Holy shit. I know this is cheesy, but I'm in a very fluffy/cheesy mood tonight. So, you all get to enjoy (or completely ignore) a bit of my crappy writing as a result. There are spoilers for the beginning of Season 5, and the events take place after episode 87, Dying Changes Everything, but Wilson comes back the way I want him to. That's the beauty of fanfiction. The song is What Hurts the Mostby Rascal Flatts. The title kinda came from Confessions Part III by Weird Al, because I couldn't think of one myself and was listening to the song while finishing writing it.

WARNING: This contains slash, otherwise known as a male-male pairing. This also contains OOC-ness and some slight spoilers. For the love of god, if you don't read this warning and flame me for something that was mentioned in the warning (like "Ew, they're not gay!" or "House would never do something like that!") then I will hate you. HARD. It's my story, and I can incorporate whatever the hell I feel like. Thank you. :D

DISCLAIMER: I do not own "House, M.D.", it's characters, or anything else pertaining to the show in any way. I only own this story and it's plot.


Days had passed since Wilson had walked away. House still couldn't believe it. The one true friend he'd managed to hang onto for all of these years was gone.

He wouldn't answer his cell phone or his - Amber's - door. Wilson was one hundred percent gone.

He felt a strange pang in his chest each day that he passed by Wilson's old office. He moved throughout the day, listless and mechanical. He solved his usual medical mysteries, but he noticably lacked the flare that he'd once had for his job, his one true passion. Or so he'd thought.

He stayed late in his office one night, scanning through random radio stations online. He came across a somewhat familiar sounding song on a Country station and decided to listen to it. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, anyways. (1)

The music was sad and slow, and House was sure that if he weren't a completely hard bastard he might have felt like crying a little.

I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house

That don't bother me

I can take a few tears now and then and just let 'em out

I'm not afraid to cry every once and a while

Even though goin' on with you gone still upsets me

There are days every now and again I pretend I'm okay

But that's not what gets me

House's face visibly changed from a bored expression to that of being a bit surprised but mostly solemn. Slowly, things were clearing up for him. And it made him laugh at himself that it took a song that some (most likely) straight country guy wrote to figure things out, especially since he'd always deemed himself as perceptive to anything and everything. (2)

What hurts the most was being so close

And havin' so much to say

And watchin' you walk away

And never knowin' what could have been

And not seein' that lovin' you

Is what I was trying to do.

As the melancholy tune played on, House pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and began writing. He wasn't sure why he was writing a letter to Wilson, much less a love letter, but he figured he should screw all logic at least once in his life. What better time was there than the present?

The song was over a couple of minutes later and the radio station moved on to some commercials and more up-beat music. House didn't even realize. He was far too busy pouring out his heart and soul into the letter.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and House was sure that if he ever wanted to see Wilson again, even if to simply be rejected, then he had to do something completely unexpected and out of character.

Once he was finished, he sat back in his chair and read over his letter. He set it down with a heavy sigh, placing a hand over his eyes, "This is the gayest thing I've ever done or seen. He'd better come back."

The following day, House swallowed what was left of his pride and mailed the letter. After that, he'd pushed the whole matter out of his mind, disbelieving that he'd been so stupid as to mail that damned letter.

Another week went by, and House found himself in his office well after hours again. He adamantly stayed away from all Country stations, and forced himself to pay attention only to his Game Boy.

The door to his office opened, then was shut firmly behind who'd ever stepped in. The person wasted no time and quickly pulled the blinds closed and locked the doors.

Out of the corner of his eyes, House noticed someone standing on the other side of his desk, patiently waiting, "Sorry, after hours. Come back and bitch at me tomorrow."

A soft chuckle replied, followed by, "House, it's me."

His hands gripped the game system hard as his eyes widened slightly. He turned his head slowly and found that he'd not been playing a trick on himself. There stood Wilson, in the flesh, in his office.


A warm smile was flashed before the oncologist took a seat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an all-too-familiar envelope. With a clearing of his throat, House turned to look away from the letter.

"I... I was startled, to say the least, when I got this letter."

"Mmhmm." House nodded, not knowing what else to do.

Wilson laughed a bit, "At first, I just put it off as something you'd done while you were drunk. But then I realized how... poetic and carefully written it was. House, I... I'm not sure what to say."

"Say you'll come back." he replied, looking directly into Wilson's eyes.

The younger man frowned a bit, "It's... It's not that simple. Not yet, anyways."

"Why the hell not? I'm not asking you to marry me and adopt kids or anything. ... Right now, I can be content with you coming back to being the oncologist-next-door-who-happens-to-be-my-best-friend."

"How are you even sure that Cuddy would give me my job back?"

"Because she hasn't re-filled your position... because she's waiting for you to come back."

Brown eyes stared intensely at blue ones for several minutes. Finally, Wilson sighed, "It there nothing you can't talk me into?"

"Nope. So, you'd better start getting used to the idea of being gay with me. 'Cause it's going to happen, even if it takes me years of coercing." House stated nonchalantly.

Wilson smiled, "Fine, I can accept that. But you won't be getting any until I'm good and ready."



1) Does House really listen to Country music? Hell if I know. I just needed him to be familiar with this song for the sake of the story.

2) I'm not assuming that the man who sings for the band Rascal Flatts is gay or straight, 'cause I don't really care honestly. I just know that some die-hard country fan would read this and flame the hell outta me. That's just the way my luck works.

It's shit, I know. D:

I enjoyed writing it, though. It's extremely cheesy, I think. Which is exactly what I was going for.

I love feedback, people. A simple "omg i loved this" will suffice (if you're not a very wordy person), as will constructive criticism. Seriously, if I don't know what others think then how will I ever improve?

p.s. Will you people please go to my profile page and vote about the HouseWilson smut!fic I'm thinking of doing? Seriously. I will love you forever.