Title: By Osmosis

Fandom: House, M.D.

Pairing: House/Wilson

Warnings: eventual homosexual themes

Disclaimer: House, MD is owned by David Shore.

A/N: This is definite AU. To make this story make sense, I have to say that Wilson went to college with House at Johns-Hopkins, not at McGill where he actually went. (AU is oh-so-fun.) So, this is about how House and Wilson meet at college…

Chapter One

Wilson tossed his keys into one of the side pockets on his backpack and walked into the building. He was early for his Pharmacology lecture, but instead of hanging around he'd go in early. If all else failed, he could always talk to Professor Falley until the others arrived.

Professor F, as he liked to be called, was a man of middle height, rotund and jolly-faced. He resembled a sort of bald, shiny elf minus the green hat and pointy shoes. Though always quick to make a joke in class, Falley did take his job as a teacher seriously and concentrated on teaching his students instead of merely letting them slide. You could learn a lot of things from him if you paid attention to the lectures. His temper was rather explosive when provoked but didn't show itself often.

Wilson climbed the steps until he reached a row of seats towards the middle and sat down in the outermost chair. He was conscientious about his schoolwork—a bit of a nerd, you could say. In the entire history of his two years at Johns-Hopkins, James Wilson hadn't been to one Friday-night party, hadn't skipped class, hadn't been late, and hadn't had any detentions. His grades had never dropped below the occasional high B and were usually all A's.

Wilson took out his planner and began jotting down the next week's homework from the freestanding whiteboard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door swing open again to admit more people. Clusters of laughing girls spread slowly to their seats. They were followed by groups of jocks wearing college sports team jackets and clapping each other on the back.

And after them…he came. A few feet behind like every other day, last but not walking with the last-on-line attitude at all.

Wilson didn't know the boy's name, only that he was older than himself. This was the only class Wilson shared with him. He was different from the others. Intriguing. No one ever walked in with him. In the six months of the year that had already flown by, Wilson had never once seen him talk to someone, but it didn't seem to faze him. Completely opposite—from Wilson's observations, the loneliness seemed to be self-initiated. The boy carried himself with natural ease. He was tall, dauntingly tall, or maybe it was just that he was lanky and it made him appear taller. Long-limbed, he carried himself with a sort of natural grace that emanated unpretentious confidence, something calm, something composed and studious and bordering on noble. He usually wore what you would call casual trendy, which fit him in some abstract way. The whole black-silk-shirt-jeans-cologne thing was a part of his personality, Wilson thought.

Not that Wilson knew what he was like. Or assumed the right to judge what fit him and what didn't—these things just came to mind. Wilson didn't know him at all. Had never spoken to him. Didn't even know his name, because he never spoke in class. They sat on opposite sides of the room from each other, and Wilson spent the class periods silently observing. He was attractive, Wilson would give him that. Dark-light brown, slightly wavy hair. Their eyes hadn't met yet, so Wilson didn't know what color they were, but he'd seen the way the boy focused them on his work. His entire demeanor radiated intensity. And then of course he had fashion sense. The clothes he wore always looked specifically tailored and brought out that same catlike grace. But it wasn't even that which drew Wilson to watch him—it was the intelligence he radiated. That confidence. It could fill a whole room, and there was something intoxicating about its power.

And Wilson wasn't gay. In any case, he never had been, before this. If watching and observing made him gay, that is. This wasn't really even anything, was it? Just observation. Respect from afar. Silent admiration? That didn't change the fact that he was attracted to girls. Or at least, Wilson didn't think it did.

The boy sauntered into the room slowly, completely unruffled by the fact that he was about 30 seconds from being marked late. He never came in late. Maybe pushing it, but never late. It was another thing that Wilson respected about him from afar—punctuality. He slid into his seat and rolled up the sleeves of his navy blue dress shirt (untucked. It was like Florida chic in New Jersey.) Folding his arms, tucking his thumbs neatly into his elbows, he looked up intently at the board and waited for class to begin.

The bell rang. Forty minutes later, it rang again, and Wilson packed up his things but didn't leave. He watched senior-stranger get up and walk out just as languorously as he had entered, carrying a stack of books in his arms and a denim backpack over one shoulder. And Wilson told himself to forget about him, passing a hand over his eyes tiredly. Come on, this is pathetic. I don't even know him. And I'm not...whatever. After everyone had gone, Wilson sighed as he saw Falley's inquisitive look in his direction. Hastily, he gathered up his things and began the descent down the rows.

"Everything all right, James?" Falley asked as he passed by. "You seem flustered."

"Oh," Wilson stammered. "No, I'm fine. Thanks, sir."

Falley laughed and shook his head, watching his student stumble out the door. Boys, he thought to himself. I can't believe I was ever that awkward.