Shoutout to TheNinjaGirl123. Thank you for making maths unboring, my friend! Based of 5:04 "Birthmarks", and the story of how they met.

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Wilson: There was a medical conference... I was fresh out of med school. I didn't know anybody at the convention... I was at the hotel bar, trying to unwind, have a drink.

Wilson downed his drink in one, slamming the shot glassback on the bar. Clutched in his hand was... well, divorce papers. Sam had finally done it, got up and left him. Now he was alone, only 2 months out of med school, and in a useless conference in Louisiana with a bunch of old farts. He was 25, for God's sake! What was he doing here? He pressed his mouth into a thin line, his mood growing more sour by the minute. 3000 people at this conference, and he was inexplicably mad at every single one of them! Looking around, he called the barkeeper for another drink. Just get drunk and have some wild sex with a really hot hooker, he thought.

Wilson: There was this guy who kept playing Billy Joel's "Leave a Tender Moment Alone" on the jukebox.

Oh, God.
That song. Someone was playing his first dance song. Anger swelling inside of him, he marched up to the large man up to the huge man at the jukebox and tapped him defiantly on the shoulder.
"What?" the man said, turning around. He was at least 6'9"; Wilson only came up to his midsection.
"Could you please turn that off?" Wilson squeaked, trying to look bold but failing miserably. It was like a mouse squaring up to a lion!
"No."
Wilson nodded shakily, scuttling back to the bar, only to find that someone had stolen his seat. Groaning, he slapped the folder to his head.

Wilson: So I- I asked the man to stop, politely.
House: Yeah, you yelled politely.
Wilson: I was polite the first couple of times, but courtesy made no impression on this ass.

Why this song? Had Sam sent one of her lackeys here on purpose to piss him off?
Stay calm, James, stay calm. It's just a song...
"JUST TURN THE DAMN THING OFF!"

Wilson: So I threw a bottle at the mirror, which successfully conveyed my message.

Everyone turned to face him as he seized the nearest bottle, a Merlot, and raised it above his head. Rage spilling over, he hurled it towards the antique mirror...

House: And smashed a 10-foot antique mirror. And set an example to 2 other patrons who threw shot glasses.
Wilson: I had nothing to do with that fight. The assault charge was totally bogus. And I paid for the mirror.

The glass shattered, sending a shower of shards onto the floor. A couple of others, young drunk college students, threw shot glasses, jeering and shouting obscenities at each other as they threw punches at each other. Wilson's shoulders slumped, his eyes wide as he tried to process what he had just done. He could feel people looking at him and whispering as he hung his head, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment. What had he done?
"Put your hands behind your back, sir."
Wilson whipped round to see the burly security guy, tapping his foot expectantly.
"Oh, no, please," he said desperately. "I-I don't know why I did that, please, I'll pay for it, please-"
The officer grabbed his hands, snapping the handcuffs round his wrists.
"You're under arrest for vandalism, destruction of property and assault."

Costello: I think I have the picture. I assume you're the guy who was playing the song.
House: No, I was the guy who bailed him out.
Wilson: That's how we met. I was in jail.

The cell was dingy and dark, the small electric light flickering madly. The air smelt strongly of damp, and Wilson could almost taste the spores as he took a deep breath in, trying not to cry. It was pathetic, he knew, but he was absolutely terrified, stealing a glance at the seedy-looking skinhead leaning menacingly on the wall. The desk Sargent had informed him that bail was $2000, something he definitely not afford. He was stuck here until tomorrow morning, at least.
"James Evan Wilson?"
Wilson looked up hurriedly to see the desk sarg standing there, arms crossed, a sneer on his face. Standing next to him... Wilson let his mouth drop open. Stood there, a small smirk on his face, was Gregory House, one of the most outrageous and famous up-and-coming diagnosticians in the world. Wilson had read about him in various medical journals, and he had imagined him differently. He'd imagined him as a rather nerdy guy, tall, almost like a jock. In reality, he was scruffy, a small shadow of stubble on his face. His cheekbones were high and sharp, his eyes an electric blue which bored into Wilson's soft brown. "You made bail."
The officer unlocked the door, allowing Wilson to scramble up and scuttle out, looking starstruck as he gazed at House.
"I've taken care of this," the young doctor said, his smirk never dropping.
"Dr House," he stuttered, looking down at the grubby floor.
"Jimmy," House responded, sticking his hand out. Wilson hurriedly shook it, trembling all over.

Costello: This guy was a total stranger to you, and you bailed him out?
House: It was a boring convention. Had to have somebody to drink with.
Wilson: And there's the foundation of our entire friendship. If you hadn't been bored one weekend, it wouldn't even exist.
House: Hey, there were 3,000 people at that convention. You were the one I thought wasn't boring. That says something.

"Sureyou're not gonna flip out and throw something at me?" House joked from the driver's seat. Wilson was sat, an aura of tenseness surrounding him, next to him, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.
"Sorry, I'm just a little tense right now," he apologised, casting a glance at the folder, which sat in the backseat, alongside his jacket and other possessions. "Why did you bail me out?"
"Straight to the point," the diagnostician remarked, eyes fixed on the road. "Conference is boring as hell. I need a drinking buddy, you were bold, outgoing, mildly attractive. I said to myself, 'hey, this one will do'.!"
Wilson chuckled, shaking his head.
"What type of doctor are you?" House asked suddenly.
"Oncologist, why?"
"Want a job?"

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Remember to R&R! Hope you enjoyed it!