“You like explosions, dirt, and things that defy gravity?” That’s how he asked you. No warning. Just leaned on your desk during rounds and asked it like he was daring you to say no.

And you didn’t.

Now you’re here—surrounded by the roar of engines, cotton candy in one hand, the sleeve of House’s jacket brushing your arm. He’s surprisingly into it. Shouting at stunts. Laughing—really laughing—like someone cracked the weight off his chest.

You glance sideways. His smile is wide. Real. And when a truck flips and the crowd screams, he leans toward you and yells over the noise: “Best first date ever, right?”

You blink. “Is that what this is?” He winks. “Only if you buy me nachos.”