Warnings: Sickly fluff.
Genre: Fluff, Romance
- Pairing: House/Wilson
Other: Credit goes to my friend Hannah for the idea. And the song, in case you didn't guess, is "How to Save A Life" by the Fray.
The movie was starting to drag on a little. The Chinese had filled their bellies and was lying in the empty pots and cartons to one side, and Wilson was rested comfortably back against the sofa, feeling bloated, his eyelids a little droopy. He barely even noticed when House began to shift uncomfortably, only registered that his friend was bearing an increasingly frustrated expression.
House's hand twitched, and then reached out and prised the remote easily from Wilson's limp grasp. He paused the movie, grunted that he needed a piss, grabbed his cane and heaved himself to his feet unsteadily before regaining balance and limping off to the bathroom.
Wilson yawned, tempted to reach out and un-pause the movie. As boring at the film was, Wilson disliked uncomfortable and unnecessary silence on the Friday nights he spent with House. If they were quiet, it was usually a silence filled with the sound of eating, the television mumbling in the background, or they were engrossed in a movie. Wilson gradually became more aware of the deafening emptiness, finally until the point where even the effect of the lazy full stomach had worn off, and Wilson was completely and utterly awake. He stood up, pacing slowly, feeling that House was taking far too long in the bathroom. Wilson wrung his hands, turned on his heel to pace in the opposite direction, and his eyes fell on House's piano. The idea struck his head, and probably a side effect of the few beers he'd had meant he wasn't the least fazed by the possibility that House might not like Wilson touching the precious ivory keys.
Wilson wobbled - with dignity, of course - over to the piano, dragging his fingers across the top lightly, softly across the smooth surface as he dramatically swept behind the piano and sat on the stool. He reached out with his right hand, wavered, hesitation lining every inch of his face- but only for a moment, as the hand lowered and hit a key. It sprang out a harsh, loud, high note. Wilson winced, then tried again, softer. It still sounded bad. Maybe Wilson just didn't have an ear for this sort of thing. He placed two fingers, one on one key, and one on the neighbouring key, and tapped them softly, one, two, one two. Wilson tried playing a third key, but he couldn't place his fingers right. Wilson continued in his futile attempts, so immersed in his activity that he didn't even hear the toilet flush.
Wilson's nose was almost touching the keys a few moments later, his left hand trying to bend his right into the correct shape and position. Then, a slightly larger, tougher hander laid over Wilson's own and softly guided it over the keys, and within no time their joined hands were playing out a familiar introduction. Wilson's couldn't quite place it until he felt House shift behind him, leaning some slight pressure on Wilson's back so House didn't fall, and House's left hand began to play the rest of the melody. Words formed on Wilson's lips and tumbled out as he recognised the song. 'St-step one you say we need to talk… he walks… you say "sit down", it's ju-just a talk-'
'Concentrate,' House murmured.
Wilson straightened up slightly, watching House's guiding right hand, figuring it out, getting used to the odd angles of his thumb and the use of his little finger. House's left hand continued playing the rest of the song; and his now free hand went to pick his cane up and he took the weight off Wilson's back. Wilson took in a sharp breath, and he pressed a little hard on the note, but picked it back up again with a long sigh, and he played weak at first, growing stronger until House's left hand stopped playing; and Wilson stopped playing too, looking up at House for a response- approval, anger- anything. House rose an eyebrow. Then smiled.
And suddenly the silence, between them, and within the room, didn't seem so bad anymore.