I cannot stop hungering for otherness
And just like that, the mystery was gone.
With the fight, and its rapid resolution, he learned every last detail about Wilson. If before he had wondered what an argument of such large scale would do to them, he now knew; if anything, it would bring them closer. There was no risk of them separating, and there wasn't anything he didn't know about their relationship.
Routine was one thing; predictability was another. And House could predict everything.
When Wilson started to touch House, House could guess what he was planning. "Hand job," he'd say, his eyes flicking to Wilson's mouth with more boredom than arousal, "with me on my back."
Wilson would lie, saying that that wasn't he had intended at all, he wasn't in the mood for that, but it was as if House had read his mind. He couldn't hide it, and Wilson knew that. Yet he still tried to lie, unwilling to throw in the towel, to admit that House knew him that well, or that he was that predictable. He would try to cover up by trying something else, though he knew that House knew what he was thinking.
He did love Wilson. He was also tired of him.
You're my
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"Lunch?" Wilson asked from the doorway.
House made one full circle in his chair. "Who did I eat lunch with yesterday?"
Wilson rolled his eyes and left.
Cameron, Foreman, and Chase glanced at each other quickly to see if any of them had understood what had just taken place. Cameron in particular looked worried, but she always did want things to be picture-perfect with her hospital family. House decided to clarify the situation.
"Ladies and gentleman, what you have just witnessed was an abridged version of conversation, oh, let's number it three hundred and sixty-three. The full version goes something like this." House held out his two hands, each joining its fingers in two separate groups. He moved the two groups on either hand to simulate a flapping mouth.
"Who did you have lunch with yesterday, Wilson?" He flapped the right hand, speaking in his normal voice.
"Why, you, House," flapped the right hand, accompanied by a squeaky voice.
"And dinner?"
"You!"
"Breakfast today?"
"You again!"
"If I have to watch you chew one more bite, I will be forced to kill you to preserve my mental health."
"'Fuck you!'" concluded the left hand. House looked up from his hands and back at his employees. "Did you get all that, or do you need actual puppets?"