Cleavage

Sometimes you think House could compete with Cuddy's cleavage. You know it's just neglect and his lone cowboy style to wear a shirt that's almost halfway unbuttoned. Cuddy proudly shows what she's got, all comfortable self-confidence, only maybe a little too blatant at times. And of course she knows what an impact it has on people around her. So what about House?

He loves and complains about Cuddy's cleavage presented in low-cut tops, and yet he isn't so very different. He is at ease with his body, and he doesn't care much. But House must notice that you can look all the way down to his navel when he leans forward wide enough. Or that you can see his nipples through the shirt when he's cold.

You always wear an undershirt to prevent that. You think it's pretty distracting and even vulgar to meet patients and employees like that. But on House you don't mind it. You actually like it. It's House's attitude that goes with it, and he's got nothing to be ashamed of.

Of course you're friends, and when you spend a lot of time together with friends, you get used to them, to their traits and habits, their faces, their little flaws, their voices and smells and their bodies; and maybe it clouds your judgment. You get used to all that so much, you don't even notice it any more. You see them do everyday things, their movements so intimately familiar, you could even do an impression of them, if you were any good at acting. You get used to them and you begin to miss them if they're not there. You need to see them again, hear them talk, to be calmed by their nearness and familiarity. No one knows you better then they do.

Although they can annoy you when they're getting so close that they suffocate you. Although they can scare you by how close they get to your core, and what a destructive force they can be in your life. Although you know they can hurt you, and have, like no one else can, but never would, intentionally. You forgive them, because you love them. Sometimes you don't like them, their voices, their smells, their faces, little things bother you, their messes get to you, you're worried, and you're annoyed that they make you worry about them, that they pull you into their chaos.

Sometimes you love it; it's like being pulled into a fun ride at a fair, all lights flashing, blurry haze, upside-down, out-of-control, centripetal force making you heavy, spinning, twirling, zero gravity making you weightless, snatches of sound, whizzing of air, screams behind you and your stomach flipping, and flipping, and you grinning like the idiot you are.

They know so much about you, can read you better than you do, know when to speak the truth, make you see, even if you refuse to; they care so much about you, it's heartbreaking, they help you by risking their saneness, their own life.

You can't remember why you are in the middle of an ode to your friendship with House while lying in a hospital bed recovering from surgery. But you have just made a decision as you watch House limp from your room, the imprint of him still fresh in your mind. You pick up the receiver and dial Bonnie's number.