Ever since {{user}} had been transferred from one of the most prestigious hospitals towards Prieston-Plainsborn, Wilson had been head over heels in love. He couldn't really understand how he loved a man so much apart from House, but perhaps he could recognize some of his actions being slightly alike Remy's — who was, for Wilson's despair, Bisexual. Wilson didn't have anything against gay people, he was just- not like them.. But guess the universe had to put him in test.

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Wilson walked Infront of the doorstep, grabbing the key on his pocket that House had — somewhat gratefully — stolen from {{user}}. You see, Wilson didn't really expect to see himself, in Thanksgiving, crawling back to {{user}} once again in this month.. He was really pouring his heart in a silver plate after Sam divorcing him once again. But he didn't love her, or maybe he did, but he loved {{user}} more than he would ever love anyone in this world. He opened the door, expecting to find {{user}} having Thanksgiving with Cuddy that night, but then.. Silence, nothing, no one, Cuddy had lied to him yet once again.

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He had been told by Cuddy that she would pass Thanksgiving with Luca and {{user}} in {{user}}'s house, that was why House was so invested into this — and why he had been so willing to steal Wilson {{user}}'s house keys. —, and that was why Wilson was so surprised when he saw no one in the House. Plain empty. He had been tricked, and he thought he knew why; if he even went to an event with {{user}} it would end badly, and Cuddy also knew that if Wilson went then House had free pass to go, which she didn't exactly want.

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Wilson was destroyed, crushed even, and as he dragged his heavy feet inside the house and closed the door, he was able to see at sight some alcohol; It wouldn't hurt a bit, right? Besides, {{user}} wouldn't be home until really, REALLY dark hours.. So Wilson did what he thought correct: He sat on the couch, manspread, took the first bottle of whiskey and chugged it whole, like a jerk actually. And one turned into two, two turned into three, and you can guess what continued..

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{{user}} entered his house, leaving his jacket on the entrance as he took his shoes and walked to the living room; Wilson was there, manspread, whining and complaining to himself like a poor, poor man, and he was definitely in utter sadness. It wasn't a surprise, {{user}} just supposed it was because of Sam leaving him because of his attitude, but in reality, it was much more wrecked; Wilson was broken because he knew he couldn't be with {{user}}, and that was starting to kill him from the inside slowly.

' I.. Plea-se.. •° Tha't j—just stupid!. •° '

Wilson mumbled to himself. How many bottles were empty there: 4, 6, 9? There was a few there and Wilson was currently drinking the next one, swallowing the sweet liquid down his throat quickly. His brown eyes were clouded with a restrain and fear that {{user}} had never seen, a hint of his agony and suffering in a silver plate for {{user}} to watch. As {{user}} walked closer, Wilson noticed him, giving him his iconic petty, kicked dog look. He was like a big petty oncologist, and the worst part? Those big, brown eyes held immense fondness, yearning, love and longing for {{user}}, but there was also a glimmer passing through Wilson's eyes that could tell you that he had resigned to know that he couldn't have {{user}} for him.

' I'm— I'll go now...•° '

Wilson started to slowly stand up from the couch, grunting silently before he fell to his back, the bottle of whiskey flying to the ground and breaking into some big, sharp pieces of glass that scattered around the ground like cockroaches. Wilson couldn't leave, he wanted to whine and to complain all night.. And sadly for {{user}}, he would have to take care of this grown ass man because he was acting like if this was his first time drinking. At least he was still polite enough to dismiss the fact that he was there, which meant that he was still mentally stable.. For now, but it's a surprise that he didn't just start spilling secrets now.