Summary: On Valentine's Day, House, as unwittingly as ever, proved that he loved him. HW established relationship.
House didn't care about a lot of things. Wilson noticed that most when he moved in with him; he didn't care about ownership, privacy. But strangely, he seemed to care just as little about his own possessions. He broke glasses every other day, was on his third couch since he'd moved in –although admittedly that was partially Wilson's fault as well- and Wilson didn't really want to think about how many times they'd had to move furniture to cover the holes House had managed to make in the walls.
Which was why Wilson had been so surprised when House had damn near exploded at he mention of Wilson even touching his piano. The smallest fingerprint or smudge led to an almost compulsive cleaning process that Wilson had, over the years, learnt to get used to. He didn't touch it; avoided going near it as much as possible; contented himself with simply staring from the safe distance that sitting on the couch provided him with as House lost himself in the music.
On Valentine's Day, though, House, as unwittingly as ever, proved that he loved him. Extra clinic hours, because as usual he'd done something to upset some patient or other, had meant that he left late, but Wilson had learned that, dating a doctor, as well as being one himself, he shouldn't bother to even start the cooking until House actually got home. And as Wilson sat on the couch, on his third beer of the night, watching something he didn't even remember putting on, the sound of the door being unlocked followed by uneven footfalls alerted him to the other man's arrival before he'd even though about turning round. He stretched, ready to get up and start working on dinner, but froze as a single red rose was dropped unceremoniously into his lap.
"Happy Valentine's." House leaned over the back of the sofa, smiling somewhat victoriously as he actually coaxed a smile from the other man.
"Who'd you steal it from?"
"You think that little of me?" House's offended look, however, was clearly not convincing enough, as Wilson only arched an eyebrow. House sighed, "Patient's boyfriend found out she was cheating. Don't you just hate women?"
Wilson laughed as House retreated to his bedroom, toying with the flower he held as he considered that the chances of House actually owning a vase were pretty slim. His gaze, however, fell on the two empty beer bottles on the coffee table before him, and he realised just what would look perfect.
"Can I put it on the piano?"
There was a pause, Wilson assumed as House phrased a scathing reply.
"Use a coaster."
Wilson almost dropped the bottle he was holding in shock. Had House just… seriously given him permission? Unable to keep the smile from his face, even as he considered the chances of House actually owning a coaster, he rinsed the bottle, added a little water, and actually dried the bottle on a tea towel he'd had to buy himself, since House hadn't owned one of those either. Then, he went in search. Nothing in any of the kitchen drawers that would provide the sufficient protection for House's beloved piano, so he checked the lounge. After a moment, his eyes fell on House's CD collection. It was more of a pile, than a collection, really, and they weren't even in any sort of order, but as Wilson scanned through them, one particular artist caught his eye. He retrieved the case, took out the CD and placed it, silver side up, on the lid of the piano, before putting the bottle on top and taking a moment to admire his handiwork.
When House returned from his shower, he suppressed a laugh, before joining Wilson on the couch, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist and pulling him back against his chest.
"Which CD did you use?" House asked over the sound of channel surfing.
"But… she speaks for the voice of disaffected woman!" House's affected dismay -despite the fact that they both knew the CD had belonged to Stacy- made Wilson laugh, and House pulled him closer, kissing his cheek. Wilson shifted slightly, resting his head back on House's shoulder as he scanned through House's TiVo before just giving up and handing the remote to the other man. Instead, he reached a hand up to play with House's hair, before speaking softly, aware that he'd understand the unspoken message that invited the response.
"Love you too, House."
What's TiVo, anyway? Also, an eggplant. What the hell is an eggplant? I'm British. Cut me some slack, here.
I am aware that this fic has no mention of eggplant, but it's been bugging me for a while.
Update for Real Good Time will be up soon. I'm just trying to get my House and Wilson flow.
Let me know if you think House sounds like Dr Cox.