I looked up from my desk and my boyfriend of some months had magicked himself into my office.
After I was sure that it wasn't some sort of illusion – I had never seen Wilson so disheveled before – I asked, "What's up?"
He blurted out, "Me or Stacy Warner?"
"I'm not sure I understand the question. Use your words."
He was breathing hard, eyes sliding over everything on my desk before barely resting on me and moving away. He dropped into a chair. "If… if Stacy Warner walked into this office right now, who would you pick, me or her?"
I thought for a moment. "…With or without clothes on?"
He rubbed a hand through his hair. "…House…"
"Does that whole marriage thing count as important?"
"House."
I nodded to myself. "Why are you asking?"
He held his hands out to me, inviting me to do something. "Just… I don't care if you say you would pick her! I really don't! So just say it and get it over with, okay? Just tell the truth. Or… no, lie. Give me an answer so that I can just go off and blindly believe it and stop worrying about this so much."
Freaked out Wilson was very different from normal Wilson. I was interested, now. "What are you worrying about so much?"
He snorted, as though he thought there was no way I didn't know. "If you could get a woman, you wouldn't be going out with me."
That one took me by surprise. "What?"
"I'm just a substitute! A replacement for Mrs. Love-of-Your-Life Stacy Warner. Or something."
"Wait, so this is about you assuming that at some point I'm going to decide that I like girls again?"
"No, it's about you being in love with Stacy Warner!"
"So it's about you assuming that I love you less than I love her."
"Love? Love? No. It's about you choosing her over me if you could so just give me an answer and I'll leave."
This was a minefield without any clear dirt at all. Nowhere to put my foot without losing it. "No."
"Why not?"
"You already said it yourself. If I say that I would pick you, you'll assume that it's a lie and get just as mad."
Every muscle was tensed, and he was pouting and very nearly trembling. He voice was still steady as he said, "So you won't tell me."
"You've been worrying about it for weeks, it looks like. You obviously already have the answer you want. Don't bother me about it."
"But am I right?"
"You think you are."
"I don't want to do this circular philosophic discussion with you, House!"
"Then leave."
He shot straight up in his chair as though he was going to tackle me across my desk. Then, he relaxed. Then, he shot out of the chair and stalked out of the room.
Ugh. Relationships are illogical.
I thought he knew me better than that, too.