House unlocked the door, limping into the apartment. He frowned.
No smell of any food at all. No scrubbing-sound, no nothing that indicated a Wilson.
His frown got deeper when he didn't even see a plate with sandwiches on the kitchen table. He rolled his eyes and tapped his cane two times on the floor. He then called out: "Wilson!"
No reply.
Of course.
House narrowed his eyes when he suddenly noticed the sound of streaming water. He rolled his eyes again. "He'd better not use up all the warm water." he muttered to Steve McQueen.
The rat got up on his back paws and stuck his tiny nose trough the cage, sniffling on House's extended finger.
House was looking into the kitchen absentmindedly, and didn't notice that the rat was nibbling his fingernails now.
Only when Steve accidentally bit in the soft flesh underneath, House cursed, jerking his hand away. "Damn rat..." he muttered, limping towards the hallway, heading for the bathroom.
His good mood – which hadn't been there to begin with – was as tiny as a needlepoint.
Until he heard the singing, that is.
"Well..." House grinned. "Well well well..." he whispered to himself. "Seems like my partner in crime likes to shower-sing!"
This couldn't possibly get any better. He slowly crept to the bathroom and pushed the door open only the smallest bit.
He peeked around the door and his home mate's voice hit his eardrums with full force.
"'Cause you're hot, then you're cold! You're yes then you're no! You're in and you're out! Up and you're down!"
House had to push his knuckles between his teeth not to laugh out loud. Inside his head, he was roaring with laughter.
"You're wrong when it's right! It's black, then it's white! We fight, we break up! We kiss we make up!" There was some muttering after that, but House didn't hear the exact words.
He couldn't stop himself anymore. Tears were in his eyes and his fist was kind of shot out of his mouth when he finally released his laughs.
Wilson let out some sort of weird shriek that could've been House's name. House didn't hear it. He was too busy holding himself up by the doorpost.
He saw a wet arm throwing something slippery at him. He ducked, still laughing, but moved to the kitchen anyway.
The piece of soap slipped down the hallway, bumping against a wall.
House decided he couldn't make it all the way to the kitchen, so he collapsed on the couch, pressing his hands to his stomach. "Oh, God!" he brought out. "Oh- my- God!"
He was gasping for air and the thought that he might wanted to stop laughing before he'd start hyperventilating crossed his mind. He slowly bent forwards, folding his hands in front of his mouth and trying to breathe steadily. That was pretty hard though, since the image of a singing Wilson under the shower crossed his mind every ten seconds.
Wilson leaned his forehead against the mirror, closing his eyes. Why did this have to happen to him? Why hadn't he heard House come in? He sighed and wandered if he could ever face his best friend again. "Well, no point in not trying..." he muttered to his mirror vision. He took a deep breath and moved towards the livingroom, trying to ignore the hotness of his cheeks. He looked around. "House?" he asked. His best friend was nowhere to be seen. He frowned. "House, I know you're here somewhere. If you're mailing Cuddy- Jesus!" He quickly sprinted towards the couch, jumping over the back of it. A small part of his mind was impressed he was still able to make such moves. The greater part, however, was worrying over House, who was laying beside the couch, struggling for air. Wilson kneeled beside him, laying two fingers on the side of his neck, taking his pulse.
"You idiot!" he hissed. "You're hyperventilating!" House's eyes met his and rolled upwards in an annoyed motion. The problem was they rolled all the way backwards. Wilson cursed and got up, fetching a plastic bag from the kitchen.
He placed it over House's nose and mouth and told him to breathe. "Come on, House, nice and slow. I'm not looking forward to preform CPR on you." he muttered.
The bag moved in the rhythm of House's breathing. After a while, the blue eyes fluttered open. "Found that funny, huh?" Wilson asked snappy. House frowned, grabbing the plastic bag and tearing it away from his face. "What happened?" he asked.
Wilson leaned back on his heels. "You laughed yourself into hyperventilating, and hyperventilated yourself into unconsciousness." he said.
House closed his eyes and arched his eyebrows like he was proud of himself. Wilson scowled at the diagnostician. "Did I scare you?" House asked.
Wilson huffed. "You're lips were blue!" he answered. House opened his eyes and pierced them into Wilson's brown ones. "That's no answer." he said. Wilson just glared at him. House grinned. "So I scared you." he said. Wilson shrugged. "Never mind." he muttered.
House's grin got broader. "You sang while showering." he said. Wilson felt his cheeks flush. "You're a shower-singer." House continued. "You never told me that."
"I don't usually sing under the shower." Wilson snapped. "Not when I know you're here." he added. House grinned. "I even called out your name when I got home."
"Why? Were you worried?"
"I was hungry."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you like my meals."
"Hey! I let you live here!" Meanwhile, House had sat up, rubbing his thigh. "It's a fair trade."
Wilson guessed he was right. As always.
He got up and extended his hand to House, who didn't take it. He hadn't expected it, but still... Wilson smiled half-heartedly and moved to the kitchen. "I'll start dinner." he said.
House nodded and dragged himself up on the couch, popping his beloved Vicodin. Wilson rolled his eyes, knowing it would always be like this.
And to be honest, he didn't really mind.
"'Cause you're hot, then you're cold! You're yes, then you're no! You're in and you're out, up and-"
"Wilson, you're doing it again."
"Oh... Sorry."
And without knowing it from each other, both men grinned broadly.