"It's not alright."
"Nothing's alright."
"No this is different, it's… it's more than some stupid mistake, or lie, or one of your stupid metaphors. It's more than a lot of things. So it's different."
"It's not different because it does the same thing. You're unhappy."
"And you aren't?"
"At least I accept it."
"It's not easy, I can't keep this up."
"You think it's easy being me?"
But the younger man didn't say anything back. In the darkness, no one would hear. In the darkness, would anyone care? He turned away, and House took a step forward, closing the gap.
"You know what's wrong and you try to fix it, and that makes anyone unhappy. You, Cuddy, Cameron, Stacy, I could name more…"
"House, this isn't one of your puzzles, it's not a game! If-if you don't understand, just leave!"
"I would have left a long time ago."
James turned around and he tried not to cry. "It's not like you to just say things."
"I don't ever just say things."
Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and in one swift movement, he buried his face into House's shoulder. House dropped his cane and wrapped his arms around the young doctor.
His leg hurt, he couldn't support another person, but he wouldn't let go; he'd never let go again.
"So, maybe-maybe it's alright."
"Yeah, it's all right."
