"House--" Foreman pulled back when House turned away from his kiss, frowning at him, trying to see what was the matter this time. He'd all but said straight out that he was kicking Marty out of his life for House's sake. Well, for House and for himself--he didn't need friends like that. He'd thought it might actually make a difference. House was getting his way, after all. Instead he got House shoving at him, spewing off about Nathan this time. Foreman couldn't fucking win. Reassure House about one stupid assumption, and ten more piled on. Anger clenched in his stomach and he stepped back the next time House pushed, yanking his arms back and half hoping House would fall. "I told you I wasn't interested!" he snapped. "For fuck's sake, we broke up five years ago! I haven't seen him since I moved here, I haven't even talked to him--"
Foreman turned to look over his shoulder when a car started honking at them. Fuck, it would be nice if people learned to mind their own goddamn business. He didn't register at first that it was Wilson, calling for House. Looking right at them, with his headlights still on. There was no fucking way he'd missed seeing them, unless he was blind and considerably less curious than Foreman knew he was. Jesus, the man must drive like a NASCAR racer or live three blocks away. Or else he had some sixth sense when it came to interrupting them. At least this time Foreman wasn't naked, but there was no chance of hiding it this time, either. Foreman let House go, staring at the ground, humiliation and anger heating his body and welding him to the spot. House at least had a sympathetic ear. Wasn't it just so goddamn amazing that his friend was so fucking supportive. If Wilson was on House's side, though, he'd probably be telling House that he was right, that Foreman couldn't be trusted, that there was no point to being with him because Foreman wasn't worth the risk.
There was a glint on the ground, and Foreman saw House's keyring lying next to his car tire. Foreman snorted, but he bent down and grabbed the keys, then stomped over to Wilson's car. "Here," he said, shoving the keys through the rolled-down driver's side window. "I wouldn't suggest giving them back any time soon."
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Foreman turned to look over his shoulder when a car started honking at them. Fuck, it would be nice if people learned to mind their own goddamn business. He didn't register at first that it was Wilson, calling for House. Looking right at them, with his headlights still on. There was no fucking way he'd missed seeing them, unless he was blind and considerably less curious than Foreman knew he was. Jesus, the man must drive like a NASCAR racer or live three blocks away. Or else he had some sixth sense when it came to interrupting them. At least this time Foreman wasn't naked, but there was no chance of hiding it this time, either. Foreman let House go, staring at the ground, humiliation and anger heating his body and welding him to the spot. House at least had a sympathetic ear. Wasn't it just so goddamn amazing that his friend was so fucking supportive. If Wilson was on House's side, though, he'd probably be telling House that he was right, that Foreman couldn't be trusted, that there was no point to being with him because Foreman wasn't worth the risk.
There was a glint on the ground, and Foreman saw House's keyring lying next to his car tire. Foreman snorted, but he bent down and grabbed the keys, then stomped over to Wilson's car. "Here," he said, shoving the keys through the rolled-down driver's side window. "I wouldn't suggest giving them back any time soon."