The music was obnoxiously loud, the girls obnoxiously flirtatious, and he was obnoxiously drunk. House had always said he couldn't handle his alcohol, but he'd never been as acutely aware of it until that particular moment.

"What's your name?" she asked, hands stroking up and down his chest and playing with the collar of the Beatles t-shirt, mouthing at his neck. Her voice sounded like she was underwater, like they had both been pulled under waves.

"James," he answered, and while she smiled and nipped at his skin, he couldn't quite tell if he was enjoying it or not. "Ima doctor."

"A doctor?"

"Yeah. Oncol… on… oncologist. I think that's what it's called…?"

She clearly had no idea what an oncologist was, but she didn't seem to care much, either. Her hands wandered into uncharted lands and that seemed to sober him up quite a bit, because suddenly he realised he hadn't seen House in over half an hour, he was very drunk, and this girl's hand WAS IN HIS PANTS OH GOD WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN.

"O-Oh, whoooa, whoa! Uh…" he didn't really know what to say, so he just gently took her by the wrist and removed her appendage from his manhood.

She gave him a look of confusion. "But I thought you were enjoying it?"

"So did I… I think. Well I dunno. I guess I thought I did, but…" he sighed, coming to the reality of it; "I'm just not into girls."

She frowned, then with an air of flippant resignation, rose and gracefully strode away. He sat there for a few moments, watching the girls on the stage as he desperately fought the fog to figure out what he was supposed to do next… Something about… a house…?

"Ohhh yeah, that's right."

He stumbled to his feet and made his way through the hordes of people, but it was like trying to walk through mud while someone was hitting him repeatedly in the head with a small sledgehammer during the turning hall scene in Inception.

The door was in sight… sort of. It was occasionally in sight; it kept wobbling back and forth and in and out of view. No more booze for Wilson, no sir! He somehow managed to wrap his fingers around the handle and staggered out into the cool air of nighttime.

He found House leaning on the railing of the veranda, looking out over the river below. The moon was low near the tips of the trees, catching in the older doctor's silver hair. He looked lonelier than Wilson had ever seen him.

"Next time let's just stay in and watch General Hostipal," Wilson groaned, joining his friend and staring down into the depths of the rocky, darkened ravine. Their elbows were gently touching, which was nice. It was sweet. Some form of contact, however ambiguous.

"Sounds like a plan," House sighed, almost sadly. "How's the booze and pretty girls?"

"Rather disappointing, actually," Wilson replied, hiccoughing. "Ugh. I feel like shit."

"That's what you get for binge drinking. No wonder you couldn't get it up."

"Well…" Wilson trailed off, wondering if he should finally come clean. House shot him a sideways glance, waiting patiently. "Have you ever been in love with someone you knew you couldn't have?"

Oh dear. This wasn't going to end well. Some sober and sane part of Wilson's brain screamed at him to stop talking, but the drunken parts were all saying 'I got this, I got this. Here, hold my beer.'

"Of course," House answered quietly, reluctantly. His blue eyes were clear and thoughtful and sad and Wilson wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him and his stupid, soft lips and all his stubble and run his hands through the swoops of silver hair.

"I can't have him. But every time I come close I hurt everywhere because it makes me feel like if I tried harder or if I was different in some way then everything would be okay and I know it won't but my heart stops beating and butterflies throw themselves against my insides and I get all nervous and shaky and I just want him and I can't have him."

House's eyes narrowed and he frowned. "'Him'?"

"Yes. 'Him'. I couldn't get it up because I'm in love with a 'him'." Wilson groaned. Everything was spinning, and he lay his head down on the railing. His mind was telling him no, stop, don't do this, but it was too late; his mouth was getting well ahead of itself. "I couldn't get it up because I'm in love with you."

House gaped slightly, then closed his mouth and looked away, out towards the water. He looked down at his hands. He looked back towards the club. Anywhere but at Wilson.

"Oh god… Oh fuck. I'm so sorry." The oncologist hid his face and shut his eyes tight… maybe if he pinched himself hard enough he'd wake up and find out it was all a dream. "What have I done… Please don't hate me."

"Why would I hate you, James?" House shook his head. "I just…"

He turned to his friend and smiled lopsidedly, eyes searching the younger man's features. Wilson sighed, seeing double. He felt like he was going to collapse. The perfect time to confess one's feelings: when one is on the verge of blacking out from too much booze.

"Come on. Let's get you home. You can sleep in my bed."