Foreman's grin widened when House complained over the water that he was going to smell like a fruit. "You know," he said, still feeling smug, "the irony isn't lost on me." He didn't bother responding to House's remark about Chase, although it made him think again about the moment when he'd tell Chase about this. He couldn't keep it to himself forever. Wilson already knew. The only thing stopping him--other than the fact that Chase would probably laugh in his face and refuse to believe him at first--was the news getting back to Cameron. Foreman doubted she'd be impressed. The more she protested she wasn't interested in House, the more obvious it was. Still, Chase was about the only person left at the hospital that Foreman could talk this sort of thing through with, and even then they mostly tried to shrug their way through conversations rather than actually talk. This conversation was going to be excruciating, but at least once they'd had it, Foreman wouldn't have to keep his complaints about House to himself all the time. He'd have someone to vent at, even if Chase blinked at him with his stupid fish-face and didn't get it. Foreman doubted House would appreciate Chase knowing. Chase wouldn't be able to hold back a smirk. House would know that Foreman had told him. Well, he'd just have to get over it. It'd be the whole damn hospital soon enough.

Foreman dried himself off and left the towel on the rack for House when he was done, then opened the linen closet and got out fresh sheets. He'd been about due to change them before House fucked him into the mattress, and he wasn't going to give House a chance to infiltrate the bed this time before he'd cleaned up. He went back to the bedroom and pulled on his boxers and a pair of sweats, along with the hoodie he'd been wearing before. He stripped the bed, threw the old sheets in the hamper, and started pulling on the new ones.