Slumping a little, House let out a sigh. Frustrated, he brought down his cane hard on the broken mug, but it only tittered a few times before becoming still again, refusing to break.

"Wilson you idiot."
He muttered softly, staring at the mug. Didn't he understand what this revelation meant? How was he suppose to mock Wilson and his horrendous ties now? Or snark at his supposed extra-marital affairs? Their friendship, was it worth so little to the oncologist that he would toss it away on the basis of three words?

Giving the mug one last glare, the man decides to ponder some more on the couch. Sitting down and propping his chin on the cane, House stared at the blank screen of the TV. Did this mean no more late night takeout and movies together? Is this why Wilson had decided to do this? He forced his mind to think about the puzzle that was Wilson's outburst; giving this new puzzle his full attention and brainpower. Just another anomaly, yes, those bugged him. That's why he's even thinking about this at all, to figure out why Wilson had just done that, it wasn't because …

House flipped on the TV, stopping that line of thought before it could get any further.Surfing through the channels gave nothing worthy of being watched save for an OC rerun. But as it were, even the Seth-Summer-Anna triangle could not entertain him, and did nothing to distract himself from his thoughts. Glowering at the TV screen childishly, House tossed his cane on the sofa. Why was Ryan sitting so close to Seth? Surely one needn't be that close when playing video games. His mind started wondering about their so-called 'friendship'. How exactly, his mind argued, does a boy from the wrong side of the tracks befriend an emo-nerd living in luxuries?

Like how a cranky limping bastard stays friends with a nice, well-adjusted oncologist?

All of a sudden, watching the OC rerun didn't seem like such a good idea.

In his office, Wilson stared at the files in front of him. It wasn't like he had a house to go back to. Julie was in 'their' house, and, it looked like House's apartment would be out of the question, at least until he got himself out of this mess.

They had always had something, his mind argued, that wasn't entirely friendship. While there was no burning sexual attraction between the two, Wilson always liked to think that he and House were not just best friends. That they understood each other so well, sometimes only needing to look at each other. And they were there for each other. Hell, Wilson liked being there for House. That House would allow him catch glimpses of a vulnerability he rarely let the rest of the world see. They spent an infinite amount of time together, and Wilson could not really remember an instance when he was truly sick of House's companionship, though the man got on his nerves, a lot.

Sighing, Wilson closed his file, tossing it back with the pile. It didn't seem he would get anything constructive done tonight.

House continued to glare at the screen. The OC rerun had been replaced by his favourite cartoon, the one about sponges in pants, living in giant pineapples. It was mindless, exactly the sort of entertainment he needed right now, one that did not raise questions about fucked-up friendships. He relaxed slightly, and settled in to watch the tiny yellow sponge on his latest adventure. And suddenly, the glare was back, why was TV betraying him so? Why were Sponge Bob and Patrick being so clingy? Surely they don't want to spend every waking moment together!

Like you and Wilson?

He told his mind to shut up. Perhaps a drink was in order.

An office whose air hung with stillness, a man lays sprawled on the sofa; eyes wide open, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. Occasionally a soft sigh escapes his lips, but he remains unmoving. His mind races through a thousand thoughts, stopping at none long enough to make sense of them.

An image flashes before him. An older, scruffy looking man leaning against a counter, lips smirking, House. "So…have you told Julie?" "No…"A voice answered, hesitant. Wilson identified the voice as his own. House's smirk seemed to disappear, and then the image disappeared. Leaving Wilson dissatisfied and confused.

He suddenly remembers talking to Cameron, before her "date" with House. He wonders why he's remembering this now.

His mind cruised through a myriad of images. Were their knees really touching that day they watched the finals? Glances House gave him, the comfortable closeness, the laughter, genuine, that escaped House's lips, his own, slightly teasing, flirtatious smile. Wilson tried to separate the memories from his imagination, failing. Craving the lingering aftertaste of some images more so than he was comfortable with.

Finally, he closes his eyes, resigned to the floodgate that he had somehow unlocked, no sleep awaits him, and he is left there, on the sofa, alone with the thoughts he does not, would not understand.