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Footsteps approached House, their thundering rhythm swaying the toys on his desk. One of the toys fell and shattered. House angrily looked up at the figure responsible and saw a misshapen, green blob lunging towards him. It swung a large paw, knocking books off the shelf, but House jumped out of the way just in time. He grabbed his cane next to him and brandished it in two hands, swinging it at the creature’s head. The fiery edge made contact, and with a loud buzzer noise, it fell to the ground. House stood up in victory, waving his masterful cane like a trophy. Cheering surrounded him, along with the buzzer. “House! House! House!” they chanted. Grinning and waving, House blew kisses to his fans as they slowly sat back down in their seats. The cheering ended, but the buzzer did not. Actually, now that House thought about it, all he could hear was the buzzer. It increased in pitch, droning out anything he might have left in his brain, replacing it all with an eardrum-shattering beeping, unlike anything else. He grasped his ears, begging it to stop, but it kept growing in noise and intensity, until–
House’s eyes shot open. He stared at the ceiling, trying to gather up his thoughts as the beeping continued. He rolled over on his side, feeling the mattress of his bed squeak under him and his thin sheet fall onto the floor. He dug his ear into his pillow, the incessant noise still ringing. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore it when he heard a voice from afar. It sounded angry… no, annoyed. House was too tired to know.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
House rolled over again.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
House ripped the pillow out from under his head and mashed it over top of his ears.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
He shoved his hand over the pillow farther into his ears.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
“SHUT UP!” he finally screamed, relinquishing any sleep he might have had left and sitting up abruptly. When the noise refused to listen to his request as they so often do, he fumbled for his cane under the blanket off the ground and stood up with as much determination he could muster at… He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. Good god, six in the morning… A full five hours before his usual awakening.
He scrabbled towards the beeping, of which seemed to come from the kitchen. Incidentally, there was also a subtle plume of smoke, also apparently coming from the kitchen. House decided their possible relation was for another House to investigate, one preferably woken up at a much later date.
Again, frustrated exclamations escaped the kitchen doorway, followed by an aggressive flapping. House reached the opening and laughed to himself. Frantically waving a handful of oven mitts at the ceiling and standing on a wobbling chair was none other than Wilson. Good ol’ Wilson, House’s boyfriend of two years now, although it still felt weird to say that, was slowly destroying his kitchen.
House coughed loudly to announce his presence.
“Oh, no! I knew it, I knew I’d wake you up! I swear I meant not to, it’s just this stupid machine and, well, the window lock was broken, so I couldn’t open it, and the, the…” Wilson gestured, flustered and accusative, at the oven, “I was making you breakfast… I know it’s cheesy, but, well, there was actually cheese on it, and…” His flailing hands smacked his face as he ran them down over his eyes. House tried to act upset, an act made all the more difficult by the tightening in his chest.
“Poison the food next time instead of waking me up, why don’t you,” he grinned.
Wilson looked at him mid-flunder, wild eyes searching for the meaning behind House’s comment. House couldn’t help the sight of him and stifled a laugh. Wilson straightened, now exasperated.
“You’re not actually mad, are you.” Wilson’s brows furrowed, displeased.
House leaned forward and took a step into the smoky kitchen. “No, I’m not,” he admitted, too amused to lie. He reached for one of the mitts in Wilson’s hands and set it down on the counter. The younger man watched him abjectly. House sat himself pleasantly down next to the mitt, trying not to cough in the smoke. “Chinese?”
Wilson nodded dejectedly.
“You order.” House threw the landline phone at Wilson’s arms.