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Wilson had been awake since the early hours of the morning, staring up at the water stain on House’s ceiling, and wondering if this had been the worst mistake he’d ever made.
Starting his new role as an Attending was intimidating enough, let alone moving to an entirely different state where the only person he knew was some surly sarcastic guy he’d get drunk with at medical conferences a few times a year.
House had been kind enough to let him crash on his couch though while the lease on Wilson’s new apartment was being finalised.
Kind is a loose term. I’ve done nothing but cook and clean for the guy since I got here…
Unable to bare the silence anymore, Wilson gets up and sets about his morning routine the best he can while living out of a single suitcase.
When he’s washed and dressed he goes to the kitchen to make some coffee, using House’s toaster as a mirror as he can’t seem to get his hair to lay right.
“Relax, pretty boy,” House’s gruff voice makes him jump. “Cuddy already gave you the job. I actually had to sleep with her.”
Wilson frowns; that can’t be true. Is it normal for House to talk about his boss like that?
The older man reaches round and steals the freshly brewed coffee pot before Wilson even has a look in.
“I never properly thanked you for getting me the interview,” Wison muses. “How about dinner sometime this week?”
“Are you asking me out?” House smirks.
Wilson blushes. “U-um…”
“Relax, Jimmy, you’re not my type. In another life time maybe…if I believed in that sort of thing…”
With that he brushes out the kitchen, leaving Wilson feeling flustered.
“I don’t like Jimmy!” He eventually calls after House.
“Sure thing, Wilson.”
—————
At Lunchtime, House heads to the oncology ward to see how Wilson is doing.
He finds the younger man talking quite intimately with one of the nurses.
“Wilson!” He abruptly interrupts. “Lemme show you the gourmet cuisine in the cafeteria.”
The nurse rolls her eyes and walks away, obviously familiar with House’s antics.
“House…” Wilson looks embarrassed.
“You move fast, panty-peeler,” House teases. “Didn’t you learn from your disastrous marriage about the dangers of shitting where you eat?”
“It’s nothing like that,” Wilson sighs.
“I just…needed a distraction.”
House raises his eyebrow.
“Tough first morning, huh?” He asks as they start to walk down the hall.
“Yeah…not really. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me overthinking things,” Wilson frets.
“Well, the medicine is still the same,” House points out. “Only difference is now if a patient dies it’s entirely your fault.”
Wilson sighs heavily. “Gee, thanks, House.“
They reach the cafeteria and Wilson looks up at the menu board. Nothing sounds good. Even the sandwiches laid out in the cabinet look totally unappealing.
“Actually…I don’t think I’m hungry,” He murmurs.
House frowns.
“You didn’t eat breakfast either.”
Right. Wilson had totally forgotten. The nerves must have gotten to him.
“I’ll just grab a snack from the vending machine,” he tries to assure House. “I should go do some charting; don’t wanna fall behind on my first day.”
He scurries away before House can say anything more.
The older man is left frowning to himself.
Symptom? Have to keep an eye on that.
———-
After a few weeks, Wilson felt like he was slowly getting into a new routine, made easier now by the fact he’d finally moved into his new place.
However, the churning sensation he felt in his stomach didn’t seem to ease as much as he had hoped.
He had managed to avoid eating with House most days by claiming to be too busy, still learning the ropes of his new position and getting to know his patients and the other members of his department.
“This isn’t high school, you know,”
House grumbles after Wilson blows off his lunch invite for the third time that week. “You’re not gonna become an outcast if you’re seen hanging out with the hospital’s resident freak.”
“House! That’s not it at all,” Wilson says as immediately looks up from his paperwork with wide and guilty eyes. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like that.”
The furrow in House’s brow doesn’t lessen; in fact he looks more concerned.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
Wilson supposed he should be use to the other man’s bluntness by now, but he was still taken aback by it.
“I…what do you mean?”
“Your face is gaunt,” House claims. “You avoid lunch as much as possible, and you still haven’t made good on that dinner promise.”
“I…I don’t…”
Wilson frowns as he rubs a hand on his cheek.
Okay, so he’d lost a little weight maybe, but gaunt was an overstatement…
“Let’s get dinner tonight,”’ Wilson says, despite the fact it fills him with dread and he knows he’s just trying to make a point. “I don’t know where’s good so, your choice.”
House gives him a sceptical look.
“Pick me up at eight. Should give me enough time to choose which dress to wear…”
————-
Later on at his apartment, Wilson was preparing for his night out with House.
He had been staring at himself in the bathroom mirror for a good twenty minutes, angling his jaw in various ways and taking in his hollowing cheeks.
I can’t, he thinks despondently. I can’t lose control like that again…
He leaves to pick up House before he can completely spiral.
The diagnostician opts for a steakhouse nearby.
They chatter to each other on the drive as House fills Wilson in on the hospital gossip he should be in the loop with and ‘who’s doing who’.
All conversation stops though once they are seated in the restaurant and the waiter gives them the menus.
“You’re looking at that like he’s just handed you a terminal diagnosis,” House claims when he sees Wilson’s brow knit together with concern.
“Sorry, just…don’t know what to order.”
“Well, it’s a steakhouse sooo…steak?”
“I don’t…nothing seems right.”
Wilson sighs as he puts the menu down and rubs a hand over his eyes.
House puts his own menu down too.
“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.
Wilson can’t bring himself to look at the other man, but House can still see a threatening sheen in the younger man’s eyes.
“When I was kid I…I had this thing with food,” Wilson quietly confesses.
“Like…a disorder?”
“No, not exactly. Sometimes when I got stressed or anxious everything would just taste…wrong. Or smell wrong, or look wrong, and I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. It felt like I was loosing control and I hated it.”
House frowns in contemplation.
Food issues are common with OCD…He knows he has OCD, right?
“So when I got older I tried to get over it by learning how to cook, and it really helped, but…sometimes whenever I’m in a stressful situation…it starts to get out of hand again.”
“Yeah…I guess I can see how getting divorced, moving to a new place, and taking on new responsibilities at work can cause a guy to freak out.”
Wilson gives him a small smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just…don’t feel like I can eat any of this. You order what you want, though.”
House shakes his head.
“If you don’t eat, I don’t eat.”
“What?” Wilson blanches. “House! You can’t-“
“One thing I’ve learned about you, Wilson, is that you have a very guilty conscience. So, if the only way to stop you starving yourself is guilt tripping then so be it. I’ll starve too.”
Wilson frowns.
“I can see why you didn’t pursue psychology. Why would you put an intrusive thought like that into someone’s head who clearly struggles with intrusive thoughts?!”
“Look, we can blow this joint and just go eat pizza on the couch if it’ll make you happy? I don’t care.”
“That sounds…better.”
————————-
Back at House’s apartment the two men sit on the couch, feet on the coffee table and pizza boxes in their laps as House introduces Wilson to the wonderful world of monster trucks on tv.
Wilson has actually managed a few slices of pizza much to both men’s relief.
“This is good,” Wilson comments through a mouthful.
“Oh it’s terrible,” House counters. “That’s why it’s good.”
He reaches over to steal some of Wilson’s share of the fries after finishing his own portion.
“Hey!” Wilson exclaims.
“You should never eat slow around me,” House claims. “And you should know every lunchtime now I’m gonna be there making sure you eat.”
Wilson frowns. “Why does that sound less like friendly support and more of a threat?”
“Oh, it’s definitely a threat. I’ll be like a parasite. And you’ll definitely be paying if you want me to eat too.”
“Right, sure,” Wilson smirks.
“We’ll have that face looking fuller in no time, Wilson; the nurses will be swooning all over you. I, however, don’t put out until the third date.”
Wilson laughs and gives House a grateful smile.
“Right…I’ll hold you to that.”