Title: By Osmosis
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Warnings: eventual homosexual themes
Disclaimer: House, MD is owned by David Shore.

Chapter Two

Wilson glanced around the library uncertainly. This was like looking around for a needle in a haystack. It was ridiculous that he was even trying to find this guy he barely knew. Odds were he'd want nothing to do with Wilson. Greg could be here, Greg could not be here—wait. There he was. Greg was seated at a table, close to the reference section, far away from the librarian's desk. Wilson shifted the textbooks in his arms and took a moment to take him in. Beige short-sleeve shirt, tight-fitting jeans.

Greg appeared to be engrossed in a small green paperback whose title Wilson couldn't read clearly from that distance. Even though there was a clear-cut purpose in his mind, Wilson still found the task ahead of him quite daunting. He wasn't usually this painfully shy. Really.

"Excuse me," Wilson interrupted, walking up to Greg's table and setting one hand on the back of a vacant chair opposite Greg. He tried to make it look casual, even though the edge of a notebook was poking him in the side and a heavy textbook threatened to topple out of his arms at any moment. He wanted to flee. "You're…Greg?"

"House. I go by House." His mouth twitched into something that was more of a sardonic smirk than a smile, but he didn't look up yet. An awkward silence grew around them. House continued to peruse his novel for a few more seconds. "You come over here just to watch me read?" The tone was slightly defensive, the type of tone you would use when asking someone, 'Whatcha looking at?' He dog-eared a page, closed the book and put it down on the table. Lacing his fingers behind his head, Greg stretched languorously for several seconds before finally fixing Wilson with his intent stare.

Wilson frowned slightly. "Um, I'm—I'm James Wilson, from your--"

"I know who you are. James Wilson from Falley's Pharmacology," House cut in. Wilson's eyebrows shot up. At Wilson's obvious discomfort, House's stern expression softened slightly and he drummed his fingers against his knee. "Sit down already, before you drop those on your foot or something," he added impatiently with a roll of his eyes. It made Wilson feel immediately more at ease, though he still couldn't quite figure out exactly what to do now that he was here.

Leaning over to nudge the precarious pile of tomes into another free chair, Wilson took a seat and stammered his thanks. "How do you know who I am? We've never talked or anything."

"Please. You've stared me down so much already in that class, we may as well have bypassed the talking completely and skipped to the sex." House laughed at Wilson's scandalized expression. "Relax, Jimmy. I'm kidding."

Gregory House was already becoming more of a mystery to Wilson than he had been before when they'd never met. Here he was, sitting in the library with someone he barely knew, a guy no less, and talking about…about what? Oh, right. Sex? But House had shifted in his chair a few times, crossed his arms over his chest, propped up his feet on the table, and was watching him calmly as if waiting for something. Considering the silence, he was probably waiting on an explanation of Wilson's presence. They didn't know each other, after all, and it would only work for so many minutes for him to just say he'd wanted to make friends.

"James. I go by James," Wilson mimicked House smugly, and they laughed together at the joke. House picked up his book again, which Wilson assumed meant he was all right with his presence. "Mind if I sit here? I mean—stay sitting here."

Greg shrugged. "Sure. What are you studying?" Wilson opened his textbook and began to leaf through it to find the right chapter.

"I've got a paper on radiation therapy," he replied distractedly, running his finger over a paragraph to find an excerpt. "What's your major?" Fishing for a pen in his bag, Wilson began making notes in the margins.

"Infectious diseases and nephrology. Yours is oncology?"

"Yeah. It's interesting..." Wilson wrote another few lines. "Double major—gotta be tough."

House nodded in a noncommittal way that made Wilson think that his classes weren't tough for him at all. "I'm up for a coffee break. You can come if you like," he offered spontaneously, stacking up his possessions and gathering them into his arms, but not getting up. Wilson was surprised by the statement, and didn't immediately stop writing so he could stall an answer. Coffee sounded like a good idea because he was thirsty and would, but coffee with House?

"Are you sure you want me there? You barely know me," Wilson tried to phrase it differently, more politely. "I mean, we just met today. And I make bad coffee conversation. And we both still have work to do." He laughed. Self-deprecation always worked, Wilson thought with internal shock at his own social skills. "I'm boring. You'll see."

House kicked him under the table. "I wouldn't have let you sit here if I thought you were boring. Boring people bore me." Then, more seriously: "So you're gonna play hard-to-get. Okay, I'll make a deal with you. What's your worst subject?"

"Pharmacology."

"That's because Falley is an idiot. Can't teach for his life. Thank god there's such a thing as supplemental reading," House agreed, getting a chuckle out of Wilson. "Fine—I'll tutor you in Pharmacology for the rest of the semester if you go for coffee with me. I have no one else to go with, anyway."

Wilson considered the request, figured he could use the improvement in his grade. It was just coffee—nothing he could embarrass himself over. Then he remembered that this was House they were talking about. House, whom he'd never met until fifteen minutes ago, but who still seemed like the most interesting person he'd met all year.

Coffee sounded really, really good.

"Fine. You've got yourself a deal." Wilson held out his hand and House took it. He had a firm handshake, which was nothing less than Wilson had expected from someone so confident.

"Ever been on a motorcycle, Jimmy?" House remarked offhandedly as they walked toward the parking lot. Wilson fought back the instinct to duck and instead caught the object that had been thrown at his head—a shiny black helmet. He's not serious, he thought to himself, wondering if it would look cowardly to back out now.