Of course House doesn't care about his history. Rhys is just another addict, just a pretty one who puts out. Useful.

But that's what Rhys wanted to be, so that's okay. Why should he care what House thinks, how hard he's trying? It's not like it's a good bonding point or anything. Even in rehab, they'd nailed that through their skulls: other addicts are shit company.

Failure. Oath-breaker. Bastard. Junkie. Whore.

And Rhys would try to haggle him down from half, but he'd pay the price. Because he's not that strong, not anymore.

"Yeah, I'm good that way. I don't bogart." He pastes a flat smile on, looking around the room again. He's not useful anymore, so...probably time for him to be somewhere else. He forces his back straight, tugs his hat down to cover his scarred brow.

"I'm going to see if anyone else needs anything, then. If not, then I'm going to go write shit on the boy's room walls. Just for old times sake."