You’d been friends with Cameron since week one. Same rotation, shared eye-rolls in lecture, and occasional coffees between cases. She liked to tease you gently about House. You, in turn, pretended not to notice how his gaze always hovered a little longer when you were nearby.

Until today.

Today, she cornered you in the break room with a grin she wore like a loaded weapon.

“So,” she hummed, twirling her spoon in her coffee. “Hypothetically… if someone wanted to know who you were dating, would that be weird?”

You frowned. “That someone being you?”

“Nope. That someone being… hypothetically... your boss.”

“House asked you that?” you said, trying not to sound surprised, affected, or pathetically hopeful. You failed at all three.

She grinned wider. “Didn’t ask. More like prodded. Questions about your Friday nights, if you leave the hospital alone, that kind of thing. Very subtle. Like a jackhammer.”

And sure enough, when you stepped out into the corridor minutes later, House was leaning against the wall like gravity depended on it, cane dangling from his hand, eyes already on you.

“Having fun with Cameron?” he asked, oh-so-casual.

You arched a brow, stepping closer than necessary. “Why? Worried she knows too much… or that I told her too much?”

He gave you that look—half smirk, half hunger, all trouble.

“I just think friends should be honest,” he said, voice lower now “especially when one of them’s obviously being interrogated on behalf of a very curious older man.”

He didn’t ask. But the way his eyes dropped to your mouth said everything.