Chapter Text
House forgot his knee brace.
Usually, he would hobble around with the brace and his cane, barely getting through the day. The extra support on his knee was nothing short of necessary.
Wilson noticed his gait was off, steps less measured than usual.
“House, are you alright?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yeah, I’m perfectly alright,” he sneered, knee wobbling.
Wilson panicked, grabbing House around the waist before he could fall.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, glaring at his coworker.
Wilson raised his eyebrow and loosened his grip, watching House slip, “mhm,” he smirked.
He rolled his eyes, “are you gonna let me go or keep staring?”
“I’m gonna help you to your office and you’re gonna sit down with some paperwork. I’ll drive you home.”
“But my ca-“
“I’ll drive you in the morning and we’ll go our separate ways after shifts,” he started leading the older man toward his office, “you’re not fighting me on this.”
House frowned, following reluctantly.
—
A knock on his office door startled House from his fitful nap.
“Ready?” Wilson asked, smiling lopsidedly.
He yawned, “I guess,” he pushed himself up with the desk and grabbed his cane.
“Hey, we can finally have dinner,” fuck, House hated it when Wilson smiled. How dare he be conventionally attractive, “I’ll order something. Pizza okay?”
“Yeah sure,” he answered, out of breath.
Wilson stepped closer, “you can lean on me, House.”
“I don’t need to,” he struggled to straighten his leg, “I’m an adult man, I think I can make it to your car.”
“Well, you’d think that, yes,” Wilson cracked that stupid smile again and extended his arm. House looked past him, not seeing anyone who would bring it up in the morning if they saw him leave together. Luckily, neither the ducklings or Cuddy were anywhere nearby.
Hesitantly, he grabbed Wilson’s arm and leaned against him. He smelled like vanilla and shrubbery.
—
House collapsed on the couch and kicked off his shoes. The whole goddamn place smelled like Wilson, he could really get used to this. It was nice in contrast to the faint scent of multiple air fresheners from two years ago. Cuddy had bought them for him to mock him for some misdiagnosis which ended up just being some kid whiffing febreze.
“Make yourself at home,” Wilson loosened his tie and walked out of the room, “I’ll order the pizza, any requests?”
“Whatever you get, it’s your money,” he shrugged.
“So…Vicodin pizza?” He called from his room.
House decided the couch was uncomfortable and slid down onto the floor, “ha ha, very funny.”
Wilson walked back into the room in a simple tee shirt and pajama pants, “seriously, though, is pepperoni alright?”
“Yeah,” he tapped the handle of his cane impatiently, “you really didn’t have to do this, Wilson.”
“I know I didn’t have to, that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”
He rolled his eyes, avoiding looking at the other man, “whatever.”
“I’ll order dinner,” he walked away, leaving House alone with his thoughts.
Instead of trying to figure out what he was going to do when the ducklings inevitably saw him and Wilson walking into work together and made the whole day focused on hounding him for details instead of curing whatever patient they had.
However, he was thinking about Wilson in another sense. He knew pursuing something was pointless. No matter how many fucking hints and pickup lines he spouted every time they interacted, Wilson either was too dense to pick up on it or too straight to do anything.
Fucking coward. He could at least say something if it’s the latter.
However, House didn’t know how to feel about seeing Wilson in such a casual setting. They’d gone out to dinner once or twice but never to each other's homes.
“Pizza should be here in 20 minutes,” Wilson plopped down next to House, close enough for the older man to get another whiff of shrubbery and vanilla. An odd combination, but it was strangely soothing.
—
“Your ass looks nice in those pajamas.”
House tended to get loopy when he was in pain, as would any normal person. However, he was usually lucid enough to not voice his thoughts without serious consideration first.
Wilson stopped dead in his tracks, cheeks burning and highlighting his freckles, “hm?” His voice was high pitched and his eyes were wide.
“Hm?” House mocked, “Are you gonna sit down and let me eat or what?”
He opened his mouth, shut it, and walked over, “it’s uh,” he cleared his throat, “not as hot as I thought it would be.”
“Well, as long as I’m not licking an ice cube, I’m sure I’ll survive,” he flicked open the box and grabbed a piece.
—
Wilson stood up to throw away the newly empty pizza box, stopping for a moment in the kitchen to have a gay panic attack because holy shit.
House had been known to say stupid shit while in pain, but it always had a ring of truth to it. Usually it was a half-assed diagnosis, not a comment about Wilson’s ass.
Anyway, after collecting himself, he strode back into the living room and took a seat next to House, who leaned on his shoulder.
“Um,” Wilson cleared his throat, “House?”
“Yeah?”
His mouth was dry, “what did you mean by that uh…thing earlier?”
“I said what I said. The pajama pants are oddly flattering on you.”
Well, that wasn’t helpful.
“Thanks again for dinner, by the way,” House picked at his cuticle, “if this was a way of telling me you’re secretly in love with me, I already know, by the way.”
House meant it jokingly (did he really, though?) which meant he was shocked when Wilson leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
He turned to face him, “been waiting to do that for a while, huh?”
Wilson stammered a reply, “Okay, well, you know,” he looked down, suddenly very interested in the stitches of his pants, “maybe?”
The second they faced each other again, House swept him up in a kiss.
Fucking finally.