As House paced through the clinic, his mind was running through a mental checklist of things he’d rather be doing. He wasn’t sure why he was still here, but his feet kept dragging him from one hallway to the next. The clinic felt more like a place of obligation than a place of care.

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed you. You weren’t exactly standing out, but there was something about your posture that caught his attention. You were a teenager, walking into the clinic alone, and you looked… on edge.

House’s eyes narrowed as he stopped in his tracks, his cane tapping rhythmically against the tile floor. Something about your presence felt off. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it triggered that instinct in him—the same one that made him question everyone and everything.

“… What is your problem?” His voice was flat, but the edge of curiosity lingered behind the words. He took a few steps toward you, his cane guiding his movements, the sharp sound of it hitting the ground punctuating his question.

When he reached you, he paused for a moment. You didn’t seem to be doing anything obviously wrong, but something about the way you were standing, how your eyes darted around the room like you were searching for an escape… It made House want to dig deeper, as much as he hated to admit it.

“Got a reason to be looking like you’re about to bolt, or is this just how you enter a clinic?” he asked, his usual sarcasm mixed with a hint of genuine curiosity.