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Chapter Text

Wilson shifted in his sleep, letting out a small sigh as he readjusted himself, completely unaware that House was standing in the doorframe, watching him.

It was the early hours of the morning. Wilson would be pissed if he woke him. Even if it were a valid reason for once. 

The truth? House hadn't been sleeping well since Wilson left. Really, he hadn't slept well since Amber died and things between him and Wilson first changed. It was much easier when they didn't talk because Wilson needed space to grieve than when they didn't talk because Wilson didn't want to be his friend anymore.

House was scared. All the time, now. Sure, Wilson was back now, and things were relatively normal. It seemed like they were okay again. But he'd left once before - who's to say he wouldn't again? And House didn't blame Wilson one bit. He knew he was a bad friend. A bad person, even. But he loved Wilson and, perhaps selfishly, he couldn't bear for them to be apart.

Wilson shifted again. Still asleep though, House could tell.

Well, fuck it.

House limped as quietly as someone can when dragging their leg across the floor and loomed over the unoccupied side of Wilson's bed. If he got in, this would change things. Maybe Wilson would hate him again.

But he had to try.

It was this, or nightmares. Every single night. Or staying awake wondering if he was going to fuck things up again. Maybe he should consider seeing a therapist too.

Gingerly, he slid under the covers, calmly laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He tucked his arms either side of him over the duvet. Still unaware, Wilson snored slightly next to him. How was it possible to look this cute when asleep and awake? It was a mystery to House.

Being there calmed House. He was terrified of the consequences to come, but Wilson's bed was warm, and it smelled like him, and seeing the steady rise and fall of Wilson's chest next to him reminded him that he was here and alive and okay for now. He needed that reinforcement.

He watched Wilson for a long time. He wondered if Wilson still took those sleeping pills Cameron had said he took after Amber's death just so he could get through the night. God, this man had been through so much. House hated the thought of how much he was to blame in that.

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He rolled onto his side, moving closer to where Wilson lay sprawled on his back. Oh, this was so dangerous. He was so close, House could feel the warmth radiating off of him. This was it.

He moved forward again, less than a centimetre between him and Wilson now. Then, carefully, carefully, carefully, he reached over and wrapped an arm around Wilson's chest and lay his head there.

One second passed. Two. Three. He was safe. Wilson hadn't woken up. He wasn't going to shout at him and kick him out and leave him again. It was okay.

Even though his head was on the wrong side of Wilson's chest, House could make out the faint heartbeat of the only person who ever truly understood him. Whom he saw as an equal. Who completed him. He wished that heart beat for him.

In an instant, there was silence. He could no longer hear Wilson's breathing. Had House fallen asleep already? Was Wilson okay? Was-

"House?" Wilson muttered groggily, feeling in the dark for him. He clumsily made contact with one of House's elbows, the other hand reaching his hip.

House froze. How did he explain himself out of this one, then? He could hardly say "you're the only person I feel safe around please please please don't leave me I can't function without you", could he?

Wilson's fingers rubbed at his hip slightly, small, soothing circles. "That bad?"

Still House was at a loss for words. He was so scared. Wilson could probably feel his heart hammering in his chest right now. Still, he seemed sympathetic. Pitying, maybe. Not angry, thankfully.

Then Wilson surprised him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering there a second or two, as if reluctant to pull away. 

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

God, no, he didn't. He kind of wanted Wilson to know but no way was he saying those words out loud right now. Please understand me, Wilson, he thought. You're so good at reading me all the time, read me now. The book's open. Read me.

Key evidence supporting telepathy's existence decided to emerge at that point, as Wilson's next move was to wrap his arms around House, hugging him against his chest. 

At some point, House would obsess over how non-platonic this was. But at that moment, all he could think about was how protected he felt in Wilson's strong arms. How neither his mind nor the world could hurt him now. How much of a good night's sleep he might finally get tonight for the first time in months.

He could have sworn he heard Wilson whisper "I've got you" in his ear right before drifting to sleep. Yes, you've got me, he thought.

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk about it the next day.

House vaguely recalled Wilson pressing a kiss to his forehead at he got up at an obscenely early hour to go to work - but maybe he just dreamed it. At least he was sleeping and dreaming now.

The bed was cold when he woke again. The sheets were wrapped around him in some ridiculous copy of Wilson's arms. He couldn’t quite remember exactly how it’d felt. He longed to feel it again.

He stole some leftovers from Wilson's fridge, wandering around his apartment in last night’s clothes. He didn't feel like going back to his place to change before work. He’d have to think up some excuse as to why he was outfit repeating - something he explicitly made fun of his team for usually.

As soon as he entered the hospital, Cuddy cornered him with some new case. It kept him so busy that he didn’t even see Wilson until lunch.

It would be impossible not to notice the concern in Wilson’s eyes every time he glanced at him across the table, but House was unbelievably grateful that he didn’t bring it up. Wilson probably figured House would bring it up when he was ready.

What if he was never ready?

Instead, they talked about House’s new patient and Cuddy’s new boyfriend and the torrential rain outside. House wondered if he could use the awful weather as an excuse to curl up next to Wilson again.

No, he couldn’t repeat last night. He’d gotten far too close to revealing things. He couldn’t have Wilson see him that way. It would be too painful. He didn’t need Wilson’s pity. Wilson didn’t need another burden.

Still, there was that way Wilson looked at him. The way he didn’t complain once that day about House stealing his fries.

-

Wilson didn’t knock as he entered House’s office that evening. House barely looked up from the lab results he was looking at.

“Come on. Home time.”

House frowned. It wasn’t that late. Wilson wasn’t seriously worrying about House overworking himself on the case now, was he?

As if reading his mind, Wilson added, “Rain’s too heavy for your bike to be safe. C’mon, I’ll drive you.”

House couldn’t really argue with that. Still, he thought, miserably, without his bike, he couldn’t go to Wilson’s in the middle of the night now. He guessed it’d be another sleepless one, then.

-

They didn’t talk in the car either.

Wilson mindlessly tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, some distant tune playing on the radio while House stared out the window the whole time at the drenched streets.

He barely noticed when the car stopped. He sighed and grabbed his cane with one hand and the door handle with the other. He paused when Wilson unstrapped his own seatbelt.

Was…Wilson coming with him?

Then, as they stepped out the car, House realised.

They were at Wilson’s place again.

Interesting.

-

They didn’t talk as Wilson made dinner.

House watched him from over the back of the couch, slightly worried now.

Sure, it seemed like Wilson was taking care of him, but why wasn’t he speaking? Surely he would have tried to bring it up again by now. Was he mad? Disappointed? Resigned?

-

They didn’t talk until it was time to go to bed.

After a few hours of watching TV, Wilson finally stood up, stretching.

“I’ll get some clothes for you.”

House stayed on the couch, unsure whether to get up or not. He was so, so scared of making the wrong move. Wilson had complete and utter control of this situation.

A few minutes later, Wilson returned with an old jumper and some pyjama pants that would definitely be too short on House. He held them out to him, no smile, no expecting anything in return. Just doing something for House. God, he was always doing things for him.

Slowly House got changed. Clearly Wilson was ok with him staying the night again, but was he going to make him sleep on the couch? Did he only let House sleep in his bed last night because he was too tired to kick him out?

House was just kicking his socks off when Wilson wandered back in, in pyjamas now too, left hand busy brushing his teeth. He nodded at House, beckoning, and walked back towards the bedroom.

There was his answer, then.

-

They remained apart, initially.

Wilson lay on his side, facing House, but not really looking at him. House, on the other hand, was on his back, trying not to freak out about so many things. About the fact that he was literally wearing Wilson's clothes, about the fact that he was literally in bed with Wilson again for the second night in a row, about the fact that he’d be able to actually get some sleep again.

Slowly, tentatively, House glanced over at Wilson.

Wilson had been making a lot of the first moves, inviting House into his home, into his bed again. Was it House’s turn now?

Carefully, he rolled onto his side again just like the night before. Wilson’s eyes snapped up to his. For once, House couldn’t read him. He didn’t like the feeling. What was going on in his head?

He inched closer anyway, figuring his luck had held out this far. And sure enough, as soon as he was within reach, Wilson had an arm round him and was pulling him against his chest.

House felt his eyes starting to close already but he couldn’t let himself fall asleep just yet. He needed to relish the feeling of Wilson’s arms holding him close. Who knew if he’d ever feel it again?

He couldn’t stop blinking. Please, he wanted to savour this moment. Commit it to memory. Dream of it on his deathbed.

But then Wilson was stroking his hair and finally, finally, House gave in. 

Chapter Text

They settled into a sort of routine.

Throughout the day, things were normal. House bitched about patients, Wilson gave him advice he wouldn't take, and so forth. Then they went home together. Wilson usually drove, but it was up to chance whether they ended up at his place or House's. Neither minded which. The evenings were normal, too - they watched monster trucks and shitty films, with a side of takeout or Wilson's cooking. It was the closest to domesticity House had got with anyone since Stacy.

And then they went to bed. Since the first time House daringly climbed into Wilson's bed, they hadn't spent a night apart. And each night, without fail, they were in each other's arms.

In the morning, Wilson got up first. His alarm woke House up every time, too, and he'd sleepily cling to Wilson, praying he'd stay in bed just a few minutes longer. He never did.

And the cycle repeated.

-

After a long week, House had finally discharged his patient, with a brilliant last-minute diagnosis of a rare condition. He always got there in the end. With nothing to do, he sat at his desk, throwing his ball against the wall. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

Why was Wilson letting him do this? Encouraging him, even?

They hadn't talked about it once. Even in the dead of night, with House curled up in Wilson's firm grip, they hadn't so much as acknowledged this new arrangement of theirs. Sure, Wilson would whisper things to him that played on loop in his mind the next day - it was strange how phrases as simple as "you're safe" and "I'm here" had such a profound effect on him - but he never once asked him what this was about, or told him to get out, or even brought it up when psychoanalysing his behaviour during the day.

Was Wilson waiting for him to say something first?

No matter how concerned he was, surely he would try to figure out what was going on with House. What had suddenly triggered this uncharacteristic need for closeness. Affection, even. Or try to find a remedy that could help him during the day, too. Or prescribe him sleeping pills.

What did Wilson gain out of House sleeping in his bed that couldn't be gained from House getting a full night's rest elsewhere?

House couldn't say anything. If he brought it up, he knew he couldn't convincingly lie when Wilson inevitably asked why he was really doing this. Why he really needed this. And the truth burned in House's throat, it burned his eyes, his heart - how the fuck was he supposed to open that up for another person to see? Even if that person was the one at the root of it all.

-

"You're quiet today," Wilson noted at lunch.

"Just thinking about the case," House dismissed, all too quickly.

Wilson frowned. "Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Good catch."

House simply hummed in response. He could feel Wilson's eyes on him but now was not the time to start admitting all the things that kept him awake at night. Well. The things that had kept him awake at night before they started spending their nights together.

"House." Wilson moved his drink, just inconspicuous enough to excuse him brushing his hand against House's. "You okay?"

House grabbed his cane. "Peachy."

Wilson was left staring after him like a lost puppy.

-

House put extra effort into acting normal that evening. His normal, anyway. He insulted characters on TV, stole Wilson's food - everything was fine again. But when he noticed Wilson watching him for a little too long out the corner of his eye, he knew he wasn't off the hook.

Eventually, one of them got up for bed and the other followed, like clockwork. They turned off the lights and appreciated each other's warmth. Just like every other night.

House half-expected Wilson to say something. He was beginning to doubt that they'd ever talk about it - not that he really cared, if he was allowed to stay in Wilson's bed every night for the rest of his life - but too much concern had bled through the oncologist's facade today. House had slipped up, and he knew it.

Instead, Wilson just held him tight and murmured something incomprehensible into his hair.

-

The following morning, Wilson's alarm went off as usual, and House reflexively tightened his grip around Wilson's chest. Wilson laughed.

He gently took House's arm. "C'mon, House, you know I have to get up."

"No, you don't," House mumbled into his shirt.

Every morning they had this half-asleep argument.

Wilson sighed and grabbed his alarm before pulling the covers over him and House once more.

"Okay. Five more minutes."

House bolted upright, staring at him in a daze. "What? Really?"

Wilson shrugged. "Just five minutes. I'll still make it in on time."

Slowly nodding, House settled back down against him, revelling in the soft warmth he'd been granted more time with. Wilson must have been really worried about him after yesterday. He'd never stayed longer with him in the morning before.

Wilson idly ran his fingers through House's graying curls. House couldn't quite get back to sleep, but he was okay with that. He knew he'd drift off again once Wilson had left for work, so for now he could just bask in Wilson's glow. If he could choose one moment to stay in forever, it would be this one. 

So why did he feel like crying?

After a lot longer than five minutes, Wilson's alarm beeped again. He groaned.

"Okay, c'mon, I really have to get up now."

House let him go this time. He'd got the extra time he wanted. He knew it couldn't last forever.

-

House was in a perhaps surprisingly good mood that day. The extra minutes with Wilson felt like they persisted throughout the day. Every time he wanted to insult his team or berate a patient, he was reminded of impossibly warm arms around him and held back a little.

He felt a knot deep in his stomach, however. Things were getting out of hand. It was a risk enough spending the night with Wilson - what sort of questions would it bring up? Would Wilson come to resent him? How sharp would the sting feel when Wilson got another girlfriend and told House "I'm very sorry but I've found someone who can give me what you can't"?

And now their mornings were changing too. How long before they were confessing a love they couldn't promise each other?

Well. House could love Wilson forever. He felt like he had already. But he hurt everyone he got close to - Wilson hadn't been immune from that so far, and there was no reason to believe he would be going forwards either. Wilson deserved somebody better, somebody who could give him romance and sweet words and stability.

And Wilson... Sometimes House thought, deep down, if sexuality and history and reality were ignored, Wilson might love him. He'd taken fifteen years of shit from House and yet still laughed at all his jokes, still stood by his side when nobody else would defend him, still arranged to go and see monster trucks together. Still held him close at night.

House blinked.

He couldn't keep thinking like this.

The reality was, Wilson had kept him wrapped in his arms for an extra who knows how many minutes that morning. He should be appreciating the small wins.

So when they got lunch together, House stole Wilson's muffin and they played footsies under the table and he even listened when Wilson told him about one of his own patients.

It was amazing how something so simple could make life feel so much better.

-

The next morning, the same thing happened. House grumbled and Wilson actually listened.

Five extra minutes and more.

And yet Wilson was still impeccably on time for work. House listened to him go about his morning routine and he didn't rush anything. How could he afford the extra time in bed with House, then?

Still - he'd stayed. 

If House's team noticed he was in good spirits for the second day in a row, they didn't say anything. Simply enjoyed it.

-

The answer finally came to House after a few more similar mornings. 

A patient of his had a faulty SCN, meaning his circadian rhythm was, in his terms, "completely out of whack". They gave him artificial light and changed the time on the clock in his room in an attempt to reset his biological clock.

That was when House realised.

Wilson had been setting his alarm back. Rather than it blaring at him to get up at 6am, he'd set it back ten or maybe even fifteen minutes so he could have extra time snuggled up to House without jeopardising his morning routine.

That would explain why it felt more like five extra minutes after all.

-

That night, House watched Wilson set his alarm for the next morning, already snug under the covers.

"How far back do you set it?" he asked innocently.

"Hmm?" Wilson turned to him, brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

House swallowed. He was going to have to say it out loud. He was going to have to acknowledge this...thing...between them.

"You set your alarm back earlier so we have more time in the morning," he explained carefully. Could he get away with that? Was his wording casual enough?

"Oh." Wilson looked at the alarm then back at him. "Half five."

House was surprised that Wilson was so calm. He wasn't acting like a child caught with his hand in the sweet jar. He wasn't annoyed at having been called out for what had been happening. He wasn't wide-eyed, panicking House was going to mock him. In fact, he wasn't perturbed in the slightest.

Was he really that okay with it? With, even if ever so slightly, acknowledging their arrangement? And admitting that he deliberately made sure he had more time with his arms around his best friend?

Wilson switched off the light and pulled House closer to him.

"Stop overthinking everything," he whispered.

Chapter Text

Whenever, on a rare occasion, Wilson got up in the night, House panicked. It was freaky how he could sense his absence immediately, groping at the sheets and straining his ears to hear any movement that would confirm Wilson hadn't left him for good. He too eagerly grabbed Wilson when he climbed back into bed.

"Don't leave," he begged, blearily enough to excuse his vulnerability away in the morning.

"I won't," Wilson promised.

House never got up in the middle of night. No matter how much his bladder screamed at him, no matter how dry his throat felt. He refused to leave the safe haven of Wilson's arms.

-

It had been a tough week. That's what House put it down to. There was no other rational explanation.

They were sitting side by side on the couch, knee to knee, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. They weren't leaning on each other but they were way too close. Neither mentioned it.

House could feel Wilson's heat radiating off him. He was too aware of the fact that Wilson hadn't pushed him away (yet). 

It was only 7pm. Early by House's standards. Star Trek reruns from a few years back were playing on the TV. Voyager, House reckoned, if he could focus enough. Except he couldn't. Not this close to Wilson.

Sure, they violated each other's personal space more and more these days. That was kind of a given seeing as they were wound around each other every night now. They brushed shoulders more in the corridors, stood a little too close together when looking at scans, brushed their fingers together when eating lunch. But it wasn't romantic. It wasn't monumental. House just felt more reassured day to day.

And now this. Practically pressed up against each other on the couch.

Should he test it? House wanted to test it. Maybe a little wouldn't hurt...

As casually as possible, he rested his head against Wilson's shoulder. When Wilson curiously glanced over him, House was more engrossed in Captain Janeway's words than he had been all night.

And then Wilson did the unthinkable.

He removed the arm currently trapped between his torso and House's head and oh god he's going to push me away-

Wilson wrapped his arm around House's shoulders, pulling him closer. House froze, eyes locked on the TV screen, terrified to let his weight fall against Wilson.

Then Wilson moved his other arm, bringing it across House's chest. He wasn't just supporting him now, he was full on embracing him. Hugging him. They'd only done this outside of the bedroom once, and that was too many years ago to count.

"Relax," Wilson whispered, dragging his fingers up and down House's chest in a soothing motion. "Just relax."

And with that, House untensed. He shifted his hips slightly so his back was flush against Wilson's chest, and leaned back against him, revelling in his warm grip.

They didn't separate until they went to bed. And even then, they came back together quickly.

-

House felt like he was riding on a forbidden high. Even Vicodin didn't make him feel this good. But it didn't make him feel this bad either.

His dreams were, in theory, coming true. He was getting more and more of Wilson to himself, unlocking a side of him - of them - that he never thought possible. They were never far apart from each other nowadays, and yet Wilson still had the good grace not to verbally acknowledge what was going on. He was simply there when House needed him, a hand on his back when they walked through crowds, arms around him at night, knees pressed together under the table. Not to mention all the sweet nothings he would murmur into House's skin, his hair, his shirt - even just the dark sometimes. I've got you. You're gonna be okay. You're so strong. I'll keep you safe.

But still, it was unacknowledged. 

He didn't want to talk about it. God, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Opening up to people was more painful than even his leg. And what if Wilson saw him differently? What if he couldn't take it and left again? What if he wanted to go back to how things were before?

House didn't know if he could let him go. He couldn't risk it. But it was torture living with this unofficial, unrecognised arrangement.

He had been content to just be Wilson's best friend for years, but now he'd had a taste of more he couldn't give it up. For all he joked about wanting to rail Wilson, sex was near the bottom of the list of things he wanted most with Wilson. He wanted more of the domesticity, he wanted the forehead kisses and hand-holding, he wanted to never see Wilson flirt with the oncology nurses again, he wanted to be able to introduce Wilson as his, he wanted to go watch monster trucks as a date, he wanted to embarrass Wilson at dinner and have Wilson tell the waiter "I'm so sorry, my boyfriend is just like this", he wanted more of the shared smiles nobody else understood, he wanted to curl up next to him on the couch whenever he felt like it, he wanted to cook together, he wanted to go on their stupid roadtrips and bicker over whose music taste was better, he wanted-

"House, stop daydreaming." Cuddy efficiently broke his treacherously in-love train of thought. "I've got a case for you."

This was definitely getting out of control.

-

They didn't have lunch together that day. A nurse had apologetically informed him that Wilson was performing a lung biopsy and would be unavailable for the next few hours.

He sulked at the table by himself, having had to pay for his own food and having nobody to laugh at his jokes. Cameron, pitying him, offered to sit with him but he sent her away, claiming he needed time to think.

Really, he needed the opposite of that. He just couldn't stop thinking about Wilson. This wasn't healthy, he knew, and when Wilson inevitably left, it was just going to hurt even more unless he could stop this.

Had he really become this dependent on the man? He couldn't even survive lunchtime without him. He glanced around the cafeteria, at all the laughing colleagues and friends and couples. Sure, he and Wilson didn't have the normal social contract, but they had a powerful bond. They knew each other inside out.

House paused.

Had Wilson already figured out why House had been needing him more lately? Why they'd come so close together? Was that why he didn't talk about it?

It didn't take a genius to work out House had missed him while he was away. And that he blamed himself for Amber's death. And that he was terrified Wilson was going to leave again or tell him he hated him and everything was his fault-

House abandoned his lunch at the table and rushed to the observation gallery of Operating Room 3, where a lung biopsy was conveniently taking place.

Wilson, scalpel in hand, was ordering his colleagues here and there. Damn, he looked hot in scrubs. He didn't notice House watching him until one of his colleagues nudged him and pointed upwards.

Guess he couldn't hide now.

"Hiya, Jimmy," he called over the intercom.

Wilson rolled his eyes, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. "Go have lunch, House."

"Oh, but you know how looking at patients' insides gives me an appetite!"

Chuckling and shaking his head, Wilson turned back to the patient. House observed the rest of the surgery with no interruptions.

"Thought you'd gone." Wilson came up to him afterwards, still half scrubbed up. "You okay?"

"Oh, fine," House said breezily, trailing behind Wilson. "Ya reckon it's cancer?"

Wilson stopped in his tracks, huffing. "She's not your patient, House. What's up?"

"Just making conversation," he replied feebly. Wilson was going to see straight through it, he knew. Fuck. How was he supposed to cover up the fact that he just wanted to see him, be around him? That he couldn't live without him?

Wilson stared at him for a little too long. He looked like he was about to say something, maybe acknowledge-

But then he shook his head and began walking again, tearing off his scrubs.

-

Maybe he should tell someone about it. As if anyone would understand.

Maybe he should get a therapist. As if I'd tell them the truth.

Maybe he should end this thing with Wilson all together before it was too late. As if I could bring myself to let go.

He'd realised long ago that if he and Wilson were to part, that would be Wilson's decision. No matter what came between them, no matter what pain, jealousy, betrayal involved, he couldn't even imagine leaving him. 

But Wilson had left him once.

Rightfully so, he agreed. House was responsible for his girlfriend's death. House was a dick to him generally. He'd gone too far.

He was more careful now, but that didn't erase his past actions, and no matter how awful he felt, he couldn't just go and say sorry to Wilson. He didn't do things like that.

But Wilson had come back.

He'd missed him. They had fun together. House clung to that. Do fun things with him so he won't leave.

But if Wilson left again...would he come back?

If he found out about House's... If House told him... Would it be final this time?

House didn't think his life was worth living without Wilson. How fucked up and codependent was that? And yet he couldn't help it.

-

Wilson came into his office a little earlier than usual, coat on and briefcase in hand. He drove House home at the same time every day now.

"Wanna go out for dinner tonight?" he proposed, leaning against the doorframe.

House paused from where he was gathering his things. He stared at Wilson, whose expression was unreadable. He was getting better at that. Or House was getting worse at it. Was he so in his own head nowadays that he was losing him?

"Yeah, sure."

-

Usually, when House and Wilson ate out, it was some run-down diner or strategically placed restaurant or doctors' lounge.

The restaurant Wilson took him to tonight was very fancy. Classy. Expensive. House, who usually didn't care for these things, felt embarrassingly out of place in his ratty t-shirt and worn-down jeans. Wilson looked alien, too, but at least he was wearing a tie.

"So, what's the occasion?" he couldn't help but ask after the waiter had given them a secluded table in the corner. He stared at the chandelier above them in vague distaste.

"No occasion."

House smirked. Wilson was a bad liar. He was glad he could still recognise that, at least.

"Sure," he said in a way that meant anything but. "How much trouble do you think I'd get in if I stole some of this cutlery?"

Wilson glared at him. "House." This was familiar, predictable. Thank god. "Don't."

House laughed. The cutlery really was very nice, with intricate patterns carved into the silver. Shame.

The waiter returned with menus, and House raised his eyebrows. 

"I've never even heard of half of this stuff."

"Shut up, you're a doctor. Yes, you have."

House yanked Wilson's menu out of his hands, leaving him agape. "Are they deliberately giving the dishes different names nobody understands then?" Wilson made a futile grab for his menu, which House held high, out of his reach. "Stop pretending, Wilson. We never go to places like this. What's going on?"

Wilson's guilt was written all over his face. "I missed lunch."

House stared, waiting for more. When it didn't come, he scoffed. "What, that's it? You're making up for one measly sandwich with a million-dollar three-course meal?"

"No. Well. I don't know." Wilson sighed. "I just felt bad, that's all." House's stare didn't falter, so he kept rambling on. "We never skip lunch. I could've rearranged the biopsy, or got someone else to do it - but I didn't. And then you came to the O.R., and- I don't know, I thought maybe we could just get dinner instead, but we always go to the same places, so I thought something different-" This time it was a long, drawn-out sigh. "I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea."

Wilson and his damn debilitating guilt. Now House felt guilty too. He was just trying to do something nice - even though he really didn't need to - and now House had made him feel even worse about it. Great.

"No, it wasn't," he said, swallowing. Wilson's eyes were on him again in an instant. "It's...nice."

He lowered the menus again, and Wilson tentatively took one from him.

"Okay."

They managed to decipher the menus and order, and their banter picked up again. Wilson didn't even protest when House started sneakily throwing bread rolls at the snobby couple near them, who had been shooting daggers their way all night for House's inappropriate jokes and Wilson's loud laughter. When the cheque came, House made no comment as Wilson paid. He was sure it was a big number. Maybe he'd sneak some money into Wilson's wallet to make up for it.

-

As they got ready for bed that night, House could tell Wilson was still a little tense. 

"You reckon Chase will have heard of sha- chal- the thing you had? His people are big on creatures with too many legs, right?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wilson smiled appreciatively as he changed his shirt. When he finally joined him in bed and turned out the lights, House hugged him a little tighter than usual.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, not even sure Wilson could hear him. He never said anything in the darkness, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd hurt Wilson. Again. He had to stop doing this. "Dinner was good."

Wilson lightly traced a pattern across his back. "Shhh, I know. It's okay."

Chapter Text

House had kept a record of the stages of his and Wilson's arrangement in his head. It was the only way he could desperately try to rationalise what was going on.

Stage 1: they shared a bed for the first time.

Stage 2: it became a regular thing that they shared a bed.

Stage 3: Wilson "stayed longer" in the mornings (set his clocks back).

Stage 4: more casual touches.

Was there going to be a stage 5, he wondered? Or what if there would be an infinite number without ever reaching a final destination?

-

His answer came sooner than he expected. House was by no means religious - he actively discouraged any kind of faith, insisting that science and medicine could explain everything. And really, what happened was just a natural progression of events. But it felt like his prayers had been answered.

They'd been sleeping together - only in the most literal sense - for a few months now. Fallen into a stable, consistent routine with it. And House, as worried as he felt all the time still, was indeed sleeping. Since this thing had started, he slept all through the night every night now. No nightmares. No difficulties getting to sleep - and no difficulties getting back to sleep, either, as he didn't wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat anymore.

Except one night, he awoke to a room that was dark still. If he had to guess, it was probably about 3am, but it could have easily been a few hours either side of that.

He was first aware of the warm body pressed to his. Okay, good. Wilson was still here.

In fact - Wilson was awake too. 

He was talking.

Was he on the phone to someone? Wanting to gather more data before he reacted, House lay still, willing his sleep-clouded to brain to focus, goddamnit, and work out the words Wilson was saying.

"-and I get it, you know, it makes sense, but I just don't know where to go from here..."

He realised Wilson was stroking his hair as he talked, as he often did when he was distracted, House had noticed. But his other arm was snug around House's middle. So neither hand was holding a phone. So... he was talking to House. Who was supposed to be asleep.

"I just... oh, god, I don't know. I'm so scared I'm going to make it worse and that's the last thing I want. You're in pain, this is hardly the time for me to confess anything..."

Wilson sighed, held him a little tighter. 

Oh. House wasn't meant to be awake. He wasn't meant to be hearing this.

But he was awake now. And he wanted to hear this. Was Wilson...talking about them?

"And I know you feel guilty about Amber's death, you won't admit it, but I know you are - but you're not! But I can't just say that, I can't just say "oh, yeah, by the way, House, stop blaming yourself for my dead girlfriend". I wish I knew how to tell you. Of course I'm sad she died, but I'm so glad you didn't, and you're here, and I've got you, and... I don't blame you, I never did. The only reason I left was because I needed to get away from everything. It was never me hating you. I was just hurt. And now you're hurt, and I can't do anything..."

Yes, you can, House thought desperately. Keep saying things like this.

He couldn't believe Wilson didn't blame him. Of course, he didn't think it was his fault solely because he thought Wilson did, but he trusted Wilson's opinion more than anyone else's. More than his own, sometimes.

Was it his fault anyway, and Wilson was just extra forgiving? He always saw past people's flaws.

But forgiveness is forgiveness. House felt lighter, already. It was kind of freaking him out. Wilson wasn't just a doctor, it seemed, he was a healer.

"...and - and we have this thing and I don't even know if you want it, if you want it like I do, but you never argue, so I just assume it's okay, but- but would you tell me if it wasn't?" Ah. A rhetorical question. Yes, I'd tell you, Wilson. "You never tell me anything anymore. I know you're hurting, god, I see it all the time, but you don't talk to me, and I don't want to push, I know you need time, but I don't want to drag this out, or make it worse, and..."

Wow, Wilson really had been holding all of this back. That made two of them, huh?

House wondered if he could stay here forever, basking in the light of Wilson's confessions. But he had to say something, right? Had to comfort him like his words were comforting House? Or maybe he should feign sleep some more and talk in the morning? Did he have the courage to?

"...and I just want to make you feel better, and I think this is, but you still have that sad look in your eyes all the time, and I don't know if it's just with me or if it's everyone... and I don't want you to think I'm doing this just out of pity, because I'm not, I want you close, but... Is that wrong of me? Am I taking advantage of your - your neediness now?"

House felt like he was going to burst. Had he definitely woken up? Was this a really vivid dream? Wilson was saying everything he ever wanted and more. He strongly disliked the hint of Wilson's self-loathing in there, but they could work on that, right? He could reassure him, and-

"I can't talk to you about this, House, not when you're awake."

Oh. So he really didn't want him to hear, huh?

"I want to, fuck. But I can't risk scaring you away. You're more vulnerable with me now than you've ever been; if I pressure you to - to tell me, or to define this, or feel the same way if you don't, or- I can't have you shut me out. But I can't stop this, I can't. We both need it. Fuck, I hate this stalemate we're in. I don't even know why I'm telling you this, it's not like you can hear me." Yes, I can. "If I could just tell you I love you without it making things worse, I would, fuck, I would, House."

I love you. 

The words were ringing in House's ears. 

I love you.

Wilson must feel his heart pounding in his chest, surely.

I love you.

And this fucker thought he didn't love him back?

"I love you too," House burst out before he could help it.

Wilson pulled back to look at him, all shock and fear and panic and wonder. 

Well, it was now or never, he supposed.

House lunged forwards, hands on Wilson's chest, kissing him like he'd never kissed anyone before. It was all the things he couldn't say, all the things Wilson did just say. And Wilson kissed him back. With fervour. He clutched at House's shirt, his hips, his hair - anywhere he could get his hands. He was as good a kisser as his wives said, slipping his tongue in House's mouth without a care for the stubble scraping against his face. And if he didn't care, House didn't either, resting his weight against Wilson as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

As soon as they broke apart, House was whispering "I love you, I love you, I love you" against Wilson's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, like if he didn't say it now, he never would.

"House. House." Wilson pulled him back up to face him, all breathless and smiley. "Hey. I love you too."

And they kissed again, slower this time, more tender, savouring the physical manifestation what it felt like to love and be loved.

"Hey," Wilson murmured, pulling back just a fraction. "How much of that did you hear?"

House brushed away the hair that had fallen over Wilson's forehead. "Some of it. Half, maybe."

"Guess I'll just have to repeat the rest."

Please. Say it all again. Say it forever.

"Wilson."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For anything in particular?"

House shrugged. "For being here, with me. For being patient."

"Oh, House." Wilson cradled House's jaw with his hand. "Don't you get it yet? I'll do anything for you."

His use of "I'll" and not "I'd" made House a little dizzy. Wow, this was really happening. He was really going to be okay, like all the times Wilson had promised.

"Can I move in with you?"

He didn't know how or why it came out, but it did. If he was this close with Wilson, he might as well get the rest, right?

Wilson grinned. "Absolutely. I think you kind of already have."

They spent their nights together, shared all their meals, wore each others' clothes. Yeah, maybe he had.

"Officially."

"Yes." Wilson considered. "You know, speaking of officially..."

"Can I be your boyfriend?" House really had to stop that tongue of his. "Sorry, had to get there first. Can I?"

House would never get tired of Wilson's smile. If his life purpose was to make this man happy, House would be okay with that. "Yes." He was positively glowing. "As long as I can be yours."

"Always," House said and kissed him again.

-

They never got back to sleep that night. They had so many things to discuss, to reassure, to try out. This was a big change in their dynamic. But then again, it wasn't. They'd already spent months slowly opening up to each other, becoming more vulnerable, becoming more accustomed to life as just the two of them.

When they walked into work together in the morning, they both looked tired as hell but the grins plastered on their faces stopped anyone considering asking if they were okay. They were more than okay.