The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. Even if it had been, Wilson doubted he would've noticed. He had not even caught a glimpse of the diagnostician since the occurrence in his office, hours ago. The first sign that House was avoiding him was that even during lunch, House was nowhere to be seen. House always sat with Wilson, stealing the fries off his plate. Today he didn't.
Why would he be avoiding me, Wilson thought, if all he wanted was to judge my reaction? Perhaps there was something I missed, something more. Wilson almost immediately dismissed the thought that House had been slightly serious. Almost. House was a strange character.
Lunch passed. No House. And the afternoon, when House would barge into Wilson's office, plop down onto his couch, and deliver all his exciting news. No House. Sometime, late in the evening, Wilson thought he glimpsed House limping down a hallway, but when he ran to look, there wasn't anyone there.
Was he hallucinating? Had House slipped him something? No, that was ridiculous. But that would explain a lot. If House had drugged him early this morning, then House confessing his love to him could've been a hallucination. And everything since then. Only one way to find out. Wilson drove himself home in silence. Arriving at his comfy apartment, Wilson snuggled beneath the covers, and promptly fell asleep.
When he woke up, House was sitting on his bed. "So, you're finally awake, huh?" How did House get in? Wait, don't answer that. Wilson looked suspiciously at House. "So, what do you want to do?"
What the hell was House talking about? Wilson glanced over at his alarm clock. "God damn it, House! It's 3:30 in the morning. What the hell do you want?"
House pouted, faking hurt feelings. "Well, if you don't want me here…" House's rough voice faded out. He slid off the bed and trudged over to Wilson's open balcony. Wilson watched in confusion. Surely House was going to give some sort of maniacal reason for appearing at his house in the early hours of the morning.
House stood in the cold New Jersey breeze. It chilled him, but he closed his eyes and revelled in it. Wilson watched. It was these rare moments when Wilson saw the real House inside. House slowly opened his eyes, reluctant to let the reality take sovereignty of him. Still looking peaceful and serene, House began to stand on the thin rail that divided Wilson's apartment from the dark snaking streets stories below.
What the hell was he doing? Wilson wondered, frightened. After his close suicide with Vicodin, only days before, Wilson wasn't taking any chances. "House…" Wilson warned, his voice edged with caution and fear. House was standing fully upright on the railing now. Oh God. House remained silent, but the ghost of a sad, weary smile was shown upon his face. And with that last, silent goodbye, House fell.