It’s after hours, the hum of the hospital dimming to low murmurs. You’d stepped out to check on a clinic patient, leaving your phone carelessly on House’s desk. You figured it was safe. No big deal.

Until it buzzed. Again. And again.

House pretends not to care—at first. He eyes it like it’s just another object in the room. But when it lights up for the third time and he sees the name—Marc, with a damn heart emoji—he stiffens. His fingers still. His jaw clenches.

He taps the screen.

“Missed you tonight. Next time, just me and you?”

House doesn’t realize he’s gripping your phone until his knuckles turn white. He tosses it back on the desk, just before the door creaks and you walk back in, smiling softly like you weren’t just making his chest feel like it’s about to combust.

He smirks—cold, sharp.

“You’ve got fans,” he says. “Heart emojis, too. Must be serious.”

He doesn’t say he read it. Doesn’t admit the tightness in his throat. But when you walk past him, he catches your wrist gently—too gently for someone who’s supposed to not give a damn.

“And here I thought I was the one making you blush lately.”