Drying his hands on a dish towel, he came quietly into the living room and paused in the doorway to double-check the surroundings. His eyes settled on the figure sprawled on the couch, breathing haggardly but quietly. He rethought the blanket strewn untidily over his sleeping friend – too conspicuous? – but left it as it was.

He couldn't help but smile faintly as he watched him sleep. The coverlet pulled past House's chin fluttered slightly with every ragged breath.

Breathe. Flutterflutter. Breathe. Flutterflutter.

The asshole probably wouldn't even notice the quilt, not with the headache he was going to have in the morning. Didn't even have the decency to invite a friend to get drunk with him.

Lucky for House, the friend came anyway.

Wilson drained the last swig of liquor from the thick bottom of a heavy glass and returned it to its plastic coaster. He could take it to the kitchen, but even a sleepy, hung-over House might notice if the place looked too clean. This way was better. House never had to know.

He drew closer, inching toward the sofa with his breath caught in his chest, bending over the slender body twisted in the covers.

Breathe. Flutterflutter.

With a sad smile in his eyes, he leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips, a classic moment of sweet despair.