"I can't have any more booze tonight, since you can't give me half your liver I should keep mine in working order. There are no soap operas so late, but it's still to early to sleep on a Friday. Should we go to a strip bar?"
"Too cold outside. Why don't you play something on the organ for me? Nobody's used it since you moved out."
"You should make sure Mrs Wilson #4 is musically gifted. Of course this requires that you stop trying to recycle past Mrs Wilsons."
"I've made a celibacy vow. No more women for the rest of my life."
"No more women? Interesting. One wonders with whom you'll be having sex from now on. I can only hope it is with adult members of the human species."
"Stop arguing or you can forget the pancakes tomorrow. Also, you like to play."
(a few notes)
"How come it's still tuned?... You got it tuned recently, didn't you?"
"It seems a bit pointless to own an organ and not keep it in working condition."
"So what do you want me to play?"
"Whatever you feel like playing. You're the one with a musical taste here."
You consider the swift movements of the well-known, slender fingers. Learn by heart the shape of the fingernails. Count the crowfoot lines around the eyes. List every single hair in the stubble on the chin and throat. Imagine how it would be like to delicately stroke with your fingertips the fuzz on the nape of the neck. You indulge in the rare pleasure of very carefully looking at House, who's so taken by his playing that he's forgotten his pain and not remarking your gaze - not noticing the burning thirst in your eyes.