Turns Out, Wilson Thinks He’s Gay.

Turns out, Wilson thinks he’s gay.

He drops that bomb on a Thursday night, sitting on House’s couch, where they’re splitting a greasy pizza and a large order of onion rings. Wilson’s not nearly drunk enough for it to be a joke, is the thing. His hands and voice are steady when he explains how it’s haunted him since he was a teenager, how he ran from it and into three failed marriages, how he cheated because he liked the thrill of the chase but was always unsatisfied with the outcome. He wants to tell the important people in his life to ask them for support in this new era, and House is the first one to know.

And yeah, it could explain things. A lot of things. Like the haircare routine, the regular mani/pedis, the shoe collection. This wouldn’t surprise many people. But House isn’t sure he believes him.

Still, Wilson is his best friend, so he tries.

He doesn’t interrupt the first time he sees Wilson getting a little too close and smile-y with a male nurse. (He interrupts the second time, because he knows that nurse is a vegetarian, and House can’t have that influencing Wilson’s cooking and takeout habits.)

He doesn’t sabotage Wilson’s first date with another man. (He does steal Wilson’s phone the next morning and delete the guy’s text asking for a second date, because anyone asking so soon is desperate, and Wilson can do better.)

He tells Wilson which shirts, ties, and pants make him look gay, only this time, he means it positively. He starts TiVoing Queer as Folk for them, instead of The L Word. He offers Wilson poppers one weekend, then has to explain what they are, and how he came to find out about them in the first place (he used to rave in the 80’s, so what?).

House is being supportive, really. Even if he still doesn’t totally buy that Wilson is actually gay.

Mostly, he doesn’t think Wilson is gay because nothing changes.

Wilson still comes over most nights to watch trash TV and drink beer. He still dutifully drops his responsibilities at work, albeit briefly, to provide a diagnostics consult, or to assist in some borderline illegal scheme. They still hang out, and argue, and laugh, and bicker, and celebrate wins together, and are there for each other in the quiet aftermath of loss. They’re still the same.

Maybe Wilson is just confused because he expected to have a wife and kids, and to live in the suburbs by now. Maybe he thinks the reason for this heteronormative failure is that he’s been chasing the wrong kind of tail, instead of the fact that he spends half his time at work and the other half with House, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And maybe House should feel guilty about that, about robbing Wilson of the life he deserves and forcing him into a fake midlife sexuality crisis, but he doesn’t.

He sort of feels bad about that part, though—the fact that he doesn’t feel bad at all.

But he’s forced to acknowledge his faults when Wilson approaches him in his office one night, trembling before he can even get the words out, I can’t hide how I feel anymore, I need to tell you the truth.

House accepts that he’s selfish because he lets Wilson kiss him breathless, knowing Wilson will never be able to kiss anyone else like this again, knowing that when he tells Wilson to take him home, he’ll never be able to leave. Now he gets it all, the early mornings and the late nights, the warm beds and the cold shoulders, the biting words and the gentle apologies, and every jagged edge left will be weathered by time.

He understands that he’s greedy because he drinks up all the praises and pleading, every filthy word Wilson moans into his ear and whispers into his skin. There’s a lifetime of hunger behind it, a cosmic collision of pain and joy and grief and devotion. It’s a wine aged for twenty years between them, bottled want and yearning, poured into an overflowing glass.

He recognizes that he’s possessive, because he knows he’s got him now, and it's for good. There’s no more sharing attention, or waiting his turn, or swallowing the bitter bile of jealousy. Wilson will stray from any map to follow his true north.

So, whatever, maybe Wilson is lying about being gay, but at least House is honest about being worse.