A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I've been insanely busy lately. At any rate, this short is written in second person. I don't like second person very much, but I'd never tried writing it. I figured I should see how writing it feels before I decide if I like it or not... which I still don't. Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review. :)
Season 4 starts in three weeks!! I'm so excited I can hardly wait.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House, M.D. or any of its fantastic characters.
-AmayaSora
That's Why
You're in a somber mood, and as relaxed and pain-free as you're likely to get from a dose of Vicodin, so you decide that tonight is going to be a classical night as you sit in front of the piano.
Being caught up in the music, you only vaguely register that fact that Wilson has come home. As he shuffles around in the kitchen you continue your song, losing yourself in the melody.
You're surprising yourself with your stamina and continued lack of pain, so you start another piece in an effort to challenge your skills. What really surprises you is when, about three measures in, Wilson gets up from the couch to stand next to you. His fingers gradually take over for half of yours (the ones doing the easy part). You had no idea he knew the song, or that he could play the piano.
He keeps the tempo perfectly and the two of you finish on a beautiful chord. He gets up silently and heads off down the hall towards the bedroom. You call after him, "That's why."
His head, covered as always in perfectly neat brown hair, emerges from behind the wall. "That's why what? You do realize that whatever the rest of that conversation was, it happened only inside your head, right?"
"Cute," you say as you pull a face and frown. "People are always wondering why I hang out with you, other than the great sex, I mean. Well, that's why."
Wilson is confused. "You hang out with me…because I can play the piano?"
"I don't know if I'd call it 'playing.' You were out of tune a lot, not to mention the lack of heart," you say in a music-critic type voice. "But no, I hang out with you because you're never boring. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you go and do something unexpected like that. It's intriguing."
Wilson laughs. "Coming from you that's like getting a Nobel prize." He grins broadly and goes back to the bedroom.
You grab your cane, figuring you'll need in the morning, and limp after him. "Oh, and by the way, if you ever touch my piano again I'll tell the world every embarrassing thing you've ever done while I string you up by your ankles in a broom cupboard."