#ough...........

Wilson trailed into his apartment, looking blankly around at the familiar, but cold, place he called home.

39 nights since House disappeared. Since all the rest of that stupid fallout, since Cuddy quit, since Wilson forced himself to hate the man he thought he loved.

It was a new low, really, and Wilson didn't have to try very hard to hate him at first. It was keeping up with it that hurt. It was walking through hallways ignoring the pitying looks as nurses saw his bandaged wrist, it was House's office being shut down and orthopaedics jumping at the opportunity. It was the gossip mill that seethed and grumbled and aired all their griefs as if any of it fucking mattered. Often, he didn't know how to feel, but anger was a good starting point.

He opened the fridge, ready to stare listlessly at leftovers and empty shelves before ordering takeaway, as was custom on these dreary nights. Instead, he blinked. Rubbed his eyes, thinking it must be some exhaustion-fueled hallucination. No, his fridge was genuinely fully stocked. The lowest shelf, on closer inspection, was stocked with labelled meals - pasta, rice, pie.

Everything sorted the way he liked it, too. And he knew that fucking handwriting.

"House!"

Wilson stared seething into the fridge and listened for mere moments before hearing the tap-tap of House's cane.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

Wilson sighed. Shut the fridge, encasing the apartment in darkness (because he had gotten used to navigating without the lights on) and didn't turn around.

"Why- what are you doing here?"

"Was in the area. Figured I'd pop in."

"House, you're a fucking fugitive. You know if someone finds me with you - and you're not exactly inconspicuous with that cane!" He couldn't think clearly, his heart felt fit to burst with emotion.

"I know."

Now he turned around, walking straight to jab a finger into House's chest. "That's your problem! You know exactly what would fuck someone over, and you do it anyway, because you're a stupid, selfish bastard-"

He stopped himself, meeting House's hurt eyes. Thought about the food in the fridge. Took in what felt strange about his apartment - it was cleaner. House looked horrible, haunted in the streetlight drifting in through the window. Wilson heard his own breathing, ragged and fast, and heard House's - for the first time in 39 days.

"I-"

"Don't say anything." Wilson didn't want to say anything. Fuck, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. They stayed like that, Wilson's hand on House's chest, locked in eye contact more intense and searching than Wilson had ever participated in.

House broke the silence, voice low and barely above a whisper. "I'm just passing through. Got a- thing for tomorrow, but I don't have anywhere to stay tonight."

Wilson wanted to curse it all. Wanted to say Take me with you, wanted to march House down to the police station, wanted to cry and beg for the old times again. Instead, he stepped forward. House didn't move back.

He cried most of the way through their first kiss, and their second, and their third, and he laughed as House stumbled through the threshold of his bedroom, eyes restless and sick with wanting, and he held House so desperately at one point he knew he would leave bruises. If they only got one night, Wilson wasn't going to let House forget anytime soon. House didn't hold back either, kissing all over Wilson's bare skin, and it seemed they both had the same idea.

Wilson didn't know what time it was when the frenzy dimmed to a quiet afterglow. House's head by his neck, Wilson's hand on House's heart.

"Seems like you should probably sleep here tonight."

"Yeah, I doubt I'll even be able to walk after that." Then, after a beat, "Thank you."

Wilson didn't answer. Neither of them slept much, both silently taking in the night, till it turned to dawn and light filtered in, and Wilson counted down the minutes on his alarm clock he had retrieved at some point. He saw House staring at it too.

6am struck, and the magic had to end.

House stared up at the ceiling, still curled up against Wilson's chest.

"Do this again sometime?"

Wilson didn't meet House's gaze. Didn't answer, instead moving off the bed to have a shower. From the door, he said without looking at House, "If only we could."