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"I guess I always wanted a family. Or— no, maybe just a happy marriage. Someone I could die in love with."
House shakes his head. "That's not gonna happen in the next five months. Skip."
Wilson sighs. "All of these aren't going to happen. This is pointless."
"Not pointless. We just have to narrow them down." House looks down at his own paper and jabs at it, "like this."
Wilson turns his head and tries to read it upside down. "Gay— wha— I'm. What?"
"That's doable."
"I— I mean, yeah, sure, but— well, I'm surprised you haven't yet."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you do make a surprising amount of jokes about it."
"What, just because I make gay jokes must mean I want to get dicked down?"
Wilson looks back at the paper, where House's handwriting very clearly says gay sex. "Yes."
"Anyways. What's next on yours?"
Wilson groans. "Threesome."
"Oh, that's perfect. You, me, and a gay threesome. Two birds, one stone."
"Oh my God."
"Or we could find a girl. But I think there'd still be some homoerotic tension—"
"Okay, please stop."
House hums and gulps his shitty diner coffee. "You're so repressed. It wounds me."