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WIP: Untitled as of yet, Part 10
Enjoy!
House felt movement beside him and opened his eyes. He'd been more or less awake for some time, his leg having woken him up a couple of hours ago, and the throbbing pain hadn't really relented even after he'd taken his morning pill. He knew he was paying for spending the night on the bedroom floor.
He hadn't tried to get up, but had kept his eyes closed, letting himself drift in and out of wakefulness. When he finally felt Wilson stir beside him, he turned his head and saw a tousled head emerge from underneath the blanket.
"Mornin'," he said. Wilson grunted; then groaned and turned around to squint at House.
"House?" Wilson's voice was thick and husky with sleep. "What's going on?"
"Depends," House said. "How are you feeling?"
Wilson lay back down on the pillow and stared at the ceiling for a moment. "My head is killing me," he said then.
"You can't still have that migraine!" House said, and Wilson winced at his loud voice.
"Not a migraine," he said. There was a stretch of silence before Wilson spoke up again. "House," he said, "you are an utter ass. I really don't know why I put up with you." His tone was rather serious, and House felt a small twinge of remorse before the usual cynicism took over. He turned his head and gave Wilson a saccharine smile.
"Because you just love me that much," he said. Wilson only turned his head and glared; then he shoved the blanket aside and awkwardly got to his feet. For a moment, he looked as he were going to say something, but then only shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face.
"I'm gonna take a shower," he said, and left without another look.
House sighed and considered getting up as well - he'd certainly want to, the floor hadn't gotten any more comfortable over night - but as he moved his right leg, a sharp stab of pain convinced him to stay where he was for now.
He listened to the sounds that were coming from the bathroom; the toilet flushing, the tap being turned on and off, and finally the sound of water pouring from the shower. That one didn't stop for at least fifteen minutes, about twice as long as Wilson's showers usually took. It wasn't followed by the hum of the blow-dryer, either. Instead, House heard the click of the bathroom door, and a moment later, Wilson entered the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and hanging into his eyes. From the expression on his face, the shower hadn't mellowed his mood as House had silently hoped it would.
Wilson crossed the room and opened the closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and one of his t-shirts. He put them on, seemingly oblivious to House's eyes on him before he threw the discarded towel over a chair and turned around.
"You gonna stay there all day?" he asked.
House shrugged. "I like it here. It's cozy."
Wilson glared at him for another moment before he shook his head and rolled his eyes at House. "You're an idiot," he said. "Why did you sleep on the goddamn floor anyway?"
For a moment, House felt a little bemused to find himself on the wrong end of the berating, then he only shrugged again. He knew that Wilson was seeing right through his act of indifference, but that was no reason to admit that Wilson was right. "You wouldn't let me move you into the bed," he said.
"Right." Wilson scoffed. "And that's a reason how, exactly?"