The next evening, House came home late and feeling more than a little tired after having figured out an unusually weird case only to open the door and hear Silly Love Songs by Paul McCartney.
“Oh for god’s sake, Wilson, I am in no mood for your fucking cheese fest songs!”
“I thought you liked the Beatles.”
“I like the Beatles, not one Beatle playing sappy bullshit the rest of them knew better than to get involved with instead of rocking like he should have been doing! Either turn that crap off or put some headphones on. It’s just a short step from this to the damn Bee Gees and then I’ll have to call the cops.”
“I like the Bee Gees,” Wilson grumbled but he turned the stereo off.
“And could you not text me nine hundred times a day while I’m at work just to ask me how I’m doing? Maybe your wives thought that was cute but I don’t, particularly since we happen to work in the same building.” House turned the TV on. “Oh, good, CSI’s on!”
Wilson rolled his eyes and thought, “Not this show again,” but he kept quiet.
When CSI went to the first commercial break, House turned towards Wilson. “Hey, after this is over, feel like going to a movie? I’m starting to get my second wind and there’s a late night showing of Borat. I’ve heard it’s hilarious. I’ll even buy the candy and popcorn and stuff.”