It's an extraordinary feeling when someone who you haven't seen in ages appears on your doorstop. I don't know how to describe it, but I am going to try. It was unexpected to say the least. I honestly never believed I'd see him ever again. It had haunted me you know, thinking that I would never see him again really haunted me and everything I became, which was the plague of a person I had once been.
It had been 16 months, four days, and eight hours since the last time I'd seen House. I was sitting on my couch, in his jacket, no surprise there, and I was feeling remarkably awful that night. I hadn't eaten in two days and hadn't slept well in three, as was evident by the hazing dark rings around my eyes. I never heard anyone buzz up to the apartment, and if I had, I doubt I would have let them in. I hadn't cleaned in weeks, and no one was allowed inside the space where I wallowed in self pity.
I heard the knock on my door, and it made me flinch, it was such a horrible sound. It echoed over and over in my head as I got up and walked slowly to open it. I didn't look through the eyehole, there was no point, I was almost sure there was no one on the other side I wanted to see, so it didn't matter who it was.
I pulled the chain through and opened the door. It didn't take more then half a second for me to know who it was. He hadn't shaven in days, well neither had I, but, he had a sparkle in his eyes which I could never give him. I didn't move. I don't even know if I was breathing. I didn't hear him coming that time, he'd been especially quiet. And he just stood there, looking at me, searching again. I still don't know what for.
He pulled a Vicodin out of pocket just then, and I watched as he dry swallowed it without taking his eyes off me. What could I have said? I have no idea. And I was glad when he decided to speak first.
"I don't love you." He said softly, in his always husky voice.
I trembled. He still had that effect on me.
"I don't love you either." I answered, swallowing hard.
He walked closer and without hesitation this time, he kissed me. I could feel him run his cheek across my jaw line, instinctively, as if he knew that's what I wanted.
I cried in his arms that night, after we'd explored each other further. We both needed each other, and that need was a higher power that neither of us could ignore. He didn't say anything. He didn't mock me, or make a face, he just held me. He rocked me slowly as I cried hard at first, then soft into the night.
He'd been lucky to get his job back at the hospital. And now everything is back the way it was. The only difference is we are a part of each now like we'd never been. We watch movies over beers and pizza on the weekends, and I buy him his lunches almost every day. Everyone picked up right where he left off. And I finally got to know the intimates of House. We are happy, as we sit on the couch wrapped in the others arms. But he doesn't love me, and I don't love him. It's about the touch, and the physical reaction. We stay emotionally detached, for now.