These were the moments that somehow meant everything. Late mornings when neither one had to leave the bed if they didn't want to.
With his head resting on Wilson's shoulder, House curls his arm securely around Wilson's body. He feels warm fingertips traverse slowly; down his back, up again.
This had to be it. Surely there was nothing after Wilson. Not now.
They'd blurred boundaries and crossed lines, and fallen into that intimate place where best friends are also lovers. As if the entirety of their friendship had been a series of steps in this direction.
And then suddenly, the happiness just sneaks in.
And it's okay. He knows that telling him the truth – that telling him how he feels – is not weakness or vulnerability.
Where at first it was a need for reassurance, it is now something more.
It is strength.
But there was a difference between saying it and meaning it, and then the other person believing it. And now the words carry more weight, but they are not spoken more shyly because of this.
House tilts his head, looking up at Wilson. He is quiet, assured. "I love you."
With his eyes still closed, Wilson smiles; an easy show of contentment. "I know," he says. "You keep telling me." He shuffles down so they are looking into each others' eyes.
And this hadn't been simple, as these things rarely are. But then, the things that come too easily are never truly appreciated.
Wilson breathes on his lips, "I love you, too."