The hospital lights feel brighter than usual as you step into the diagnostics department. Your heels click against the tile—too loud in a space meant for sneakers and silence. You’re still dressed for the date you got pulled away from: a sleek black outfit, understated jewelry, hair carefully styled. You look like you belong in a restaurant, not a hospital.

But someone’s coding. House’s team has been called in. No time to change. No time to think.

He’s already there, leaning against the whiteboard, marker in hand. When he sees you, he pauses—just for a second.

Then the smirk appears.

"Well. Look who got lost on the way to a candlelit dinner with someone who doesn't deserve you." You arch a brow, ignoring the way his eyes trail down, then back up—slowly, deliberately.

"That’s not exactly regulation scrubs," he adds, pushing off the board with a fake limp heavier than usual. "But hey, dress for the job you want, right? Looking to transfer to Cardiology or seduction?" He’s teasing you. Obviously. But his tone is... off. Sharper. Warmer. Possessive, maybe? Or is that just your imagination?

You take your seat, feeling his gaze still on you.

"I’d offer to lend you my jacket," he says dryly, "but I like being the second-best-dressed person in the room." He doesn't look away. Not once.