𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄

seventeen; tension at 221B

(allusions to, you guessed it, smut. It's the fun before the storm people. there's also plot tho)

{☀️🌩️}

James Wilson was having a hard time.

His situation at home wasn't what it used to be. In normal situations this could be discussed with, let's say, his best friends... but then again, his life was not normal.

When House saw Wilson buying a box of expensive chocolates, the diagnostician thought he knew what the oncologist was up to in his spare time. Cheating. House kept making little glibs about it throughout their day, leading to Wilson at one point confessing he might, hypothetically, be in need of a talk with a friend.

And while Vickie, in all her Vickie ways, had sincerely offered her time and company for anything the oncologist might need, Wilson was still debating on what to do when he came home.

And now, several hours later, here he was.

With a resigned sigh, he knocked on the door of apartment 221B. He heard shuffling from the other side, accompanied by whispering and more shuffling until the door opened to reveal House.

"Could I stay with you for a few days?" Wilson asked him.

House's eyes briefly flickered to the packed suitcase on the ground beside his friend before shaking his head, "You idiot. You told her."

"She told me," Wilson revealed, stunning the diagnostician into a silence. "Things have been crappy at home lately, I figured I wasn't spending enough time with her. I figured..." he huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Turns out you're right, it's always about sex. She's been having an affair."

The two best friends stared at each other, House debating what to do and Wilson in moderate desperation.

"Are you going to let him in or not?" Vickie's voice cut through the thick silence, coming from somewhere in the living room. "Close the door, you idiots, it's getting drafty."

House tilted his chin at Wilson, "Want a beer?"

The oncologist smiled, taking his briefcase and suitcase in his hands before walking into the apartment. House closed the door behind him while he greeted Vickie.

The assistant was seated on the couch, a fashion magazine in her hands. Her legs were stretched over the leather cushions, a pair of hot pink sweat pants adorning her legs with a white sweater on top that she'd stitched pink hearts into. Her black waves were curled high into a bun atop her head and a pair of bright red glasses were on her nose.

"Hi Jamie," she greeted back with her voice slathered in sympathy. She got up from the couch and approached him with her arms stretched out. "Hug?"

"I'm okay, Vick," he chuckled with his nose scrunched up. "And please don't ever call me that again."

"Sorry, Jamie, no can do," she brought him into a hug, "On both counts."

Wilson sighed, accepting the hug that his best friend was forcing him into. Slowly, as Vickie kept holding onto him and squeezing tighter, he patted her back as a small smile slipped onto his lips.

"Sunshine, let the man go," House spoke up. He limped back into the living room from the connected kitchen, holding two beers by their necks in his cane-free hand. "His lips are turning blue."

"Ha ha," she mocked, but released Wilson as requested. "Now, you—" she pointed at the oncologist. "—take a seat, watch some tv, drink a beer. You—" she turned her finger to House. "—come set up the guest room with me."