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House often takes a long time to get to sleep. He'll never admit it to anyone, but it's one of his favourite parts of the day, lying snug under the covers and daydreaming about his best friend until he falls asleep. You know, the usual.
The main inhabitant of his imagination never knocks on his door and interrupts his fantasies, however.
God, what is it, 3am? What's Wilson doing?
"Is it an emergency?" House calls out in his usual sardonic manner.
Wilson just sighs and opens the door, apparently indifferent to all the things he might've interrupted House doing. He lingers in the door way, tall silhouette unmoving. The air around him stills.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" He asks in a small voice, the one he uses when he's afraid House will get annoyed at him or mock him for something.
"That's kinda gay," House replies softly, with no real bite. In his view, Wilson's reaction will determine his next response.
Wilson's reaction is a little lacklustre. He remains hovering in the doorway looking sorry for himself. House can't see his face through the darkness but he just knows Wilson is making those puppy dog eyes right now, intentional or not.
Please? He doesn't have to say it.
"Fine," House caves, heaving a long-suffering sigh as if he wasn't ready to make a space in his bed for Wilson since he first knocked. Okay, that's a lie. Since the conference in New Orleans. Or was that a space in his heart...? "But no snoring. And I get three-quarters of the blanket."
Wilson softly shuts the door behind him and crawls into the bed. He tentatively takes part of the covers as he settles on his back, eyes fixed on the bland ceiling above.
"Sooo," House starts, disrupting the silence he could grow more than comfortable with, "What brings you to my humble abode tonight, good sir?"
He adopts a little theatrical tone too. What, Wilson's too melancholy even for a little theatrics?
He's still staring at the ceiling. Is he even blinking?
"Come on," House says. It's not begging, hardly asking. He's waiting, more than anything. Waiting for Wilson to crack just a little more and let the light shine through.
"I just..." Wilson shifts. He's nervous. And sad. Tired, too. "I just need some company right now."
House raises an eyebrow. Of all the explanations he'd been expecting, of all the lame excuses... He hadn't predicted this one.
"What, you're missing one of your wives?" He questions. Wilson usually breaks when he's pissed off, right? "Wanna have sex?"
Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not now, House."
"Oh, so you're saying you wanna have sex later?" Come on, Wilson. Talk to me. And have sex if that'll help cheer you up, honestly I'd be more than happy to help.
Wilson's voice is on the verge of cracking as he utters a single syllable. "House."
Okay, so even jokes won't lift his spirits or distract him. Trying to get a rise of him is failing too. What next?
"You're not giving me much to work with here," House admits. His heart is beating a little too fast. Maybe because he kind of just confessed that he wants to help Wilson - in particular, he wants to help him feel better. Maybe because Wilson is upset and that's making him panic. Maybe because he's having too many stupid feelings all at once right now.
"I don't need you to do anything or- or fix anything," Wilson's voice still has that unfamiliar tone, like he's halfway between arguing and crying. "I just...I don't want to be alone right now. I can't."
Why? Why? Why? Why can't you? What's happened? What's going to happen? Why?
Time to change tack.
"Are you feeling hot?"
Wilson pauses. In the silence of the darkness, House can practically hear the cogs turning in his mind. "No...?"
House smiles to himself. Wilson's probably thinking about the apartment temperature or the punchline of a joke House might be about to crack or some possible psychoanalytical diagnosis. Not today.
"Great," House murmurs and pulls Wilson into a hug. He gives him no time to debate it, simply wraps two surprisingly strong arms around his torso and holds him close. Wilson freezes up for a split second like an animal caught in headlights, and then his muscles relax, the tension draining out of his body as he nuzzles his head into House's neck and throws an arm around him.
The full story of what and why can wait until morning. The only thing House cares about right now is the how - how to make Wilson feel better. And maybe his initial attempts failed, but this particular one seems to have a positive correlation with Wilson feeling better. Who can deny science? And House gains something out of it too - the brief satisfaction of a years-long desire (though can the word desire accurately sum up a depths-of-your-soul kind of yearning, an excruciating need that surpasses any circulatory or respiratory requirements?) - so it's a win-win.
House doesn't have to imagine anything to fall asleep that night. It's all true, flesh and blood, for at least one night.