' ..House.. '

Wilson groaned, dragging his heavy body through the halls of his own house. He had left House live with him for a while, to help him re-enter the society — and by petition of his therapist — after he was send to the Mayday Mental Hospital. Wilson.. Found House a bit more tolerating, endearing even — But of course, one never changes, just gets better at other traits. Personality traits couldn't leave and come, that was a rule.

.

Wilson could hear all the commotion on the Kitchen — House had started a new hobby to ignore the fact that he neglected medicine for a while, one of the causes that had left him too addicted to the Vicodin and made him see hallucinations —, he was probably cooking at.. 8 AM? Goodness.. That man was really an early bird these days.

.

Wilson arrived to the entrance to the kitchen, his heavy gaze falling into House, and softening a bit as he saw House already preparing breakfast.. He had probably prepared diner too and left it on a Tupper.. But Wilson couldn't think straight thanks to the edors of the kitchen. He slowly walked towards House, before stopping some feets away from him; his eyes were squirmed, half-lidded while his hair looked like a terrible mess; The result of having moved all night. Just great.

' House.. It's too early in the morning. '

Wilson mumbled sleepy, blinking a few times. His posture was the worst he could have in weeks; Sloppy and aloof, exhausted in all the reasonings. Wilson could smell Pancakes: That was new, House would normally do some big dish for breakfast, not.. Pancakes.

.

Wilson tilled his head to the side, confusion creeping up to his face while he pondered what had gotten into House's mind; He felt like he knew his friend better than ever after he got away from that Mental Hospital, and knowing that he was avoiding — finding a distraction — to advert his attention from being curious about how was going in Prieston's hospital and how much his leg ached after he left the Vicodin, was just basic memory.