 minutes and 12 seconds?” he said, glancing down at his watch.
He honestly thought Cuddy was gonna slap him. So when she didn't he was surprised to say the least. What he really didn't expect was for her to throw her arms around him and smile.
“So, either you're suddenly into me and wanna go back to mine, which is why you paged me, or” he emphasised the or. House often did that, "You're just insanely happy and have forgotten about workplace rules,”
“House, since when have you cared about workplace rules?” She pulled away from him and smiled,
“Since approximately,” glancing down at his wrist again, “24 seconds ago when you threw yourself onto me,”
Cuddy rolled her eyes at him, “Shut up House, I'm aloud to be happy,”
“No you're not. I've actually personally forbidden happiness within the building,” he smirked down at her.
“Good job we're outside,” she raised an eyebrow and eyebrow at him, “Anyway House come on.”
The walk through the hospital was awkward and terribly painful for House. A blend of the lifelong injury to his right leg, and the still bleeding cuts on his left and the fact Cuddy was an insanely fast walker even in heels was not a good mix. He wanted to know whether what he was going to was worth the walk. Wilson would laugh at him right now. House always knew everything and being in doubt was not fun. In fact it was the only thing worse than losing his best friend.
They got into the elevator and took it to the 4th floor
“So? Are you going to tell me where we're going?”
House enquired still struggling to stay stood up despite the fact they had stopped walking.
“James is awake,”
Wilson was all too familiar with the harmonious beep of the heart rate monitor beside him though he never thought he would be on the receiving end of it. His eyes inched open and the light burnt into his pupils. It was like a spotlight of a stage he would never get to perform on. Like the early morning sunrise that followed him whilst he ran. Like the glint in House's eye that could not quite be placed as a diamond or sapphire but something more, something inexplicable.
He squinted down towards his feet and moved his toes, he felt weak but alive. Almost as though someone was resting invisible weights on each of his limbs, but slowly releasing the pressure, allowing him moments of ease before pressing down again. He could feel the burden of an invisible curse on his chest. The curse of an unrequited love.
House didn't love him back, and of that Wilson was sure.Even if the hand he had felt sliding into his that day was his, it was not like it was romantic. It was more like reassurance than feelings. More like pity than love. Maybe even blame rather than attraction.
It had in fact been his own stupid fault that he had fallen. He assumed that was what had happened. He remembered stealing House's cane, running away before being interrupted by Cuddy and running away from her. He remembered the feeling of his foot around his ankle and the impact of the wall to his head.
The door swung open and was swiftly followed by the click of heels on tile. The sound made his head throb, it was deafening. He did however know the noise like the back of his hand. Fifteen years of wanting to hate a woman and you begin to recognise the sound of her heels. He didn't blame Cuddy for him not being able to have House. Not really. He wanted to. He wanted to have something to hate. She didn't deserve it though. She had always been nice to him, lent him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it, laughed with him when they beat House at poker (which was a rare occurrence) , she had even rejected House once. So of course he couldn't bring himself to hate her.
He thought about how funny House would find it if he ignored Cuddy. How hard he would laugh if he knew he had rubbed off on him. He would do his smile where a slither of his teeth showed. His lips would curl up at the corners and a chuckle would escape them. God how he wanted to kiss him.
Cuddy clicked the door shut behind her and sat down in the chair beside him. He could tell she was sad. She sighed as she sat down and she only did that if she was sad or with House. House was not with her, Wilson knew that.
“Please wake up,” Her voice was strained and she sounded like she was holding back tears, “House, he needs you back. I'm worried about him,”
He let the thoughts register. Sometimes he forgot he was House’s only friend. He has been too busy wallowing in his own self pity, he hadn't realised that his accident probably kick started House’s self destructive tendencies back up. Of course, Cuddy was more upset about her crush than the guy in the coma. If his eyes had been open, he would've rolled them.
She choked out a cough, “Please..?”
When you spend fifteen years with someone, you learn to absorb their emotions through the air, and right now, Wilson knew, Cuddy was sad. But also more than that, pleading.
It was funny to him, that she could cry whilst also causing him so much suffering. He let the corner of his lip furl up into a slight smile. He felt a laugh catch in his throat. Obviously he felt terrible about wanting to laugh at the woman crying beside him, but he couldn't help it. It felt like vengeance for years of held back sobs. He brang his hand up to his mouth to stifle the laugh and bit on the mcp joint in his index finger.
Cuddy looked up at him. The cup of water in her hand fell to the floor as she jumped up.
“Wilson, you're awake!” She gasped.
He opened his eyes again and smiled up at her. He gave her a thumbs up and chuckled, “I am!”
The hum of nurses walking in and out of the room was enough to keep any man awake, even him, despite the exhaustion. His eyes were dropping enough to rest but not enough to stop the light from filtering through his thick eyelashes. He was beginning to finally zone everything out when he felt a hand on his arm.
His eyes shot open and he let out a gasp. House’s eyes pierced into his. They were as cold as the ice in the Arctic. However, they had become kinder. Like water lapping across the shore of the Pacific.
Wilson smiled up at the older man and felt his heart beat faster. House looked up at the monitor beside him and chuckled, his smile brightening his face.
“You’re awake,” his voice was lighter than it had sounded in a long time.
“You aren't usually one to state the obvious,” he looked up at House’s face. His smile was finally reaching his eyes, a rare occurrence at Princeton Plainsboro, “Something's changed, haven't hooked up with Cuddy without me have you?”
The look on House’s face was so slight, if he had blinked he would've missed it. The slight droop of the corners of his mouth was only noticeable if you had studied every inch of his face from across the room.
(authors note : FUCK THEYRE GAY SJDBELSNDBD)
“Believe it or not, Cuddy has not suddenly fallen madly in love with me,” House sighed, faking sadness. “Do you want anything?”
What Wilson truly wanted was to be with the man opposite him all the time. To kiss his soft lips. To run his hand through his thin hair. None of that felt possible to him, so he responded with the second best thing, “Some water?”
House took a mock bow and smirked, “Your wish is my command, Sir James Wilson,”
The walk to the vending machine was staggeringly slow even with the 4 vicodin that were pumping through House’s system. The weight on his leg felt 100x heavier than usual. He was to blind-sided by happiness to realise it was just how fast his heart was beating that was causing the pain.
He let the fact sink in. Wilson was awake. His smile, that lit up every room, was back. His eyes, that were mirrored in the autumn leaves that were falling outside, had opened.
For the first time in 2 months, he actually felt almost full again. The Wilson shaped jigsaw piece had been slotted back into his lonely heart. The only thing missing was the feeling of their lips pressed together. That would have completed him.
He grabbed a cup from the side and held it against the water fountain. The trickle of water was monotonous, taking at least a minute to fill both cups. The liquid was cool against his tongue and as it ran down his throat, he felt a clipboard tap his arm.
It was Foreman.
“6 year old girl with anaphylaxis-” he paused, “Who’s the other cup for?”
“Your mom,” House laughed. The sound felt foreign after being more miserable than usual.
Foreman raised an eyebrow, sighed and walked away.
How House loved having the last laugh. Torturing his team had let him survive without Wilson. Sure they weren't the same but it was a better coping mechanism than throwing more drugs down his throat. More drugs than usual that is.
The click of his cane on the floor had become all too familiar to most of the nurses, it instilled dread in most of them excluding a minimal few. Those few were trainees he had never spoken to. If they had the privilege of speaking to him, they would've hated him too. He was disliked by pretty much everyone in the building. Except Wilson.
The only man who had ever enjoyed his company was lying in an uncomfortable bed, in a clean room, with too happy co-workers watching him from almost every angle.
Wilson had a way of charming everyone even if it wasn't intentional. It had even worked on House, much to his dismay. His whole personality was having a disdain for people. This of course meant that when the trainee oncologist had first smiled at him all those years ago and his heart did a somersault in his chest, he had not been happy.
He entered the room again balancing the two cups in one hand. He was greeted by a weak smile from the man on the bed and he smiled back.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Been better,” Wilson’s voice was strained and quiet. People take for granted how much they rely on their voice until they can no longer use it.
House had no problem with stepping into the role of angsty doctor, in fact he quite enjoyed it, “You're an idiot, you know?” He held the water out to the man lying beside him.
He took it and their fingers brushed. The feeling sent goosebumps up both men's spines.
Things continued like that for a few days. Too many shared glances from across the room. Too many smiles directed at one and other. Too many brushes of fingertips. And far, far too much longing in their eyes.
The day Wilson was discharged was a joyous one. Things would go back to how they were and for that almost everyone was glad. Everyone but House, he didn't want to go back. He couldn't go back to spending every minute of everyday pining to go and miss his best friend.
So as he sat in his office, he resolved that this would be the day where everything would change, for better or for worse, something needed to change.
The feeling of walking was comforting to Wilson, it gave him space to think without the artificial lighting beating down on his face like in his office. The stars were beautiful that night and the autumn breeze was soothing against his warm face.
His head was plagued with thoughts of his best friend, and his all too stunning eyes that he wished were searching through his soul. He wanted to be close enough to see every fleck of dark blue that splashed across them like sharks under the bright summer water of the Caribbean.
He was lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't realised where his feet had led him. Before he had time to react, he found himself face to face with the dark green door of 221 Baker Street.
His hand reached for the doorbell before he could stop himself and he soon stood face to face with his best friend. His wish had come true. His imagination could not quite capture the beauty of that man's eyes and neither can the words of any author. The best way to describe them was like tiny blue planets rotating in a galaxy of white nothingness. If God was out there, he had clearly spent a lot of time hand forging them out of the halos of angels. Of course that doesn't come anywhere near capturing the artistry behind them.
“James” House gasped. It was almost inaudible, only there if you were listening for it.
Wilson smiled up the man stood on the step in front of him, “Greg,”
“Don't you have a girlfriend or something to be spending time with at,” he looked at his watch, “11pm on a Saturday,”
Wilson hadn’t had a girlfriend for a long while. He had given up lying to himself. The real reason he couldn't commit to women was because he didn't really like any of them. Obviously he didn't tell House this, so he continued to pretend he did have a girlfriend that he hadn't cheated on yet. He made an effort to make her eluding so House would never inquire too far into it.
“Nope, you're the closest I've got,”
House felt his face burn slightly at that comment and if the blushing wasn't obvious enough, the sudden avoidance of eye contact definitely was. He stepped aside to allow his best friend through the door.
“You want to come in?”
“Do you have any brandy?” Wilson asked. He hadn't had any alcohol since the accident but if he wanted to have some with anyone it had to be House, ‘the bad influence’.
“Of course, just for you,” House winked at him.
Now it was Wilson’s turn to blush.
He tipped the amber liquid down his throat and allowed the burning sensation to fill his stomach. He turned to face the man beside him and watched, not studying, just observing the way he tapped his nails against his glass of whiskey. The sound was not dissimilar to that of his cane hitting the ground when he walked.
The stubble on his jaw was growing out again, having been shaved only 2 days previously. The light from the TV was reflecting on the flecks of grey that nestled amongst the brown.
“You're staring,” House looked him in eyes.
“I am,” he grinned at him.
House’s face flushed a deep red as he looked at the deep brown eyes that were boaring into his. They were not the opaque brown of the stone and earth, but the clear brown of a forest stream, dappled brown with glints of green and gold moving in their depths.
He held his fingers out to brush them through his thick chestnut coloured hair.
“You’re still starin-” He was cut off.
The man he loved had his lips pressed onto his.
They were so much softer than anything he had ever imagined. It was just a light peck but it carried 15 years of words they had been too scared to say, too scared of losing eachother. But now, as they looked into eachother’s eyes it all slipped away, the hospital, the people, the coma.
A very wise man had once told James,
"the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse,”
And this, this was his verse.