Waffles
Disclaimer: Don't own.
A/N: This is just a little drabble fic (strong H/W friendship, no slash intended) that popped into my head today when I was trying to make breakfast and burnt my waffles. ;-;
James Wilson dropped his bag on the couch and hung up his coat on the back of an abstract chair. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to have some dinner, maybe watch some T.V., and go to bed. But as he walked through the hallway and into the living room, he smelled an awful smell. Like something was burning. He dashed through the living room, and was about to run in the kitchen when he heard from the corner of the room, "Don't." Wilson swung around to find his best friend sitting at his piano, fingers idling the keys. Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Nothing's burning," House said, an alleged means of explanation. "Then why…?" Wilson started. House shrugged, playing a few more odd notes before adding, "I cooked." It took Wilson only a few seconds to put 2 and 2 together. He tried to keep a straight face, even though House still had his head down and was staring at the keys. "What'd you burn?" he asked, trying in vain to keep his voice steady and indifferent. House heard the small fluctuation of smugness in Wilson's voice, however, and said, "What makes you think I burnt something?" Wilson made no effort to hide his smirk this time. "Oh, the fact that a) the apartment smells like a fire tore through the kitchen, and b) you never were a very good cook." House didn't acknowledge this statement, but still tapped softly away at the piano keys. After a few minutes, he said, simply and quietly, "Waffles." Wilson almost scoffed at this, but more than a shred of pity remained for his best friend. He turned and walked into the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinets. He spotted the toaster on the counter, and next to it… a box of toaster waffles. This time, he couldn't suppress his laughter, though it was rather quiet.
Shortly after Wilson's disappearance into the kitchen, House had gone and made himself comfortable on the couch in the living room, turning on the T.V. It wasn't long until House was joined by Wilson, who sat down next to his friend and propped his feet up on the coffee table next to House's. Wordlessly, Wilson shoved a plate of fresh, warm buttermilk waffles at House. Neither could suppress their grins, even as they watched T.V. in silence, neither making eye contact. Sometimes the littlest things were enough.