fic the architecture of heartbreak.

the architecture of heartbreak

house, wilson/ house (friendship or more, however you want to see it), rating pg, 612 words, He’s signed himself up to an eternity of bad luck and House is more than just part of his punishment-House is the curse.

notes: martyr4mylove4u- i'm not even going to pretend i know what this is about.

The first time they meet it's accident, incident and abuse combined and he wonders if this is how all good stories start.

It takes a bar brawl, a broken mirror and lawyer on House’s tab.

House thinks it sounds like the first few lines of a bad joke, but Wilson broke the mirror.

Wilson broke the mirror, see and he knows the rules.

Seven years be damned. It was an antique mirror.

He’s signed himself up to an eternity of bad luck and House is more than just part of his punishment.

House is the curse.

Pours a glass of scotch, beginning of a beautiful friendship and Wilson isn’t sure where this is going but there is an odd mixture of trepidation and fear in the other man’s smile so he sits back down.

House slaps him on the back, hard, familiar and hesitant, then laughs and swears to never do that again.

This man was more contradictions than the entire species of women combined.

It takes less time than it should for bar stool friendships to turn into late night poker games and an impressively large phone bill.

He plays it by the ear and the enabler inside him is rubbing palms like a child on Christmas Eve because House is always running, always needing to be facilitated.

It’s elementary, my dear Wilson and they fall into the habit of each other with more ease than intention.

He spends holidays on his couch, listening to the guitar play itself and he smells snow amidst the cushions.

Three wives later and House still has his leg and his Vicodin and Wilson still has his heart and his House.

I’m not addicted.

His mouth is dry. They laugh their sorrows into oblivion.

Wilson takes a shot for the both of them and calls it a day.

It won’t help but he pushes for rehab all the same and smiles when Cuddy backs him up. This is the way the world turns, House. Friends and more friends.

The cane crooks his feet as he walks out the bar but his face doesn’t meet the sidewalk.

He’s almost afraid to say he saw that one coming, but he did.

There is a girl.

She bites and bitches and he thinks her kisses will taste like alcohol and pills but they taste of white wine instead and some sort of fruit he can’t name but its close enough.

It’s close enough.

There are no vows, no “I do”s and no rings, this time around- no vows because he thinks he wants to keep her so he gives love a try.

He isn’t surprised when she dies.

Torn, tortured but not surprised.

Some would blame God, he supposes but Wilson’s been familiar with a different sort of power for much longer so he turns his back on House instead and yeah- he blames him.

House was always jealous.

The cold war lasts as long as it can.

Its weeks before House’s doorstep next sees Dr. J Wilson, pride buried, expectations swallowed. They sit in the semi dark.

Cigars slide between them, feet propped on the coffee table.

He finds broken mirrors at the back of his mind and boredom’s never suited Gregory House.

(too impatient by half, too restless, too-)

Sometimes I think how much better my life would be if I’d never known you.

It’s said without bitterness. Voice as flat as his hair on a December morning.

House grins into his tumbler, mouth pressed against the cracked glass.

Everybody lies.

Even Wilson.