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House was really getting on his nerves, now.
The whole day, the diagnostician had been saying small “I love you”s here and there, all directed towards Wilson.
Of course, the oncologist was well aware it was the 1st of April today, yet it still wasn’t fair how weirdly his heart fluttered at the words, especially coming from House himself. It wasn’t fair how he could just say it like that because it was all a joke anyway, and Wilson still thought it’d actually ever be true.
~~~~~~~~~~
First.
Wilson walked into his office, expecting to see a whole ton of paperwork on his desk. It was there, yes.
But the first thing his eyes lied on the moment he opened the door was House, sprawled on his couch, a small smirk on his face. Wilson sighed with irittation, falling on his chair as if he’d just been carrying a whole mountain on his back.
“What to do you need, House?” He asked pinching the bridge of his nose and spinning in his chair a little. He did not sleep well that night, couldn’t he get at least a little bit of peace for now?
“I love you,” the diagnostician said after a pause. House’s voice was quiet, but it didn’t waver or shake. It sounded so sincere. Wilson stop spinning and he felt his heart stop and knees turn weak. If he were standing, he’d surely fall.
“What?” Wilson breathed out in disbelief. House didn’t answer. His smirk just widened and he got up from the couch, grabbed his cane and nonchalantly walked out of the office. Wilson was left there speechless and confused, not moving until he remembered. A swift look at the calendar on his desk. Today was 1st of April. Haha, House.
~~~~~~~~~~
Second.
Lunch time. They were sitting at their usual spot, bantering and committing one-sided theft of food. Both men looked content, genuine smiles adorning their faces. Until one of them didn’t.
“I love you, Wilson,” House randomly cut in during one of Wilson’s rambles. The diagnostician’s face remained calm and neutral. Wilson stopped dead in his tracks, his smile wavering a little, trying to stay intact. He nodded slowly and hesitantly, then spoke up.
“Do you… need anything from me?” House made a confused face, frowning.
“No? Can’t a guy tell another guy he loves him and appreciates he’s his friend?” he asked in a mock hurt voice, leaning forward and putting a hand over his chest for emphasis. It clicked in Wilson’s brain again. Oh, he needed to stop falling for this.
“Really funny, House.” If there was at least a flicker of disappointment in House’s eyes, he ignored it. “Now, I have a patient that needs to be taken care of. Chinese at my place tonight?” he asked, already standing up from the table.
House just shrugged, already reaching for his cane. “Sure.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Third.
“Agatha, I’ve got some news for you,” Wilson said to a young blonde sitting in the chair in front of him. “I recieved the results of your biopsy back, you have lung cancer.”
Agatha stared at him in shock, not saying anything yet. Wilson could see the gears turning in her head as she processed the newfound information.
“Fortunately, we can get you on chemo, so-“ Wilson starts, but is abruptly cut off as the door to his office slams open and a familiar figure limps inside with a proud step. Not again.
“House! I’m with a patient!” Wilson whisper-shouted, shooting daggers at the man with a stare.
He didn’t even know why he was surprised when heard the same three words he’s already heard twice that day.
“I love you.” Honestly, what was even House’s point in doing that? “Can you leave?” Wilson hissed through gritted teeth and gestured angrily at the door. That was so embarrassing. Agatha just stared at both men, unsure of how to react.
House grew that same damn smirk as the previous times, and even chuckled to himself. “M‘kay.” He nodded to the lady and limped out into the hospital hallways.
Agatha grunted akwardly. “I’m sorry, I-Is he your…?”
Wilson cut her off quickly. “Oh! Uh, no.” he protested. “Just a colleague. Yes, he can be a little… interruptive, sometimes. That’s just his nature.”
“I see.” Agatha pressed her lips together.
Wilson shifted in his seat a little and joined his hands together on the table. “So, about your treatment.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Fourth.
“Wilson, you’ve got a patient in the clinic waiting for you in room 106,” Cuddy said to the oncologist as he passed through the corridor and handed him a file.
“Alright.” Wilson grabbed the file with a little sigh and headed towards the clinic.
—
He opened the door to the room and walked in, only to see House, napping on the table with a newspaper on his face and his gameboy in his lap. Wilson almost wanted to whine. God, when would this bastard finally just leave him alone?
He checked the room’s number again to see that he actually had only himself to blame, because that was actually room 107. Still House’s fault, shut up.
Any hopes of escaping quietly and without disturbing the sleeping man dissipated when House suddenly woke up with a small jerk, newspaper falling off his face on the floor, and his eyes locked on Wilson’s.
“Great time to interrupt my nap,” he grumbled under his breath. Finally something else than those three words, Wilson thought, relief washing over him. “I haven’t slept a lot last night.” Oh well, that made two of them.
“Uhm, sorry. But you still shouldn’t be sleeping in the clinic, House. Get out and do your job.”
“Fine, mom,” House rolled his eyes and got off the table, shoving his gameboy into his pocket. Before he left the room, though, he stopped in front of Wilson, their faces just a breath apart. Suddenly their 2 inch height difference felt like 5 or 6, and Wilson actually felt his face heat up.
“I love you,” House said, tilting his head a little, those terrifyingly blue eyes looking deep into his soul, reading all his secrets like diary. Wilson felt naked under his gaze, suddenly nervous. House flicked his eyes down for a second and then up again, glistening with something that looked like amusement and satisfaction. Oh, he was definitely enjoying this.
And then House was gone, and Wilson was left with a near heart attack and a tent in his trousers. Good fucking lord.
~~~~~~~~~~
Fifth.
Their “chinese at my place tonight” time finally came.
House and Wilson were sitting on Wilson’s couch, shoulder to shoulder like always. Their food had already been eaten, their food bags were on the coffee table in front of them. They were watching some crappy sitcom just for the fun of it, and House didn’t even have the energy for complaining and insulting the cast, considering how drunk he was.
At some point they were clumsily slumped against each other, neither of them daring to break the contact first. It was surprisingly comfortable.
“Y’know…” House spoke up after some time of silence, his voiced slightly slurred from alcohol. “I think I love you.” Wilson fought the urge to flail his arms in exasperation.
“House, this is the fifth time you’ve told me that today. It was funny the first two times, but, y’know, the joke loses its value the more you say it, especially to the same person,” Wilson scolded him like a mother would a child, already so done with his best friend’s bullshit.
“What, it’s April Fools’, isn’t it? I can say whatever I want, and you won’t know whether it’s true or not.” Wilson desperately tried not to show when he felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the words. What did House mean by that?
“So? It’s still not funny to mess with people’s feelings. I might’ve thought you actually liked me. And that would’ve been a disaster, wouldn’t it?” Wilson replied sarcastically. This was the closest he could get to actually confessing his thoughts about the whole thing to House.
“Now don’t ge’all worked up, Jimmy. I’ve gotta uphold my Scrooge reputation,” House hummed, a puckish but fond smile forming on his lips.
Wilson chuckled at that, he himself somewhat tipsy. “Wouldn’t want you to risk miraculously growing a heart, would we.”
House’s smile softened, the man slowly getting lost in his thoughts. “Yeah.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Sixth (+ one).
Wilson woke up, and from the furious pain in his back he registered he just spent his whole night on the couch. Oh, and look, House was there too.
The diagnostician was sleeping on the other side of the couch, head propped on the opposite armrest, his left leg dangling off the edge. He looked so… peaceful when he was asleep. Body still as a rock but relaxed, even his face.
Wilson felt his ears and cheeks heat up. Stop staring, creep.
Gently and carefully to not wake up his friend, remembering what he’d said the previous day about his sleeping problems, he stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen, looking forward to drinking some morning coffee before he allowed himself to form any kind of rational thought.
Wilson sipped his coffee, mind wandering somewhere else. He put the mug down on the counter as he looked for something to eat in the fridge.
Out of nowhere, Wilson felt something gently stab at his side and he yelped in surprise, jumpily turning around and finding House, ever the bastard, grinning sloppily at him with those bedroom eyes (Wilson had to admit, he looked quite cute like this) that betrayed he’d woken up approximately 10 seconds ago. His long, slender fingers hovered in the air near Wilson’s ribs and that’s all he needed to understand.
“You… House! I could’ve dropped something!” Wilson snapped at the diagnostician, but the anger was artificial - a glimpse of a smile in his eyes betrayed that. It was 7:30 in the morning and they both had their days off today. Couldn’t they just relax a little?
“You woke me up. Party pooper,” House grumbled grumpily as Wilson dried his washed mug with a cloth and put it away in the cupboard, chuckling a little under his breath at how ridiculously childish the older man sounded.
“I love you,” House suddenly blurted out, quieter and more… uncertain this time, just standing awkwardly in the kitchen.
Wilson’s blood went ice cold. He threw the wet cloth in the sink aggressively, electrifying silence hanging in the air as if the world had stopped spinning for a second.
“I thought we already had our conversation about this, House.” His voice was terrifyingly calm and cold, his back still facing House.
“We did,” House agreed quietly.
“It’s not April Fools’ anymore. Stop joking around.” Wilson gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white.
“Wilson.”
No response.
“Wilson.” House’s voice was a tad more urgent now.
“What, House,” Wilson hissed.
“Wilson, turn around.” The voice was closer now, this time it sounded broken and desperate.
Finally, with a sharp sigh, Wilson slowly spun around to face his friend, trying hard not to screw his eyes shut as they stung, bitter tears threatening to spill.
Before any sort of communication could occur, any words, gestures, eye contact —
House grabbed Wilson’s chin and softly joined their lips together in a kiss.