I don't own House or any characters, nor do i own 'Harder to Breathe' by Maroon5. This is my first House fic so please be nice!


"How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable. So condescending unnecessarily critical. I have the tendency of getting very physical. So watch your step cause if I do you'll need a miracle"

House was dancing around the living room, singing to the blaring music pouring out of the radio. "What are you doing?" yelled Wilson, hands over his ears in a failed attempt to block out the noise.

House turned to him and started singing louder. "You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here. This double vision I was seeing is finally clear. You want to stay but you know very well I wa-"

Wilson had reached the stereo and flicked the 'off' switch. He sighed as his hands came down from his head. "What," he demanded, "Was that noise?"

"It's not noise." House told him. "It's a song. A very good one." he suddenly started into a frenzy, playing air guitar. He jumped about as best as he could without his cane and landed on the knee of his good leg. "Thank you! Good night Detroit, we love yooouuu!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and shook his head simultaneously. He flopped down on the couch. "House, you need a hobby."

"Before you judge someone, walk a mile in his shoes." House said, "after that…who cares? You're a mile away and you still have his shoes."

Wilson groaned. "I hope you didn't steal my lunch again." He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was almost empty. But there, in the center of the top rack was a plastic tupperware container, filled with greek salad. Wilson emitted a low whistle as he shut the fridge. "I'm impressed House." He said. "You've managed to show a little self-restraint thereby revealing that you are, if any, the slightest bit human."

"Them's a lotta big words there Billy-Jean." House remarked sarcastically, in a southern accent. His normal voice returned as he said, "Wilson, if there is one thing to learn about me in the period of your living here, it's that-"

"You can read?" Wilson suggested, referring to the countless amount of post-its he stuck to his lunch containers everyday.

"No," House continued. "It's that I don't like olives."