Foreman rolled his eyes at House's dig that sometimes, astonishingly enough, he liked to go out. There wasn't much chance of having a life while working eighty-hour weeks and taking extra shifts as their patient's status and House's whims dictated, so Foreman was going to take the opportunity when it came up. He didn't give a shit if House didn't approve. He really didn't expect House to show up again, to barge in like nothing had happened. He still looked pissed off, but Foreman would have guessed that he'd run away rather than try to deal with anything.

And he was right. House went into the kitchen, ignoring him, and without a word, started looking through his phone. Foreman should be furious. He should be grabbing for House's wrist, yanking the phone out of his hand, slamming him up against the counter and asking him when he thought he'd gotten the damn right to know about Foreman's every move. Instead, he leaned back in the doorway, crossing his arms, and watched, compressing the pointless feeling of hurt that made his chest ache, until it felt the same as his anger. "You think I'm lying but you trust my phone?" he asked. The corollary of everybody lies was everybody knows how to use the delete function on a phone, but of course House would have more faith in a fucking cell phone than he did in Foreman.