The apartment still smelled like him.

That was the worst part.

Not the silence. Not the empty side of the bed. Not even the way your chest felt like it was caving in on itself every time you stopped moving.

It was the fact that nothing had changed— except everything had.

Your fingers curled tighter around the edge of the counter as you stared at the untouched glass of water. You didn’t remember pouring it. Didn’t remember half of what you’d done since you walked in.

All you could remember was him.

“You used again.”

Your own voice echoed back at you, sharp, shaking.

And the way he looked at you— not guilty. Not even surprised.

Just… tired.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, hollow. “There’s always a choice, House.”

He leaned against the table back then, like it was just another conversation, like you weren’t standing there with your entire world cracking open in your chest.

“You were in surgery,” he said flatly. “Complications. High risk. You could’ve died.”

“And that makes it okay?” you shot back, your voice breaking despite how hard you tried to hold it steady. “That makes it okay for you to disappear like that? To go back to that?”

“It made it necessary.”

“Necessary?” You stepped closer, shaking now. “I needed you. Not—this version of you. Not the one that runs the second things get hard.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t run.”

“You did,” you whispered. “You always do.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

“I can’t do this,” you said finally, the words quiet but final. “I can’t keep waiting for the moment you choose something else over me.”

His expression shifted then—just slightly. Something almost human, almost… afraid.

“You knew who I was.”

“I did,” you nodded, tears slipping before you could stop them. “I just thought… maybe this time you’d choose differently.”

Another pause.

“…I did,” he said, quieter now.

You shook your head slowly. “No. You didn’t.”

And something in your chest broke with the quiet finality of it.

⸻

Now the apartment felt too big.

Too empty.

Your knees gave out before you could stop it, sinking down against the cabinet as a sob tore its way out of your chest—raw, sudden, uncontrollable.

It hurt in a way you couldn’t explain.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… deep.

Like something important had been ripped out, leaving nothing but space where it used to be.

Your hand pressed against your mouth, trying to steady your breathing, but it didn’t help much. The silence wrapped around you again, heavier now, filled with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.

Because the worst part wasn’t that you loved him.

It was that a part of you still did.

And that part didn’t just disappear because you walked away.

⸻

Somewhere else, in a different apartment that felt just as empty,

House sat in silence.

No TV. No music.

Just the faint sound of his cane tapping once against the floor before going still again.

Your words lingered with him, stubborn, impossible to ignore.

I can’t keep waiting for the moment you choose something else over me.

His hand tightened slightly around the Vicodin bottle, then loosened again.

For once, there was no immediate answer. No distraction. No easy escape that didn’t cost something.

His gaze drifted toward the door, unfocused, distant.

Like he was thinking.

Like he was still standing somewhere between staying where he was…

and getting up.