With a start, House practically leaped out of sleep at the boom of Foreman's voice. Might as well have been a damn alarm clock. After several disoriented moments, House blinked open his eyes. He took his time as he mentally noted the time based on the light and shadows in the room--somewhere around ten, he guessed. He thought of his alarm clock buried in his closet and silently congratulated himself for managing to get a decent amount of sleep, despite the time he spent awake last night and that he'd shared his bed with Dr. Eric-Always-Punctual-Foreman. His pain hadn't reared when he'd awoken, which was, combined with the rest, Foreman's reaction, and an already shortened work day, the start of a pretty good day. Foreman didn't seem to share his sunny optimism and good mood.

"Apparently, I have you," House mumbled, turning onto his side to face away from Foreman, pulling the covers back up and over his shoulders and holding them close. He wasn't delusional enough to believe that the action would actually deter Foreman and allow him to drift back to sleep, but he was relatively certain that Foreman would find it frustrating enough to shout at him a little more. Not that House was interested in being shouted at, but an outburst--and, with any luck, a wrestling match for the covers to go with it--would delay them even more.