A/N: This was really random. I'm sorry if it sucks for whatever reason.
No slash, just friendship.
The last line is a from the poem "Song of Five Friends" by the Korean poet Yun Sondo.
Sijo
Wilson recognized the head of thinning hair bent down, every other booth on that side of the diner empty. House always went out of his way to stay alone. Wilson stifled a sigh and began to approach, House's eyes greeting him as he slid in on the other side of the table.
"What?" the younger man said.
House stared at him for a minute before looking back down at the Sweet 'N Low packet he'd been fiddling with. He was unusually serious. Maybe no one else would catch it, but Wilson did.
"You hungry?" House muttered.
"No," said Wilson. "I hope you didn't call me down here just for that."
House raised his eyebrows. "Did I call you away from Grace?"
"No," said Wilson patiently, fingers tapping at the tabletop.
"Oh, surely, she hasn't taken off for her European escapade yet."
"She left on Monday."
"Funny, how you know that."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Are you actually going to tell me why you called me down here?"
House looked at him again. The Sweet 'N Low packet was bent in three places around its edge.
"I was sitting here, waiting for the burger I ordered, when I started to wonder how many more times I'm going to have to do this alone."
Wilson blinked at him. They were silent for a moment, before House spoke again.
"It's funny, how right you always are. You may not realize – but it's true. I enjoy being miserable. That's the only explanation for why I've done what I've done. I sent away the only woman who is ever going to satisfy me, and I'm sitting here, without her and without girls like Cameron or hell, even Cuddy, who could never be more than just good sex and that short-term crap you call romance. I'm sitting here with you, and not even that's going to last."
He stopped playing with the Sweet N Low again and lifted his head to see Wilson's eyes full of speechlessness. His shoulders slumped, and he flicked the Sweet 'N Low away. His fingers hooked around the plastic basket, where his burger and fries sat untouched and lukewarm, almost cold.
"I don't want this food."
He moved it over to the center of the table, smack dab between them, and he paused only for a second before pushing himself up and limping away. Wilson sat alone for a long time. Sunset had turned to dark night by the time he called over a waitress and asked for a take-out box. He slid the food in, took the check, and left a tip without ever noticing the scrap of paper in the corner diagonally opposite to his left, and he drove home without reading it.
"Moon, you watch but keep silent; isn't that what a good friend does?"