Chapter Text
the morning after the night house kneed wilson right in the stomach, there wasn't any chaos. the lack of it felt chaotic itself. wilson felt it, house felt it, and maybe even the hospital felt it. it was definitely prophetic. either way, it was something to look ahead to.
the smell of coffee and pancakes filled the air, wafting into house's room, where he laid by himself. it woke him up, startling his stomach by instilling hunger. he stepped onto the cold, wooden floor, and walked with his cane. when he arrived at the kitchen, he saw wilson wifed up. his shirt rolled up to his elbows, a spatula in hand. the pancakes... were not exactly lookers. but house found it in himself to be excited for what might've been good food.
"morning, housewife. well, that works perfectly. a housewife, house's wife. makes sense! so tell me, what was your motivation for making food for me?" house said, into the air, before sitting onto a chair placed next to what should've been a table. "just putting the moves on me, or what?"
wilson's arm flexed under his shirt as he turned, putting a mug into house's hand. their fingers grazed each other, some sort of motif. it was a sweet gesture, but it's nothing for house to cream his pants over. it did fill something inside of him, though. a hole inside of him. (not like that.)
wilson scoffed, but smiled. he spoke at once. "maybe i wanted to do something for you. simple as that, house. sometimes people actually like doing things for other people." he fluffed up his brown hair, what a boy he was. his words weren't sharp, he meant them such as to be concernable.
"oh, yada yada. you're quite the softie. all those wives you had wear you down?" house joked, jived even. the lightness of the short conversation danced around the room. wilson seemed to dance around the kitchen as well, not quite finished with whatever he was making. neither of them were quite sure. just pancakes, right?
wilson shifted house towards the couch with two plates in one arm, almost spilling a bunch of burnt slabs onto the floor. he leaned over to pick it up, successfully keeping them from falling.
wilson got house to the couch before anything else went wrong, sitting him down with a plate and then sitting down beside him. he handed house a fork, taking his own fork into his hand with a randomly fondled bottle of syrup.
"syrup, house?" he asked, to which he got a nod. he poured the syrup atop of house's pancakes, swirling it around. then he poured some on top of his own. he started to cut into them, taking a bite.
the pancakes weren't perfect, but they were a bridge between the two men :)
end chap 4