A glass of champagne hung lazily from his hand. He didn’t particularly care that it was New Year’s Eve, but he’d received the bottle from a happy patient in remission and they might as well drink it now, welcoming the new year, rather than waiting and feeling like a random alcoholic for drinking it mid-week when nothing special had happened.

“So, any New Year’s resolutions?” Wilson asked House, taking a sip.

The chairs on their shared balcony weren’t particularly comfortable, but the view of the star-studded sky made up for it. It was nineteen minutes left until the new year, and for some reason, they were still sitting there, at the hospital. Wilson had been called in for an emergency, and House had been forced to come along. They’d been sitting at a bar and whilst Wilson had kept sober because he was on call, House was far from it. His only other options were to take a cab home or walk, and House was too cheap and lazy respectively, to do either.

“Nope,” House said. “I’m already perfect.”

Wilson snorted.

House glared at him, but it mellowed into a drunken, glazed over look soon enough. Wilson wondered just how much House’d had to drink – he’d lost count after the first four shots, three drinks and any number of beers, which House had started on before Wilson had even reached to the bar.

“We should go home,” Wilson said. “My shift ended an hour and a half ago.”

“Nuh,” House said. “’m fine here.”

“My butt’s sore,” Wilson said. “These chairs aren’t comfortable.”

“I can kiss ‘n’ make it better,” House said. He slurred, the words coming out rather jumbled together.

Wilson had yet to finish his first glass of champagne – it felt a bit wrong to be drinking in the hospital at all. He knew House didn’t care – he remembered when House had gotten drunk together with patients – once with the death row guy, and then with the woman who heard with her eyes, and perhaps on other occasions – and he’d been high, low and everything in between on a wide variety of drugs. However, as he himself was still sober, the image of House kissing his ass, in a very non-sucking up way, entered his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing to his side at House, to see that the latter hadn’t noticed. House hadn’t – he sat staring dreamily into the sky, newly re-filled glass of champagne in hand, obviously already oblivious to what he’d just said and the effect it was having on Wilson.

Then again, House couldn’t possibly know how many times Wilson had thought about House kissing him – not necessarily on his ass; his mouth would suffice just fine.

“So what’s your new year’s resu—ruso—you know,” House said, still staring at the stars.

“Re-so-lu-tion,” Wilson spelled out for him, grinning.

“Show-off,” House muttered. “Well?”

Was House drunk enough for this night to be a big black hole, come morning? Could Wilson himself drink just a little bit more, and then blame whatever was about to come out of his mouth, on the alcohol? Wilson wasn’t sure.

“I’m thinking about trying to be more honest,” Wilson said.

House looked at him. “Ev’rybody lies – you can’t change that.”

“Yeah, well,” Wilson said, “I can try.”

“So wha’ about?”

“What?” Wilson asked, playing dumb.

House looked at him. “’m drunk, not you. Stop pretendin’ to be a moron. What’re you gonna be honest ‘bout?”

Wilson shifted in his chair, staring at the sky. Even in his alcohol-addled state, House noticed, and sat up a bit straighter and a smile spread over his lips.

“Wilson’s got a secret,” he sang, grinning. “Wilson’s got a secret. Wilson’s got a secret secret that he want’s to teeell.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “That really isn’t the way to get me to tell you anything.”

“Don’t ‘ve to tell,” House said. “’m brilliant, and I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah? Well then, by all means,” Wilson said. “Figure it out.”

House pursed his mouth, staring at Wilson in concentration. The blue eyes seemed to burn into Wilson, seeing straight through him, and Wilson was worried that House might find a sign stamped on his forehead, saying ‘I’m in love with you’. It would be just like House, to simply look and see it.

But then he realized that House was very drunk and there was no sign on his forehead. House couldn’t possibly know.

House’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in love.”

Wilson spluttered. “How would you know that by just looking at me?”

There was a smirk on House’s face, which was so unsettling that Wilson hardly noticed how sexy it looked.

“For one, you’re always in luuurve,” House said. “An’ you just confirm’d it with your lack of denial.”

“I didn’t confirm anything,” Wilson said, rather sourly. “I was just surprised that it was the first thing you thought of. I’m not always in love.”

“So then what’s it?” House asked, leaning back, gaze traveling back to the sky. “What’s the secret?”

“There’s no secret,” Wilson said. “I just said I’d be more honest.”

“An’ now you’re lying. Bad start, Boy Wonder.”

“It’s not the new year, yet,” Wilson said.

House squinted at his watch. “Tis in six minutes.”

“So another six minutes of lying, then,” Wilson said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head.

House looked at him, and he might have been concentrating, or off in la-la-land – it was hard to tell when House was drunk, and since his mind didn’t work the way others’ did when he was sober, it probably didn’t work the way others’ did when he was drunk.

“You are in love,” House said, smiling slightly to himself. “And it’s with someone you don’t wanna admit, or I’d’ve known ‘bout it already.”

“Five more minutes, House,” Wilson said, pretending to ignore him. “Not that I’ll tell you after that either.”

House continued, paying no attention to Wilson. “And since I found out ‘bout cancer girl when you dated her – not tha’ you told me, but I did find out—”

“You usually do,” Wilson muttered.

“—then it must be something worse now,” House said. “Wha’s worse than a cancer chick patient of yours?”

He regarded Wilson thoughtfully.

“Can’t we just enjoy the view?” Wilson asked, a bit desperately.

Two cancer chick patients of yours,” House said, grinning madly. “Ooor—a cancer dude patient of yours.”

Wilson nearly choked on his own tongue. “I—I don’t—you—no.”

“Ah, the mouth says no, but the eyes say yes, oh yes,” House said. “Really, Jimmy? Boys, too?”

Wilson glared hotly at him, knowing that whatever he said, House wouldn’t believe him.

House looked at his watch again. “Well. Two minutes left of lying, so I guess I’ll’ve to listen to ‘nother two minutes of no’s.”

Wilson took a deep gulp of his champagne, and then another, until the glass was empty. He refilled it quickly.

“Finally, you’re drinking too,” House said. “’cause I’m onto something. Wilson’s got a secret and it’s that he’s in love with a boy.”

“Not a boy, a man,” Wilson snapped, and regretted it as soon as he’d said it. “Usually.”

House pretended to be shocked. “Truth already, Wilson? You’ve got one minute left.”

Wilson glared at him.

“So who’s the lucky man?” House asked. “Someone who’s usually a man – that Robert down in accounting. I’ve heard he’s gay. And when he’s not a woman, he’s usually a man.”


“But no,” House said. “’s not it.”

He leaned over, closer to Wilson, studying him with a very serious face. Wilson could see every line and every dip, the fine hairs covering his chin, and the specks of dark in his otherwise bright eyes.

House’s face came closer and closer to Wilson’s, and he could smell the alcohol on House’s breath. It was heavy and intoxicating, but the latter could also be because he couldn’t remember a single instant in their decade of friendship, when he’d been this close to House.

Then House closed the distance, and wet lips covered Wilson’s. Any thoughts Wilson may have had disappeared out into the wide skies above them, and he was left only with sensations – the feeling of House’s warm lips against his own, a wet tongue flicking out, the smell of alcohol so strong it nearly made him drunk too.

House pulled back, looking at the sky with a pleased grin.

“Happy new year, Wilson.”

Wilson choked on a laugh. “Happy new year?”

“Yeah,” House said. “It’s the new year, and time to stop lying. Who’s it you’re in love with?”

Wilson shifted. House could always blame the kissing on how wasted he was, but Wilson couldn’t possibly blame his words on the same thing. He wondered how badly it would affect their relationship if this turned out to be just a drunken mistake from House’s side, while Wilson said he wanted more.

He sighed. He blamed the new year, and his new year’s resolution.


House chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Yeah,” Wilson said unhappily. “Isn’t it?”

House glanced at him, smiling still. It was a bit unsettling, to see him smile so much in one night.

“Didn’t kiss you ‘cause I’m drunk,” House whispered secretively.

And then House’s lips were back against his own, and Wilson’s placed his glass of champagne somewhere, anywhere, so that his arms could be free to wrap around House, on this surreal New Year’s Eve.

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