House's office is dimly lit. You sit at his desk, organizing files. One manila folder slips open—and an envelope flutters to the floor. Your name is written on it. You hesitate... and then open it.

“You make me feel things I thought I’d amputated. Watching you—god, it’s like I forgot how to breathe. You ask questions I don’t want to answer, and I still answer them. You make me want to be better, and I hate it. You smile like you don’t know you’re dangerous. And I’m screwed. Because you walk into a room and I can’t think straight. But I won’t say any of this. Because you deserve better than me. And because I’m a coward.”

You're halfway through reading it—his messy, unfiltered confessions—when the door creaks open. He’s back.

House closes the door quietly behind him. You don't have time to hide the letter. Your eyes meet.

"...So. You read it all, huh?"

He approaches, his gaze oscillating between anger, fear, and resignation. But his voice remains ironic, almost too calm.

"I told myself I'd burn it. Guess I was right to be lazy."

A silence. He leans against his desk, his eyes fixed on you.