A/N: Random drabble, brought on by the simple image of those blueberry corn muffins.
No Slash intended. Please R&R, thanks.
I'm so sorry I haven't been updating things. It just got slow and I always have a hard time updating when my flow is broken. I'm also re-thinking fanfiction altogether... I wish I could write my own damn fiction. I want to be taken seriously, I want to be real and legitimate, and as much I enjoy fanfiction -- both as a reader and usually as a writer -- I can't help but partially feel it's a crutch I shouldn't be using anymore. But we'll see. I'm in a really confused place right now, concerning my life.
Tonight's episode of House? Fucking wonderful. I was afraid Wilson might really move out, but nope -- the writers aren't that cruel. grin
Let's just hope it doesn't end like this, eh?
Song: "Ghost of You" by My Chemical Romance.
Untouched
On Friday morning, Wilson left a dozen blueberry corn muffins in the kitchen. House had meant to eat a few, but by the time he woke up, he was already running late. Wilson hadn't bothered to wake him up.
When House returned later that day, the corn muffin pyramid remained untouched, its heat gone and its aroma weakened. House didn't remember it, even as he passed through the kitchen for a beer. He sat on the couch and feel asleep watching TV, not even bothering with dinner. He didn't get the call until 1 o'clock in the morning.
He didn't wait for the funeral. After a twenty-four hour drinking spree, during which he sat on his bedroom floor and cried over a crumbled mess of Wilson's wallet and pocket change and cell phone and pager, he emptied out his newly-filled prescription with the last of the rum.
Nobody found him until Tuesday, after the funeral had already been held. He lay atop the leftover pieces of his last friend. The blueberry corn muffins were still perfect and whole.