#podc1

At first, House doesn’t intended to linger in the piano room for more than a few minutes. Just long enough to ensure the Bechstein grand hasn’t lost its tune since the last time he fixed it. It was difficult enough to repair once; he won’t allow it to fall into disuse again.

But what begins as simple scales turns into one song, and another, and another. After two centuries of being unable to play, he’s free to do so to his heart’s content. He hardly notices when he starts singing along with the melody of the song– an old Sinatra staple with the jazz flair his aunt trained into him. 

“–let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars; in other words–”

His background processors continue work on predictive models and data analysis, but his primary focus is given to the feeling of ivory against his fingertips, the easy rhythm of his foot on the pedal. He ends the song believing himself alone in the room.

Only a voice makes him realize someone else is present. 

tell me anything and everything you’ve ever wanted to tell me |  accepting

You’re one of the best writers I know, so coming from you, that means a lot. Can I just say, I feel the exact same way about you? You’re so incredibly talented and you put so much thought into all your muses and world-building; it amazes me. I’m so glad joining the Fallout fandom gave me a chance to meet you.

Christmas starters | accepting

“Thank you, dear,” House says, not entirely able to conceal his surprise— or his smile. He’d known Jonathan could knit, stored that information somewhere along with all the other minute trivia about people he cares for, but he hadn’t imagined it would ever be relevant. Hadn’t imagined Jonathan would knit something for him.

House slips his suit jacket off with practiced ease, folds it neatly over the back of the nearest chair, and pulls the sweater over his head. He can’t remember the last time he wore a sweater. Before the War, certainly. It’s a pleasant feeling, even inside the temperature-controlled penthouse. (And that’s another gift Jonathan gave him, albeit years ago: the simple ability to feel fabric against his skin.)

There’s a securitron in the corner of the room, and House taps into its camera feed. An impromptu mirror of sorts. The sweater isn’t the kind of eyesore common to the holidays; the colors are muted, soft, grey and black and green. But House’s perception is biased beyond redemption when it comes to Jonathan. The sweater could be as ghastly as one of the sweaters his aunt used to wear, and he would still wear it. He would still love it.

He finds himself thinking that word more and more, as the days go by.

!!!!

Sam definitely flips out when he sees it -- if M3 is around, Sam’ll chase her down and verify it was actually really seriously for him (and then I hope she likes hugs tbh because it’s happening) 

[...]

Oh! I -- hah, th-thanks --

send one for my muse’s reaction | accepting

▤ = falling asleep on them

A cold weight on House’s shoulder brings his attention back to his physical presence. He’d been reviewing daily reports – no need for paper or a terminal screen, given his direct neural link to the mainframe – but now he dismisses them from his field of view with a thought, turning his attention to the man next to him. Jonathan is resting his head on House’s shoulder— sleeping, House realizes, with a startling rush of affection.

His reactions to Jonathan are beginning to surprise him as much as the man himself. That state of affairs ought to be vexing, yet he can’t find it in himself to be irritated.

House considers waking him. A bed with an actual pillow would be more comfortable than his shoulder, certainly. But Jonathan looks… peaceful. As though in sleep, the weight of responsibility and failure falls away. House can’t bear to disturb him from that. Building mankind’s future is tiring work, after all, and exhaustion leads to inefficiency. It’s only right that Jonathan get some rest.

He leans his cheek against the top of Jonathan’s head, careful not to wake him. His abnormally low body temperature might be unnerving to someone not accustomed to it, but to House, it’s a known constant. Almost a comfort.