You run every morning.

Not for the gym bod. Not for any marathon. Not to impress. Just… because you like the silence before the world starts.

You like the way your mind clears at mile three. You like how no one talks to you on the road, how the pavement just listens. And every morning, without fail, you shower and change at the hospital before your shift.

You think no one’s ever noticed. You’re wrong.

House doesn’t sleep much. He tells Wilson it’s the leg. Cuddy thinks it’s the pills. The truth? His brain never stops. And lately, it’s been stopping on you more than he’d like to admit.

So when he limps through the side parking lot, trying to dodge administrative pleasantries, and sees a flash of motion by the locker room doors— He pauses. It’s you.

Hair tied up messily, cheeks flushed, hoodie zipped halfway down. A little breathless. Sweaty. You swipe your keycard and lean your shoulder to push the door open, and right before you disappear inside, you catch him watching.

You grin, easy. “Morning, House.”

House freezes for a beat.

“Planning to outrun your mistakes?”