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House can’t help but be in awe of the Hammond organ Wilson bought for him.
Everything else in their condo — Wilson’s, technically, but for some reason he likes thinking of it as theirs — was bought with the help of a decorator, because Wilson has never been able to make a commitment in his life. But this— this was all his idea. It plays incredibly well, and he can’t help but be floored by amazement with every note he plays on it as the familiar melodies become a more eerie tune.
He could spend all night like this, playing, but then he falls into a realization. Hammond organ— this couldn’t be anything near inexpensive, could it? Even if it’s a used one (which he doubts it is, he knows Wilson, he wouldn’t buy him a used organ), it’s still worth about a thousand dollars. He turns around to face Wilson, who has an almost imperceptible blush on his cheeks.
“Wilson,” he says, “how much did you spend on this organ?”
Wilson’s eyes widen and he stammers. Okay, a lot. “I don’t think that’s a very, uh, polite question to ask.”
He rolls his eyes. “And I don’t think that’s a very polite cop-out, Wilson.”
He stammers some more, looking elsewhere, his blush becoming more visible, his cheeks a light pink.
“Out with it. It can’t be that bad— I already owed you five thousand dollars at one point, didn’t I?”
“You don’t owe me anything this time,” he replies, suddenly interested in the wooden floor of the condo. “It was a gift. And…” He sucks in a breath, like saying the number will physically hurt him.
“And?” he presses.
“Eight thousand dollars,” Wilson mumbles.
House’s eyes widen and he looks back to the organ. “Brand new, isn’t it?”
Wilson smiles forcibly. “Yeah. Brand new.”
House hums lowly as he moves his hand against the wooden frame of the organ, plays a note or two with his free hand. It is an amazing gift— he does like what it says about Wilson. Their friendship is one of the most important things in his life, a fact he’s made obvious through and through. It’s almost… cute, but he shoos the thought away.
“Well, you spent eight thousand dollars on a gift for me,” he starts, turning to look at him but not quite. It’s more like looking at his ear rather than at his face, which has gained a darker shade of pink. “I think we’re obligated to get married now. How does the fourth spouse title sound for me?”
Wilson’s lip trembles and now he turns to see him in his full, nervous wreck glory. His eyes are wide, his face burning red, and the silence continues without any mercy. He clenches his jaw a little, unsure of what he’ll say before he smiles a little and walks up to him.
“I think it’ll sound great for you,” he replies.
He stares at him for several seconds, his brain ceasing to function. The tension is near palpable, words heavy and dying on his tongue. Wilson is blushing hard before cold seeps into his eyes, the light nearly being sucked out of them.
“Oh, you were joking,” Wilson says after several moments of silence, moments that feel like hours, turning around and fleeing to his bedroom.
House stares into their newly furnished condo as it dawns on him.
House doesn’t sleep much that night once he realizes what happened in those ten minutes. It’s like he ruined their nearly two decades long friendship (relationship?), but he knows they’ll come back to each other. They always do.
It was the only thing the decorator didn’t pick, because Wilson is in love with him. Of course. Of fucking course he’s somehow missed this. They’ve been friends for so long! There’s constantly been gay jokes directed at both of them! How didn’t he notice the way Wilson blushed and stammered whenever that was the accusation at hand, how he acted off? How is he so fucking blind?
He can practically hear Nolan’s analysis. Something or other about how he doesn’t think anyone could really love him, romantically or not. He’s said something to the same effect multiple times, whenever he rambles about Cuddy or Stacy or anyone at all, how his issue with love is glaring.
But Wilson being in love with him makes perfect sense. It’s almost like he’s been trying to drop clues all this time. Maybe he even thought they were already in a relationship and that he was just immensely repressed about doing anything with a man. Or something.
He stands up, as much as his leg protests, and opens the door to Wilson’s room. The moonlight shines in, and he is almost positive he sees stains in his pillowcase. He must be imagining things— that’s what he tells himself as he settles at the foot of his bed, genuine regret washing over him.
He needs to make this right. He needs to get this right for once in his life.
“House?” Wilson asks softly in the morning, voice strained.
He still hasn’t slept. “Wilson,” he says.
He gets up and turns on the light, his eyes are a little red. He wasn’t imagining things.
“What do you want?” he says as he starts looking through his closet for his work attire. “Let me guess what you’re going to say— I didn’t know you were a-a f-faggot ,” his voice cracks, “I’m leaving this afternoon and I won’t speak to you ever again.” He swallows, still not looking at him. “Is that it?”
“No,” House says, his voice too soft for his own liking— too soft for Wilson’s liking, too, as he whips his head around and looks at him, brows raised. “I— I didn’t mean to not reply at all. I… I suck at this, you know I do, but I somehow hadn’t…” He closes his eyes and rubs his face with his hands. “I somehow hadn’t realized you were in love with me. Or that I, perhaps…” The next words hurt to get out, “or that I, perhaps, am a little in love with you, too.”
Wilson’s eyes widen and a soft gasp leaves his mouth. Then, his brows knit together. “This isn’t an— an elaborate prank, right?”
“No,” House says, voice more firm as he stands up, his leg complaining some more. “Wilson, I promise I’m not pranking you. I short circuited, I’m an ass, can we kiss?”
Wilson swallows. “Not yet,” he replies. “I cried my eyes out over this last night, I’m not kissing you just yet.”
House laughs a little, smiling at him. “That’s fair.” He hums, biting his tongue on the question he wants to ask. He likes the sound of it more than he’d ever care to admit.
There’s comfortable silence as Wilson gets dressed and House lounges around, too tired to even entertain the thought of getting to work on time.
“Did you even sleep last night?” Wilson asks him.
“It’s better than crying yourself to sleep if ya ask me,” he replies.
Wilson sighs. “Has Nolan talked to you about using humor as a coping mechanism and a form of deflecting?”
“He’s tried to,” he says. “But sadly my PTSD stands for Proficiency To Sucking Dick.”
“ House !”
House grins at him, and Wilson looks at him in the same way as always, which is (he now realizes) an oddly lovestruck way of looking at someone. Wilson huffs and takes a breath.
“Okay, so, you didn’t sleep. And I’m not about to shove you into Mayfield again, so I’ll tell Cuddy you couldn’t come in, and you’ll sleep in.”
House snorts and lays down on Wilson’s bed.
“In your bed.”
“You’re no fun!” House whines as he gets more comfortable.
Wilson’s face visibly softens. “Well,” he says cautiously. “I think it’s fine. As long as you don’t do anything.”
“I’m going to sleep , Wilson, not throw myself a bachelor party.”
His eyes widen a little and House pauses, internally hitting himself on the back of his head. Of course he had to make a joke like that; he’s going to make Wilson skittish again. He doesn’t want to make Wilson skittish— he’s never wanted to make Wilson skittish. Except for that one time he gave him speed but, okay, he had reasons.
Wilson sucks in a breath and finishes dressing himself, his fingers trembling a little. “Okay, House. See you tonight.”
“See you tonight,” House echoes.
As soon as he’s awake, House gets dressed and heads to Nora’s apartment.
He knocks on the door thrice, hoping she can help with this, although they aren’t on the best terms ever since he pretended to be in a relationship with Wilson so they could get in her pants. He hopes she understands they’re both terribly repressed and terribly stupid. He’s never considered himself dumb, but there’s a first time for everything.
“House?” Nora asks as she opens the door, not letting him in just yet.
He sighs. “It’s about Wilson, I’m not trying to get in your pants now, I just need advice.” He hesitates. “Relationship advice,” he adds on.
She raises a brow. “But you two aren’t gay.”
“We… sort of are. It’s a long story. Can I come in?”
She opens the door and moves to the side. He steps inside and nods to her gratefully before getting a seat.
“Would you like some tea?”
He nearly asks for whiskey, but he’d like to be sober for tonight. Or whenever the Hell this is going to happen. “Some tea would be nice,” he tells her.
She goes to prepare some, and after a few minutes, she comes back with two cups full, handing one over to him. He takes a few sips before setting it down on the coffee table.
“So, what happened?” she asks as she drinks from her teacup.
He swallows. “Uh… okay, so, Wilson spent eight thousand dollars on me.”
Nora nearly drops her teacup. “He what ?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Well, I basically was nudging him to buy us some furniture which he actually picked out himself instead of letting his wives play decorator like he had before. And, well, he couldn’t!” he can’t help but laugh a little, smiling, and Nora stares at him with that knowing look. Nora is safe to be happy about Wilson around, he presumes, with everything that happened regarding her and her ultimately correct assumptions. “So he hired a decorator and we got some really just… nice furniture. Like, it’s obvious someone picked it out for us for money, you know?”
Nora smiles at him and nods. “So, where does the eight grand come into this?”
“Well.” He bites his lip and he sees just how cheesy it is. How Wilson couldn’t pick out furniture to save his life, but didn’t seem to doubt to spend so much money on a Hammond organ for him. “He did buy something on his own, and it was a gift for me.”
Nora gets closer to him, tilting her head. “What was it?”
“A Hammond organ,” he tells her. “It’s— it’s really beautiful. And I was like, wow, I need to deflect away from my emotions right fucking now, you know, as I do.”
“Have you ever allowed yourself to feel a single positive emotion?” Nora says.
He grimaces and shrugs. “Probably, at some point? I dunno.”
She hits his shoulder playfully and takes a sip of her tea before putting it down on the table. “Feel your feelings, idiot. But what happened next?”
“Well…” He swallows. “I, um, jokingly said that we’re obligated to get married now.”
Nora stares at him. “You fucking idiot.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” he says dryly.
“And how did he react?”
“Well, I guess he thought it was me being a weird gay and that of course, we’d jump from being not-together to being married, but…” He sucks in a breath and rubs his face with his hand. “He took it seriously, but then I short-circuited, he realized I was joking and he practically ran to his room.”
“House,” she says once again, with even more feeling, “You’re a fucking idiot.”
“I’m well aware,” he says once again, looking at her tiredly. “We talked and I apologized—”
“You apologized?” she hisses.
He stays silent for a few seconds. He really did apologize. “Yeah.”
“You’re whipped for him.”
He smiles a little. “I guess I am.” There’s a pause. “But how do I… fix it? Like, he still— feels stuff for me, that much is clear, but I want him to feel like he can trust me.”
“Haven’t you two been friends for twenty years?”
“Have you even seen me? My mother doesn’t trust me.” Nora raises a brow. “Kidding, she does.”
“I can’t believe you’re the one with mommy issues in your relationship.”
“I don’t have—!” He groans and rubs his eyes with his knuckles. “Shut up. Anyway, what — what am I supposed to do?”
She looks at him intently, like she can read all his thoughts with only a look, and that’s nearly enough to send him into a tizzy. Nora just gets it, he can’t help but think— she’s not like those straight women desperate for a ‘gay best friend’ or whatever the fuck. No, she gets it.
“I think you should get him something expensive as well. Something you know he’ll like.”
He has to get Wilson something expensive. That adds up. He can do that.
“Oh,” he says softly, promptly straightening up (as much as his leg protests), and leaving Nora without much of a word. Nora looks on as he leaves, raising a brow but not questioning it.
He goes back to his apartment and grabs his coat before heading out and hailing a cab. He’s bouncing his good leg throughout the entire ride to the city center, his palms sweaty with nerves. He doesn’t want to mess this up— he can’t mess this up. But it’s all he wants, really. It's what will make the most sense for where their relationship is going.
He goes into the store and picks out the best one.
He can’t harbor it for days, so he decides to drop the bombshell at dinner. He tries not to be nervous, even though he could fuck everything up irredeemably. He doesn’t want to push this until it breaks, he wants it to stay comfortable and loving and good forever. He hasn’t had all of that in a while.
He can imagine just how great his next session with Nolan will be.
“Wilson,” he says over dinner, fiddling with his hands nervously. “You know I’m terrible at apologies. So I got something that would, would… express what I feel a lot better than I can with words.”
Wilson looks at him and raises a brow. “What is it?”
“You’ll see,” he says. “But— you have to kiss me first.”
Wilson’s smile gets a bit lopsided, a bit adoring, a bit lovestruck. It makes him weak at the knees, as much as he’d deny it if he was called out on it.
He stands up and circles the table, a hand on House’s bearded cheek, looking at him with a small smile on his lips. “That sounds like a fair deal to me,” he says before pulling him up into a kiss.
It feels like he’s having his first kiss all over again, with how he bumps noses with Wilson, how he breathes hard and grabs onto his shoulders, like he’s somehow forgotten how this works. He breathes out into Wilson’s mouth, kissing him, kissing him like he can’t get enough, and he can’t, because it’s been so long, and he hasn’t quite noticed, but he’s always wanted this so badly. So badly it aches.
He groans into Wilson’s mouth, kissing him hungrily, clinging onto him like his life depends on it. He eventually pulls away, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Fuck,” he says softly, looking up at Wilson with a crooked smile on his lips. “You’re a great kisser.”
Oh, he really just fucking said that.
Wilson blushes. “Thanks.” He swallows. “So what’s your surprise?”
“It’s something that was almost as expensive as that Hammond organ you got me.”
Wilson raises a brow. “House, you didn’t have to—”
He doesn’t mind him, taking an ibuprofen so his leg doesn’t hurt as bad when he gets down on one knee, taking the ring box out of his pocket and opening it. He doesn’t dare say a word— he can’t even vocalize, can’t even verbalize what he wants so bad, ever since yesterday he’s known, realized how much he wants it.
Wilson stares, eyes wide. And there’s not a word. Not a single sound.
He pulls him up to his feet, kisses him ever so slowly.
“Of course,” he tells him, tears shining in his eyes. He’d tease him if he wasn’t about to cry, too. “Of course, House.”
He kisses him again, slowly, gently, like they have all the time in the world. And they do, they really do.
House clears his throat. “How do you feel about inviting everyone, but not telling them it’s a wedding?”
Wilson chokes on his own spit and looks at him with a slight smile, his brows twitching.
“What? You think I’m gonna change my antics just because I’m engaged?”
Wilson looks at him and his smile widens. He quickly pulls him into a kiss. “No, I didn’t expect that at all.” He leans in to grab his hand, squeezing gently before taking the ring box back into his hands and slipping the ring on. “My fiancé.”
House snorts and tilts his head, trying to seem derisive while also not so much as to hurt Wilson’s feelings. “Your fiancé, I suppose.”
He can’t wait until their wedding— he can see his employee’s shocked faces, Cuddy losing her mind, Lucas telling him something akin to that he always knew, or whatever.
He pulls Wilson into another kiss. He likes what his life has turned towards in these last two days.