He is alone. The street lights illuminate his room enough so that he can see the vague outlines of furniture. Outlines are all that is left of his life anyway, he muses to himself as bitter tears sting his soft eyes. Only an outline of a friendship remained, because the one man who he cared about tried to drink himself to death the day before.

Wilson cried as he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, its light pooling out around him. He grabbed every bottle of whiskey and beer. He pours their contents into the sink biting his lip and drawing blood while the alcohol slowly drained away. Never again would he allow it to touch his lips, not after what his only true friend left attempted to do with it.

He sits on the floor and smashes each of the bottles, his mute sobs gaining volume until they filled the empty house, because it could never be a home if he was alone. The glass twinkles around him when he finishes releasing his fear and rage on the unsuspecting bottles.

His hands bleed and sting with the droplets of the bitter, killing liquid that he had carelessly left in the bottles but he doesn't care. He lies down in his battlefield of glass and sobs himself to sleep, because he wasn't good enough to keep his one friend from trying to leaving him all alone in this outline of life.

This is how House finds his friend the next day, bloodied and laying in the middle of a glass covered floor the tears of grief still fresh on his cheeks. His footsteps wake up the oncologist and he opens his eyes to stare up at Greg.

"Am I not good enough?" His voice trembles with a fear that he is inadequate in keeping his friend.

Greg only shakes his head, tears falling down his face as he realizes the magnitude of what he tried to do.

"That's not it…"

THE END!

R&R!

A.Thorne( in the sides of many!)