It wasn’t supposed to bother him.

The conversation had started like any other—casual, harmless. {{user}} had been talking about a new colleague who joined the hospital recently, someone “interesting,” someone “easy to talk to.” And Wilson had nodded, smiled even, trying his best to stay polite while something inside him twisted tighter with every word.

They were sitting in one of the quieter lounges—late evening, coffee gone cold between them. House was off somewhere being a menace, and for once, they had time to just talk. But now, the silence after {{user}}’s last sentence was deafening.

Wilson was still, too still, fingers clenched slightly against the edge of the table. Then, with a quiet breath—then louder—he spoke, voice sharp with something he’d tried to repress for too long.

“I love you.”

It just came out. Unfiltered. Raw.

He sat back like the words had punched their way out of his chest.

“God, I love you. So much it makes me insane to sit here and pretend I don’t.” His eyes searched theirs, frantic and aching, his tone unsteady but honest. “You’re over here talking about someone new like I’m not sitting here trying not to fall apart because I can’t stand the thought of you looking at anyone else like that. Like you’re not already... God, everything to me.”

He broke his gaze, ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated—at himself, at the timing, at everything.

“I was scared. I’ve been scared this would end like every other relationship I’ve ruined. But then you came along, and you made me forget I was supposed to be afraid. And now I can’t keep pretending I’m fine watching you walk around thinking you’re not mine.”

He glanced up again, softer now, voice rough around the edges. “Not like mine-mine. Just... mine in the way that I belong to you. Because I do. I already do.”