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“Wilson M.D., hello?”, Wilson croaks into the phone, feeling his throat hurt from just the few words he forced out. He’s been sick for a week now. The moment he realised that there were symptoms, he needed to stay home. He works with cancer and especially chemo patients that rely on an otherwise healthy environment, if their doctor would sneeze all over them by accident, that would not be helpful at all.
Wilson hasn’t been sick in two years. He knows how to curate a healthy diet and he does physical exercises whenever he has the time for it. He’s a doctor, he can’t afford to get sick himself.
House’s laugh rings through the phone, “You greet everyone like that?”
“House?”, Wilson mumbles confused. He hadn’t even thought about checking the caller I.D., when picking up. His head has been aching the entire night and kept aching in the daytime—he wasn’t really up to speed, if he’s quite honest.
“Yeah.”, he answers dully, “I’m kinda hungry, you know.”
Wilson scoffs, “I’m gonna hang up again.”, he decides.
“Hold on,Wilson!”, House stops him loudly with a hint of panic mixed to it.
The increased volume was only barely tolerable to Wilson, because he had already distanced his ear from the output. Still, he winces.
“Sorry.”, House whispers playfully, Wilson could nearly even see the smug grin on the face of his friend. Now that he wasn’t face to face with him, he too, could smile pained with him.
Wilson sharply breathes in air, “I assume you haven’t called just to inform me about the starved state your stomach is in.”, he rubs his eyebrow with his pointer.
“…How are you feeling?”, House hesitantly asks.
It sounds weird to Wilson’s ears and not just because his ears were decompressing from all the snot inside his nose, but because he can’t remember a single moment in his life, in which House has ever asked him that question with seriousness in his voice. And he’s seen Wilson in his worst moments.
House clears his throat, because Wilson hasn’t answered yet. He wanted to let the question sink in a bit. “I’m just asking, because you’ve been sick for an entire week now and…, well don’t get me wrong but your voice doesn’t sound quite as melodic as it usually does. And, it’s getting boring without you here. Nowhere to hide from Cuddy either.”, and House was about to keep on rambling, but it would’ve induced a stronger headache to Wilson, who interrupted him softly, “What about coma guy? He’s no longer covering you? Fed up with you?”, he teases exhausted.
House snickers, “He’s just not as fun as he used to be.”
Wilson licks his dry lips, “It’s gonna be at least another week. Incubation should be over soon, so, I won’t be infectious—I still don’t want to risk anything.”, he shifts his head to lay more comfortable on his big pillow.
“Do you, er, need anything?”, House wonders, trying to sound as normal as possible, but even in Wilson’s current state, he was able to hear his uncomfortableness.
He can’t help himself but smile on, it hurts his face. Wilson yawns, “‘s fine, House.”, he reassures him.
House lowly hums and then hangs up. Wilson lays himself to go back to sleep.
“What did he say?”, Cameron curiously asks, leaning against the same doorframe, she just came from.
House’s eyebrows raise, “Who?”, he acts stupid, because he doesn’t appreciate her curiosity about his private life. To reinforce his pretend obliviousness, he even looks behind both of his shoulders, as if someone would be standing behind him.
Cameron rolls her eyes at his childishness, “Wilson. I know you called him.”, she smiles.
“How?”, House frowns.
She shakes her head, “The way you look, only when you talk to him.”
Chase enters behind her, he has been listening in, “And maybe the fact that you don’t ever call anyone. You let everybody else take care of that.”, to which he earns himself Cameron’s unappreciative elbow.
Chase tauntingly grins at her, to which she simply sighs, “I thought we had an agreement.”
Foreman also sees fit, to join in, still from the glass table in the conference room, “Chase is also lying, we heard you yelling through the glass.”
Both Cameron and Chase give him a disappointed look, to which he raises both his hands as if to accept he’s the bad guy, who is ruining all the fun, despite having a grin on his face, as he keep son reading the newspaper.
“What agreement?”, House prompts the two, who were still standing in the entrance of his office, bickering silently like an old married couple.
Chase gives her the nod, before Cameron speaks, “You haven’t taken on a case since Wilson got sick. You’re clearly worrying for him.”, she sympathises with him.
House’s face darkens, “I haven’t taken anything. because there is nothing good to take on.”
Chase suggests , “What about yesterday, when that one guy came in with discolouration in his face and bowel bleeding? Haven’t seen anything like that.”
Cameron and Foreman nod to that, to give him backup.
“Even if I accepted one. What if I would need Wilson to bounce my ideas off of and he would be busy puking his guts out while our patient would be dying?”, House argues logically.
Cameron chuckles, “See, that’s exactly what I mean. You can’t live without him. You’re worried.”
House shakes his head, “Our hypothetical patient whose illness I hypothetically could only diagnose and thereby cure with Wilson’s presence, can’t hypothetically live without Wilson.”, he corrects her proudly.
“Yeah…, are we sure about this?”, Chase mumbles and turns to Cameron.
Cameron stays positive, “You need to tell him, that you like him.”
“Why do I need to do anything, when I can do just the opposite?”, House dismisses her suggestion.
“It’s love, House. It’s wonderful!”, Cameron grins.
Chase puts a hand before her, “What she means is, that psychologically speaking, knowing that someone cares for you, will statistically improve your health and also recovering time from sicknesses.”
Cameron presses her lips together, demotivated, “That too.”, she nods along anyway.
House takes that into consideration, “Why do you three care?”, he settles for in the meantime.
Foreman turns to look at them, “I don’t.”, he informs him.
“I don’t need to hear Cameron’s sappy reason. Chase?”, House’s eyes switch between the two of them. Chase seems a bit surprised with being singled out and straightens his back, “I like Wilson, and you’re acceptable too. I think you two would be a great fit, is all.”, he awkwardly explains.
House laughs as he shakes his head, “You think so?”
“We all do.”, Cameron insists.
This time, Foreman stays silent, which can be interpreted as his silent agreement to the question posed. Especially due to Foreman, it made House reconsider. How obvious has he been with his feelings towards Wilson, for the three of his employees to notice? Does Wilson know too? His face contorts into a grim expression, mostly due to the implicated emotions and vulnerabilities.
House shrugs, “I don’t know.”, he says not half convinced. His friendship with Wilson was on the line, and he was considering to take the risk, only because his three, stupid employees tell him, it’d be a good idea and their only reason was that it’d be cute.
“Think about it, House.”, Cameron says, her eyebrows furrowed with empathy. She turns around and pats Chase on his shoulder as a thank you for gifting her the support she needed to come across more convincing to House, unlike Foreman, who seemed like he couldn’t be bothered much about anything that was going on in anyone’s private life.
Alone in his office again, House buries his head in his arms. It was only the middle of the day and yet he was about as exhausted as if he worked the entire day. And he hasn’t even thought about starting work today.
A few days later, it was Cuddy who stood in his office with a frown on her face, “Is it true what Cameron’s saying?”, she demands to know.
House pushes his chair away from his desk, “What is she saying?”, he curiously asks.
“That you’ve been declining cases because you miss Wilson.”, Cuddy walks further into the room, closing the door carefully behind her. House glares defensively at her as she sits herself on the chair in front of House’s desk.
“It’s true.”, she gasps.
House’s eyes widen, “I didn’t even say anything!”
“You don’t have to.”, she winks at him, “I won’t tell Wilson, no worries. I just came here, frankly, to tell you, to suck it up and start working again.”, she says angrily but still with a sort of happiness to her tone that confused House.
House groans.
Cuddy scoffs, “You can’t complain that people are up your personal business, when you don’t have a work life anymore.”, she tells him scolding.
“…What if I get stuck and don’t know how to proceed? Who am I supposed to talk with? You?”, he chuckles at the thought.
“Oh, I don’t know.”, she rolls her eyes at him, “Maybe your team you are paying to do that exact job?”, she guesses.
“Technically, you are paying them, I’m just employing them.”, House smirks.
Cuddy grins, “Technically, I’m employing you and thereby also them, which doesn’t mean that I won’t fire you, if you keep slacking off.”, she says in a nice voice that doesn’t fit what she’s threatening with.
House and Cuddy stare at each other, waiting for the other to make a mistake to abuse it for their own benefit. Cuddy doesn’t let anything get the better of her, “Tell him and start working again. It’s pathetic.”, she drops down a file on his desk and leaves his office without turning around again.
Instead of checking the file on his desk, House had grabbed his helmet and backpack after enwrapping his body with the heavy jacket he uses during motorcycle rides. It was late enough, he decides, to go home early today. But those weren’t the only plans on his imaginary calendar.
He makes a stop at a ‘Happy Panda’. He patiently waits for the takeout to get prepared and after he paid for it, with his own money, he struggles with deciding how to transport two boxes o food on his motorcycle. Up for a challenge, he decides to try fitting them inside his backpack. It took him three entire minutes to stuff both inside while also feeling secure enough to not have the anxiety that it would spill around in the entire bag. He really didn’t want this small gift to end up stinking his only good backpack up for the next three to four days.
Once that was done, he jumps back up on his motorbike. He revs the engine and speedily drives on, he takes a wrong turn on the way to his home. Instead, he consciously goes left and ends up within a matter of five minutes at Wilson’s doorstep. When has it been the last time, he drove by to meet him? It’s usually Wilson who picks him up and it’s usually House’s they stay at to hang out at.
House rings the doorbell with his cane, backpack slung behind his back, helmet under his arm. Wilson didn’t open right away and not wanting to stand any longer than necessary, House rings the doorbell twice without waiting between the two times.
When he finally hears steps that moved in the direction of the door, House decided to not ring a final fourth time. A smirk on his face, he watches the silhouette of Wilson inch closer. He was hunched over and his nose was red, when he opens the door, “What?”, he says before looking who it was, “House?”, he gasps.
House brushes past him inside to the apartment, “Hey, Wilson!”, he sings-songs happily and carefree.
Wilson hurries in after him. With his cold, he was walking just as slow as House. It felt insufferable to him, Wilson was impressed with House’s patience. But then again, House was probably happy that he could walk at any pace.
“House…”, Wilson murmurs agitatedly, “What are you doing?”, he watches House sit himself down on Wilson’s couch. He was about to unpack his backpack.
House nods at the TV, “Anything good on?”
Wilson sneezes, “Did you get kicked out of your own home?”, he asks, because he can’t explain House’s presence here any other way.
“I’m offended.”, House shakes his head and then reveals two boxes of takeout, “Guess, I’ll be eating this alone.”, he shrugs.
Wilson gasps, “You didn’t.”
“I did.”, House nods.
“With your…with your own money?”, Wilson’s eyes widen, and hurt immediately because they dry out quickly.
House nods, “Once in a while for this occasion, it felt...appropriate.”, he doesn’t look up to Wilson, instead he struggles with dividing the two chopsticks glued together.
Wilson sits himself down next to him, “I’m gonna get you sick, if you’re not careful.”
“Anything for my good friend.”, House comforts him. At this point, he’d rather get sick and stay at home than go alone to work. He finally manages to separate the chopsticks and hands them to the friend in question. Then he picks up the other pair and the struggle continues. Wilson doesn’t have it in him to help him out for once—it’s too entertaining.
House points at the TV with the chopsticks that are still stuck together, “And?”, he references his previous question about the sort of shows and movies that are currently running and goes back to what he was attempting and this time manages easily enough. He quietly celebrates as Wilson sinks into his thoughts.
Wilson shrugs as he struggles with his shirt, it was clinging onto him due to the sweat collecting on his bare skin as if a heatwave hit him. It’s been hot and cold every two seconds for Wilson, but with House in his close vicinity he felt bad for stinking up the room, “Are you sure that this is okay?”, Wilson asks now.
House sighs and grabs the remote on the coffee table. He decides to check himself then, “Of course. I’m a doctor, I’m used to sick people around me.”, he brushes it off like it wasn’t a big deal to him. He switches through the channels and after a minute, he lays the remote on Wilson’s thigh, “You put something nice on. I’m thirsty.”, House groans.
Wilson watches House stand up. The man forces himself to walk all the way to Wilson’s kitchen, “Got any wishes?”, House yells from the other room, but also re-enters the living room after realising that screaming wouldn’t be too good for Wilson’s sore throat, “Hm?”, he asks again. Wilson can’t help himself but stupidly grin at the fact that House was doing all of this just for him. He would probably want something in exchange once Wilson was all better, but for the time-being, he was doing something not selfish for once and it amazes him.
“Cat got your tongue?”, House asks after a minute awkwardly, shifting his balance to his cane as he awaits an answer.
Wilson snaps out of his trail of though, “Water is…”, he clears his throat loudly, “…just fine.”, he finishes. House nods and disappears again. Wilson looks upfront and finally starts zapping through the channels himself.
When House is sitting down again, two glasses of water and a bottle on the table now, he seems disappointed, “You still deciding?”
“I’m not sure what you’d rather watch. It’s between–”, Wilson starts but gets
broken off by House, “Don’t even tell me. Just pick what you like most.”, he nods.
After waiting a second to check if House was really sure about that decision, and House not saying anything about it, Wilson hesitantly puts on the current James Bond movie that was rerunning. He had been watching the first movies earlier in the morning, the decision was already made for him then.
Wilson carefully looks at House’s reaction to seeing the title, but as he peeks, House catches him, “You’re the only one that has to be okay with watching the movie.”, he reminds him as he picks up his box of Chinese takeout food and Wilson’s. He hands Wilson his box and smiles shortly.
“Why are you doing all this for me? Why are you so nice?”, Wilson sickly asks, trying to psycho-analyse House as he typically does, but his head starts hurting from thinking too much.
“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for me.”, House sternly frowns, trying to not give off a caring vibe, though taking care of Wilson was his goal.
Wilson snickers, “Of course. You never do anything for anyone else. But this is…”, he coughs, “this is a lot, even for you.”
House shakes his head, “Don’t worry your pretty head about a thing, honey.”, he ends up nervously joking, though he manages to let it come across as actual irony. At least Wilson buys it, he disappointed shakes his head, while it was heating up at the same time.
After exactly five minutes of silence, Wilson sneezes. “…sorry.”, he winces afterwards with a quiver, because the flash of hotness turned instead into him freezing his ass off.
House’s ears perk up, “Are you cold?”, he turns to look at the shaking body of him and can answer the question for himself. He puts down his not even half-eaten box on the coffee table again and stands up.
“Where are you going?”, Wilson asks despite his shuddering lips.
House doesn’t turn back to look at him when he answers, “Your bedroom. You need a blanket.”, he says as if it would’ve been self-explanatory and a bother to answer thereby.
House has logistic issues with cane and large blanket in hand and struggles a lot with the transport. He keeps telling himself, that this will pay off and it will all be worth it eventually. He keeps on and ends up throwing the blanket onto Wilson without a warning, to relieve himself off the heavy burden.
Wilson laughs strained. It physically hurts him but he finds it funny nonetheless, “House!”, he complains under the blanket and sticks out his face from underneath.
House chuckles alongside with him. He sits himself down again and keeps on eating, with his feet propped up again. After a relatively short while, Wilson does the same. His presence was more than apparent to House, he hears him loudly breathe through his mouth, he can smell his sweat and the particular smell every sick person has to them and House feels his warmth and his thick, soft blanket brushing against House’s unprotected skin.
Neither has to talk, the movie was amusing enough. At least to House. Wilson yawned maybe at the half-way line, when both had finished eating. House doesn’t check on him, he thought he didn’t want to come across as overbearing and like a Wilson, or, worse, a Cameron. He just wanted to give back a little for all he’s done for House.
House has to physically restrain himself from criticising the movie. There were so many mistakes and a lot of things weren’t even bodily possible or sustainable in the slightest. He doesn’t quite get the hype, but sure, an old man in mid-life crisis is fun when you turn your brain off. Too bad House can barely ever do that without drugs.
It started getting more intense and outside it started getting darker, Wilson simply kept on yawning tiredly. Until suddenly, he stopped and instead his head fell onto House’s shoulder. He jumped at the sensation and Wilson sleepily moaned in response, buried his head only deeper into House’s shoulder. He looks at the peaceful unconscious body and he hated what he felt towards him.
House feels all wobbly and fuzzy, like a stupid toddler. He dislikes the feelings and the vulnerabilities. And still, though with slight repercussions, he wraps his arm around Wilson to hold him better and steadier. He pulls him faintly closer and very unexpectedly and without having wanted it at all, Wilson’s head slides onto House’s chest.
Wilson’s body felt cold. With the free hand House had to spare, he grips the blanket and pulls it further over both of their bodies. Wilson snuggles against him for more warmth too, his hands holding onto the blanket close to House’s arm—his fingertips were brushing the skin of it, making every fibre inside House dance with nervousness. His legs started wrapping themselves around House’s legs, both still propped on the coffee table, until they become an entangled mess that not even House could part if he wanted to.
House had no issue with abiding his eyes from the TV screen. How many James Bond movies can there exist? No matter the answer, there were only a few House could sit and wand watch through in one sitting without going insane. His eyes were studying Wilson calm but ill-ridden body with deliberate preciseness.
Wilson breathes laboured but, don’t even dare to ask how he found out about it, when House started stroking Wilson’s shoulder with his thumb, he seemed like he had less issues with it. He keeps sinking into House’s touch, as if it was his only life source for the moment.
House’s breathing calms down for a change, even while his heart was speeding up to the point where he has a doctor wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate elevated pulse or if this could already count as a heart attack. He made it a mental note to check himself out for tachycardia as soon as he would return to his job in the morning—or if he’s lucky, in a week, because he definitely should have what Wilson’s got by now and get to skip work for some time.
Even while it was making House’s entire evening having Wilson right there on top of him sleeping, he felt somewhat exhausted himself anyhow. It was such a relaxing sight for his eyes that sooner than later, he too, fell asleep.
Wilson wakes up still cold. He nuzzles his head against the soft pillow and wanted to go right back to sleep, when he slowly realised that his pillow was actually hugging him back. He thought the pressure he felt on his shoulder had been maybe something he fell asleep with, like maybe his telephone or whatever. Not when it ever so slowly caressed him and soothed his ailment-ridden soul. Wilson doesn’t mean to complain, but it was scary until he moves his head and feels a rough shaven beard against his own soft neck.
He starts to understand what must’ve happened and immediately he feels bad about it. He tries moving his frozen toes, maybe he could find ground and sneak out of House’s grasp, to not make it weird if he should coincidentally wake at the same time as him and wonder why they were hugging like this.
Wilson believes, that House must have fallen asleep before him and eventually Wilson probably accidentally fell asleep on top of him and forced him into this position.
Only then, he realises that his legs were wrapped around House’s as well. This was an elaborate mess, and it was way too warm for Wilson to actually want to move away.
He breathes in House’s scent. He smells like the takeout they had ate together, leather from his biker jacket and something smoke-adjacent but sweeter. He can’t quite place the smell, but the fact that he even was able to smell him at all, was fascinating to him.
How did House’s presence help cleanse Wilson’s sick body so well? Wilson readjusts his head on House’s chest and grumbles tiredly. House’s hand holds him a bit tighter by the shoulder when he heard his noises. Was he awake? Did he too just wake up? Wilson’s eyes try to look through the dark and unlit room to make sense of everything that was going on.
Someone seemed to have turned off the TV.
Someone seemed to have cleaned up the coffee table too of the dirty and empty boxes House had brought and someone safely put away the fragile water glasses and refilled the water bottle next to them.
His heart was in his throat as he speaks up, “House?”, he murmurs.
“Awake?”, House replies, his voice deeper than usual, which indicates he had been asleep for some time at least.
Wilson nods against his body, he feels the short beard rub against him and somehow it felt more than just nice. It felt comforting. He was curious as to how that same stubby beard would feel against his lips and cheeks.
House tightens and then drastically loosens his grip on Wilson, “Ready for bed?”, he asks Wilson then.
“What time is it?”, Wilson wants to know, not yet ready to sit up. He wanted to keep laying in this position, it felt right. But in order for that to happen, he would need to keep House talking.
House audibly licks his lips. Wilson’s ears were so close to his lips that he heard it very well, it made his heart flutter even.
House answers after a second of thought, “Around 8PM?”, he guesses.
“Why are you still here?”, Wilson dares to ask, because it was easier to ask that, than ask him to stay, or ask him how they gotten to this point of entanglement.
House keeps rubbing Wilson’s shoulder with his thumb, “To be honest, I wasn’t planning on going home today. I’m nursing you back to health myself, because works unbearable without you there.”, he admits.
Wilson snickers and then coughs. For that, he’s forced to sit up, and House allows him. He rests his warm hand on Wilson’s back, aiding him with tired dedication.
“You’re nice.”, Wilson gasps when he caught himself, leaning back into the touch, because he can’t remember when it had been the last time when he was being held like this. “You’re too nice.”, he frowns, still accepting the hand that held him by the waist.
House squeezes him there then, “Just for the time being.”, he reassures him teasingly and then lets go off Wilson, “Let’s get you into bed.”
Wilson yawns, “Where will you sleep?”, he turns to look at him, his eyes wide.
“Couch is fine with me.”, House stands up and picks up the heavy blanket for Wilson to help it carry it to Wilson’s bedroom with him.
Wilson looks at his lonely and big bed, then his eyes linger on House’s silhouette. He swallows, “I’m gonna brush my teeth.”, he tells House and walks off.
In the bathroom, he firstly checks himself out in the mirror. He looks horrible. He has been looking horrible. His hair was messy, his nose was bright red, additionally now, his cheeks turned the same shade for different reasons.
Toothbrush in his mouth, he feels drained. He had been sleeping for who knows how long today, why was he still tired? And then it hits him, that he hasn’t been sleeping well since he got sick. Well, even before he struggled with falling asleep but next to House, everything felt suddenly much more easier, like he could allow himself to relax.
He put his blind trust in House without having to give it an active thought. Wilson has to bite back a smile, because then all the toothpaste would bubble out of his mouth and drip down onto his shirt. The thought of House made him want to grin. He catches himself think that an he doesn’t know what he feels about it.
It only occurs to him then, that he might’ve actually been in love with House as long as he can think, because his feelings towards him never changed but House’s position to him, changed just today and made him feel all these stupid things.
Why was he acting like this? Could he allow himself to even consider that his love might be requited? Was that House’s way of expressing his feelings?
Wilson spits out the paste and washes his face with cold water, because out of nowhere his body had become hotter again.
When he leaves out the door, he crashes into House. He barely has time to react, but as he watches the only one who has helped him today and this entire week fall because his cane slipped out of his hand, he’d feel more than just guilty—he reaches to hold him.
One hand around House’s hip had been enough to stop the fall. He didn't know that he was this light. Could he just pick him up if he wanted to? Wilson tries to forget the image that was forming inside his mind as he looks into the ocean blue eyes of House.
Wilson pulls him back to his feet right away, but something compelled him to keep holding him. Somehow, it just felt right. Like House belonged this close to him, like he should always be in arms reach to Wilson.
“I’m sorry.”, Wilson apologises breathlessly, because he had been too shocked to say anything before that point. His lungs were hurting him, he couldn't stop breathing this heavily.
House shakes his head, his eyes gaze at the cane on the ground, “It’s fine.”, he forces himself out of Wilson's grip and bows to get back his cane. He was fine with flirting and inching closer to Wilson, but only on his own terms. This felt like much too much and all at once, he couldn't bear it.
He raises again to Wilson's height, but doesn't look him in his eyes, “Your face looks hot. Lay down, let me take your temperature.”, he walks away, the other direction of Wilson's bedroom.
Wilson feels bad. He’s been only a burden and annoyance to House—he was wondering already how he could repay him, which probably was House’s entire plan.
Back without a thermometer, House turns on the light. Wilson groans at it, but allows it anyway.
“I assume you don't have yours at home? Because I forgot mine.”, House declares, a soft smile back on his lips as if he was cursing his own stupidity. He walks into the room and sits down on the bed next to where Wilson was laying.
Wilson doesn't have enough motivation to verbally answer, he only moves around his head and hopes that House would understand that he neither had one at hand.
Before it the situation could turn weird, House put the back of his hand against his forehead. To cold touch against his hot skin made Wilson shiver to his core. He lets the hand rest there for a few seconds and when he sees how relieved Wilson looked, he feels bad for having to stop the physical connection binding them.
“You’re still a bit too hot for my comfort. Let's get you cooled down.”, House sighs, “Where are your cloths?”, he asks.
Wilson points to the bathroom and then watches House obediently follow the direction without needing to say or ask anything else. Apparently he can do things without making a fuss about it. Wilson was quite honestly surprised.
He wanted to be awake when House returned. It would only be a matter of a few minutes anyway, and yet, as soon as House was out of the frame, it seemed like his body didn't see a reason why it should stay awake. His eyelids closed shut and he was asleep once more.
House swallows at the sight. He lays a wet, cold cloth on the forehead of the man, after having brushed the hair that usually hangs in front of the hot skin to the side.
He sighs, and then leaves Wilson alone. Back in his living room, he turns on the TV again and puts on something to keep him awake. Changing the cold cloth every two hours would do wonders to improve his health, he was hoping so, at least.
After having slept for so long, it really wasn’t that big of an issue to sit through the night. The promise of getting to see Wilson every two hours after not having seen him for so long was enough to keep House going.
Each time he visited, Wilson already felt better temperature-wise. It seems like it was paying off then.
It was around 4 in the morning when House yawns as he was sitting at Wilson’s bedside, squeezing out old water and dunking the cloth in fresh in a bucket he brought with into the room. Suddenly, someone held his wrist and stopped the motion. He looks in the direction of the hand.
“Wilson? Is everything fine?”, House whispers softly, unsure if maybe Wilson wasn't just dreaming still.
Wilson’s eyes open barely, “What do you want from me?”, he asks drained and a bit scared. House then goes on to assume that he really was just dreaming. He was about to break free and move on, when Wilson spoke once more, “You’re never nice. Why now? What do you want from me?”
House chews on his lips, “That's a conversation for when your back to health.”, he tells him.
“No.”, Wilson insists, forcing House to say at least something. His heart was speeding up nervously, he disliked that sensation. His tired eyes focus on House with dedication.
House struggles internally with the answer he could give that would cause the least trouble when he realises that he in fact likes to cause trouble more than keeping peace. Why had he been overly nice? To impress Wilson. But Wilson staid with him even in House’s worst moments.
He frees his hand from Wilson’s grip, “Cause I like you.”, he grins, not bothered any longer by the anxiety inside him.
Wilson is quiet at that, which makes House in return chuckle, “Told ya this is a conversation for a different time. Literally. It's 4 in the morning, go back to sleep.”, he tells him.
But Wilson has other plans, “Kiss me if you’re serious.”, he sits up. House scoffs, he puts away the cloth—back into its bucket.
“Are you that bothered by my niceness?”, House asks him a bit flabbergasted.
Wilson nods, “I’m crept out by it.”, he whispers, shifting lazily in his bed to face House, “So?”, Wilson prompts him with await.
House rolls his eyes, “If I’m getting sick because of this while you get better, I’m gonna kill you. Just for the record.”, he states and leans forward. He grabs Wilson by his chin and pulls him closer.
“Or, you know, I could just get sick again.”, Wilson suggests nervously and giddily, because he underestimated his own cool he’d have to maintain as House would go in for the kiss he requested himself.
House thinks about it, he felt Wilson’s shuddering breath against his lips, “That doesn't sound half as bad, but who will nurse me back to health then?”, he wonders teasingly.
Wilson frowns, “Kiss me already.”, he orders House and within an instant, House obeyed easily enough.
Their lips connected, Wilson felt the shortness of breath inside his lungs hurt him. He also felt House’s stubby beard, at that, he had to smile, which only reinforced the feeling against his own tender mouth region.
Wilson leans into the kiss as he sharply breaths in, surprised by how warm House’s rough lips were. He puts a hand on House’s chin to hold him in place.
After some good seconds, Wilson has to part himself from him pantingly. He puts his head against House’s throat and regains composure there as well as additional warmth. When did he gotten cold again?
House looks at the hair of Wilson that was only visible part in the dark room. He runs his hand through it soothingly and then sighs, “Proof enough?”, he sing-songs happily pleased.
Wilson shakes his head and looks up again, “I’m not sure. Do it again.”, he smiles innocently.
House presses his own lips together, “You’re already on the verge of death, Wilson. I don't want to suffocate you.”, he tells him sternly. Roughing up Wilson’s hair, he gives him a kiss against his wet forehead instead, “Just get better and maybe we can do that again.”, he nods.
Wilson groans, “You…”, he growls lowly and a bit disappointed, though he knows it's probably for the better. He muffles a cough in his elbow and then sighs, “Fine.”
With that, he turned around in the bed and hastily fell asleep again. House kept sitting at his bedside for a good while before going to sleep in the living room.
House jolts awake when he feels his shoulder getting tapped. He forces his eyelids to open and looks Wilson in his face.
“I’m healthy.”, Wilson nods assured as he tries to hold back a sneeze and a cough at the same time.
House laughs amused, “You’re not.”, he whispers because his own throat hurt. He hasn't drunk any water since yesterday, surely after a few drops, he’d be fine again. He reaches for the bottle of water he had safely stored away on the ground as he listens to Wilson’s argument.
“I’m perfectly healthy!”, Wilson insists greedily.
House swallows down a big gulp of water and his throat was still sore. He frowns, as he tastes his own mouth, “I think I’m not.”, he complains, blaming Wilson.
“Wait, seriously?”, he gasps, sitting down next to House on the couch. House nods with a satisfied smile on his face. Wilson leans in closer to him, but House places his hand on Wilson’s chest, “Seriously. No kissing.”, he tells Wilson.
Wilson thinks about it for a good second, “But…”, he sighs.
House chuckles, “Fine.”, he agrees and holds Wilson by the hem of his shirt as he pulls him closer to him. A short kiss against his lips later, House yawns, “I’m gonna keep napping since you’re feeling better.”, but before he could, his phone rang.
“Wilson M.D., House is not available?”, Wilson picks up once more without checking the caller I.D.. House didn’t even have to chance to react at the sound, nor to pick up himself. He glares at Wilson, trying to decipher who it was based on his facial expressions.
And by the looks of it, it was most definitely Cuddy.
Wilson nods along to what she’s telling him, “Yeah, he’s sick too.”, and then his face turns red and he hangs up on her. He looks a bit overwhelmed into the air. House waits for him to catch himself and once he did, he turns to look at House, “I think she might suspect something.”
House shrugs, “Not my business.”, he decides and curls into himself for rest.
