Chapter Text
The conference center looked like it had been designed by someone who had never actually attended a conference.
Everything was beige. The walls, the carpet, the furniture — even the fake plants somehow looked tired.
House took one look at the place and announced, “I hate it already.”
Foreman rolled his eyes. “We’re here for one night.”
“One night too many,” House replied. “This is how souls go to die.”
Wilson adjusted his bag on his shoulder and tried to look optimistic in the way that made House deeply suspicious. “It’s just team building, House. Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” House said. “This is my relaxed face.”
It was not.
---
The trouble started at check-in.
The receptionist — overly cheerful, terrifyingly competent — tapped at her keyboard and frowned.
“Oh.”
House immediately perked up. “That’s never a good sound.”
She smiled politely. “It looks like your group booked one room short.”
Foreman frowned. “That’s not possible.”
“Well,” she continued, “there was a late addition to your group this morning.”
Everyone slowly turned to look at Chase.
Chase raised his hands. “What? It wasn’t me.”
They turned to look at Taub.
Taub shrugged. “I don’t bring people places.”
Finally, all eyes landed on Wilson.
Wilson blinked. “What?”
House smirked. “What did you do, adopt another patient?”
Wilson glared. “I didn’t add anyone!”
The receptionist cleared her throat. “Regardless, we’re fully booked tonight. So two of you will need to share.”
House’s smirk widened into something genuinely dangerous.
“Oh no.”
Wilson felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.
The receptionist looked between them. “We only have one bed in the remaining room.”
House turned slowly toward Wilson.
Wilson already looked like he was preparing his will.
“No,” Wilson said immediately.
House grinned. “Yes.”
Foreman sighed. “You two argue like an old married couple anyway. It’ll be fine.”
Wilson stared at him in betrayal.
House leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, Jimmy. I only bite on weekends.”
Wilson looked physically ill.
---
The room was small.
The bed was not.
It was a king-sized bed.
House stood there, hands in pockets, surveying it like a general examining a battlefield.
“Well,” he said. “At least if we touch it’ll be emotionally scarring instead of just physically uncomfortable.”
Wilson dropped his bag by the door and stared at the bed like it was a wild animal.
“We’re not sharing that,” he said.
House raised an eyebrow. “There’s the floor.”
Wilson grimaced. “The carpet is… moist.”
House nodded approvingly. “Good. Builds character. And immunity.”
Wilson sighed and rubbed his face. “I hate you.”
House smiled. “You’re welcome.”
---
They did activities.
Wilson participated.
House mocked them.
They built a tower out of sticks and string.
House deliberately sabotaged it “for science.”
Wilson tried to mediate a group trust exercise and somehow ended up emotionally responsible for three strangers and Taub.
By the time dinner rolled around, Wilson was exhausted.
House was entertained.
---
They returned to the room in silence.
Wilson brushed his teeth aggressively.
House leaned on the bathroom doorway and narrated it.
“You know,” House said, “if you scrub any harder you’ll erase your personality.”
Wilson spat into the sink. “I’m trying to forget today.”
“Impossible. Trauma is forever.”
Wilson turned to him. “Are you actually planning to sleep?”
House blinked. “Eventually.”
Wilson sighed. “Please just… stay on your side.”
House smirked. “No promises.”
They both changed in awkward silence.
Wilson lay on the very edge of the bed, stiff as a board.
House sprawled like he owned the place.
They turned off the light.
The dark settled.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Wilson listened to House’s breathing.
Slow. Even.
Annoyingly comforting.
Wilson hated it.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Wilson fell asleep.
---
Wilson woke up warm.
Which was wrong.
He was not usually warm.
He was… very warm.
And very held.
There was an arm around his waist.
A chest pressed against his back.
Breath warm against the back of his neck.
House.
House was cuddling him.
Wilson froze.
His brain screamed.
*This is not happening. This is not real. I am dreaming. I am being murdered by affection.*
He tried to carefully shift forward.
The arm tightened.
House pulled him back.
Wilson nearly levitated out of his own skin.
“House,” Wilson whispered.
No response.
“House.”
Nothing.
Wilson lay there, heart racing, being aggressively spooned by a man who claimed to hate people.
After a minute, Wilson swallowed.
“You’re awake.”
House did not respond.
Wilson huffed softly. “You always breathe louder when you’re pretending to sleep.”
Still nothing.
Fine.
If House was going to play this game, Wilson could too.
Very carefully, very deliberately, Wilson scooted back.
Closer.
House’s chest pressed more firmly against him.
Wilson relaxed into it before he could overthink it.
House’s mouth twitched.
Wilson felt it.
“Ha,” Wilson whispered.
House stayed silent.
But he didn’t move away.
They stayed like that.
Two idiots.
One bed.
Both pretending.
Both very aware.
Eventually, they both drifted back to sleep.
Together.
***
Wilson woke up first.
This was already wrong.
Normally House woke up first just to make sure everyone else was miserable about it.
But this time, Wilson became aware of consciousness slowly, gently, wrapped in warmth and the solid, steady weight of another person behind him.
House’s arm was still around his waist.
House’s chest was still pressed against his back.
House’s face was still somewhere near Wilson’s neck, warm breath ghosting his skin.
Wilson did not move.
He stared at the wall.
He waited.
Nothing changed.
Which meant…
House was awake.
Because House *never* slept this long.
Wilson swallowed.
Neither of them said anything.
The silence was thick.
Not awkward.
Just… full.
Wilson tried to inch forward.
House’s arm tightened immediately.
Cling.
Wilson froze.
He tried again.
House pulled him back, burying his face more firmly into Wilson’s shoulder.
Wilson stared harder at the wall.
“…House.”
“Mmm.”
So he was awake.
Good.
Great.
Fantastic.
Wilson attempted logic. “You’re… you’re holding me.”
“Yes.”
“…Why?”
House’s voice was sleepy, low, and dangerously gentle. “You were going to leave.”
Wilson blinked. “We’re not… attached.”
House tightened his grip.
Wilson felt something in his chest do something inconvenient.
“House,” Wilson said carefully, “you’re usually yelling at someone by now.”
House sighed into his shoulder. “I took the morning off.”
Wilson let out a small, helpless laugh.
This was not the House he knew.
This was worse.
This was *adorable.*
Wilson slowly shifted again, this time managing to sit up.
House made a small displeased sound and reluctantly released him.
Wilson swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.
He waited for the usual sarcastic comment.
It didn’t come.
Instead, he heard soft footsteps behind him.
Wilson went into the bathroom.
Turned on the light.
Started brushing his teeth.
And then—
Arms.
Sliding around his waist.
Warm.
Familiar.
House leaned his forehead against Wilson’s shoulder.
Wilson stared at their reflection in the mirror.
House, barefoot, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded, clinging to him like a particularly irritable koala.
“What the hell is happening,” Wilson mumbled around his toothbrush.
House hummed. Did not move.
Wilson gestured vaguely with his free hand. “You’re… invading my personal space.”
House’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “You have too much of it.”
Wilson snorted.
He should protest.
He should push him away.
He should ask a thousand questions.
Instead, he rinsed his mouth.
Set the toothbrush down.
Stood there.
Letting House hold him.
After a moment, Wilson realized something.
He didn’t mind.
Actually…
He kind of liked it.
Which was deeply inconvenient.
Wilson turned carefully.
House lifted his head in surprise as Wilson pivoted in his arms.
Now they were chest to chest.
House blinked at him.
Actual, visible confusion crossed his face.
Wilson smiled softly.
Before House could say anything, Wilson leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to House’s cheek.
It was brief.
Light.
Warm.
Then Wilson stepped away.
Back into the main room.
Leaving House standing alone in the bathroom.
Staring at nothing.
Brain completely unplugged.
---
House stood there.
In the bathroom.
Being held by air.
He touched his own cheek.
Blink.
Blink.
"...What."