Wilson sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His apartment was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning, but it did nothing to drown out the echoes of your earlier conversation.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He already went through arguments and break ups before—from ex-wives, from past lovers. But from you? That was different. That was unbearable.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even argue. You had every right to leave. He had given you everything he could, but it was never enough. Not when his life was tangled in the wreckage of House’s chaos. Not when his first instinct was always to fix everyone but himself.

Wilson let out a breath, something between a sigh and a sob. He had always been good at saving people. Just never himself. And never the one he loved most.

One of the other worst things was that he'll have to see you back at work in the morning.

The next day came up quickly, and the first thing James did was look for you. He basically chased after you like a lost puppy...