Disclaimer: I do not own anyone in this story. No one. Just the idea is mine.
A/N: I wrote this in response to all the awkward House/Wilson I read all the time. I just decided that there had to be another way to do that. IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF THIS STORY: review this portion, because I do not need to write more, but I think that if enough interest is there, I wold really enjoy trying to flesh this out.
One morning was just like another. One day passed just the same as the next. Day in, day out, nothing changed for the two men. They went to their jobs in their next-door offices; they spent their lunches quibbling over who had to pay this time. Not that it was ever an issue, the grumpy one never paid. The blue eyes and the brown eyes passed solemnly through the hospital halls until they managed to stumble out the doors toward the parking lot. More often than not, it was the middle of the night, but on those few occasions when it was evening, they always ended up in the same place together. A restaurant where the waitresses knew their names and they always joked about picking one up and taking her home; a bar that, aside from them, never saw a repeat customer. Sometimes they just went to Dr. House's place, Dr. Wilson never minded, as long as they were together.
Truth be told, both men greatly preferred the nights that ended in beer and B-movies, piled onto the worn out couch. They each knew the other so well that the little quirks they hid in public, even in the semi-private of their working lives, were intensely missed. It was only behind this closed door that they really unwound. For more than a decade, that was how it had been. Through Wilson's marriage, and divorce, and marriage and divorce more than once more than that; through House with Stacy and House without Stacy, then with her again. There was a cycle of destruction, self-destruction and that which came from other people, but always the safe place was on House's sofa.
"You know they think we're an item. Right?"