Just Another Day

     Another one of his patients died today. His younger self had thought it wouldn't affect him as much at this point in his career. He didn't really want that though, he mused as he leaned against the balcony's edge. Being unaffected by death, especially the death of a child, would make him cold, callous; everything House pretended to be. So he forced himself to feel every ounce of grief he could while staying professional for the family. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, feeling the gentle breeze of the spring afternoon whip through his carefully groomed hair, releasing a piece to bounce forward and back against his forehead.

     Across the balcony, he heard the soft closing of the glass door that led to House's office. He didn't look up until he felt the strong hands around him, gently squeezing his left arm and wrapping around his waist. He stared straight forward into the beautiful afternoon as he felt a forehead hit his shoulder. It seemed wrong that the sun still shined as though nothing was wrong, as if an innocent child hadn't just died. House always knew when one of his patients had died. And he was always there to offer silent support. He never tried to make it better, because he knew from firsthand experience that it wouldn't help. Wilson's lips tugged upwards in a small, sad smile and he turned his head, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips to his friend's lowered head. Pulling away, he leant his own head against the familiar weight and closed his eyes as the world rushed around them.