Monday
Monday morning, he wakes up confused. The bed sheets next to him are rumpled and not, like usually, untouched and smooth. He straightens them with a frown and a sigh, then gets ready for work. It's not until he opens the fridge to get milk for his coffee that he realizes something else is off. Way off, actually.
Two glasses decorate the sink. Both dirty and used. He briefly wonders why he drank so much wine last night, and why the hell he's not as hung over as he should be, but both questions are forgotten when the phone rings.
Tuesday afternoon, Wilson orders a Christmas tree. He does think it looks nice, but the delivery guy casts a curious glance at him when it arrives.
Wilson self-consciously rightens his hair and smiles at the man.
On Wednesday, he gets a message from Cuddy.
"House-My Office-NOW", which is just a pathetic excuse to lure him into even more Clinic hours. He knows, because House is right behind him, trying to read the text on the small screen over his shoulder.
"She's right. You should go."
But Wilson grins, pulls House to him and kisses his lips soundly. When he backs away, his eyes glitter feverishly.
"No more talking.
Thursday, Wilson forgets to lock his apartment door and calls House during his lunch break. He choses to ignore the curious looks Chase and Foreman are giving him when they pass him at the elevators. House promises to look after the door without deleting any of his recorded shows, and Wilson is as happy as a guy in the middle of June can be.
Friday night, he feels like going out. He's angry when House doesn't show up at the restaurant at eight despite his calls, but curiousity gets the better of him. He canceles their table and drives home, only to find House's car gone. Another bottle gets smashed, and yet Wilson doesn't feel any better. House isn't at the hospital.
Saturday starts much too slowly for his liking. He oversleeps and has to leave in a hurry without giving his hair as much as a two-second-glance, his coffee ended up cold, and he cut his foot on some pieces of broken glass. Cuddy offers him a hesitant smile when he knocks on her office door later that day.
On Sunday, Wilson is ready.
And House is still dead.
Two glasses decorate the sink. Both dirty and used. He briefly wonders why he drank so much wine last night, and why the hell he's not as hung over as he should be, but both questions are forgotten when the phone rings.
Tuesday afternoon, Wilson orders a Christmas tree. He does think it looks nice, but the delivery guy casts a curious glance at him when it arrives.
Wilson self-consciously rightens his hair and smiles at the man.
On Wednesday, he gets a message from Cuddy.
"House-My Office-NOW", which is just a pathetic excuse to lure him into even more Clinic hours. He knows, because House is right behind him, trying to read the text on the small screen over his shoulder.
"She's right. You should go."
But Wilson grins, pulls House to him and kisses his lips soundly. When he backs away, his eyes glitter feverishly.
"No more talking.
Thursday, Wilson forgets to lock his apartment door and calls House during his lunch break. He choses to ignore the curious looks Chase and Foreman are giving him when they pass him at the elevators. House promises to look after the door without deleting any of his recorded shows, and Wilson is as happy as a guy in the middle of June can be.
Friday night, he feels like going out. He's angry when House doesn't show up at the restaurant at eight despite his calls, but curiousity gets the better of him. He canceles their table and drives home, only to find House's car gone. Another bottle gets smashed, and yet Wilson doesn't feel any better. House isn't at the hospital.
Saturday starts much too slowly for his liking. He oversleeps and has to leave in a hurry without giving his hair as much as a two-second-glance, his coffee ended up cold, and he cut his foot on some pieces of broken glass. Cuddy offers him a hesitant smile when he knocks on her office door later that day.
On Sunday, Wilson is ready.
And House is still dead.