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It was no secret that most things on Earth were capable of pissing Greg House off. Kids were too sticky. Adults were too stupid. Dogs were too loud and cats acted too much like him. Cuddy always had some random and utterly ridiculous rule to prevent him from performing life-saving tests and operations. His patients always lied to him, even if he made it expressly clear that telling the truth would save their life. Sometimes Chase, Foreman, and Cameron bickered like middle school girls. It was as if everything and everyone in the world was designed to perfectly pick and stab at House’s nerves.
Everything and everyone except James Wilson.
Sure, there were definitely things about Wilson that House didn’t love. He always nagged House to do meaningless chores like the dishes and complained he wasn’t nearly cleanly enough. He loved to blowdry his hair at ungodly hours of the morning and insist that House go in to work on time. Sometimes he snored or sang a little too loudly in the shower, sure. But for some reason, House could always forgive him.
Hell, there were times House kicked his hookers out just for chewing gum or wearing the wrong shoes. There were doctors at the hospital he avoided even walking near because of their constant annoying small talk that he couldn’t stand, even from the outside looking in.
There was an easy explanation as to why Wilson was different. He was his best friend and they had depended on one another for so long that House was shocked they weren’t yet joined at the hip. Clearly, though, House was never satisfied by the most simple interpretation. There always had to be something more.
So, in usual Greg House fashion, he set forth for a diagnosis. The search had to be subtle, of course. Wilson was the only person who knew House forward and back, and if he knew what House was doing it could botch the whole investigation.
He considered the differences between Wilson and the other people who tended to piss him off. He yelled at him just like Cuddy did, albeit a little less often. He complained and argued with him just like Foreman, Chase, and Cameron. Usually though, contrary to his kiddos, Wilson made valid points. Strangers and their tiny noises- sniffles, throat clearing, etc.- drove House insane. For some reason with Wilson, it all seemed to fade into the background. House decided it was because he’d known him so long. He’d been exposed to the sounds and therefore had probably just gotten used to them by now. House hated when people stared at him. Frequently it was because of his limp and his cane, which only made him angrier. When Wilson stared at him there was always something more there. Disbelief and frustration a lot of the time, but sometimes empathy, humor… maybe sometimes, House mused, there could’ve been some semblance of love in those sad brown eyes.
His mind started to wander off on that tangent. Did Wilson love him? Sure, yeah, he did as a friend. A best friend. The best of friends, even. He had to love him. There’s no way he would’ve stuck around otherwise. House put him through incredible amounts of bullshit and stress. Nobody would live with House’s crap if it weren’t for the fact that they deeply cared for him. But past the best friend level, did Wilson love him? Was Wilson gay? Not that House would mind, of course, except that he would mind because why wouldn’t Wilson have told him by now? House’s train of thoughts seemed to slide off the track as one question continuously rang in his mind.
Did he love Wilson?
It was late, and he was tired. It wasn’t a rabbit hole he was willing to limp his way down at that moment. He closed the book in his lap, set his glasses on the table, and nodded off.
After that night, he noticed Wilson’s little quirks even more than usual. Instead of angering him, though, they made him smile.