The conference room buzzes softly with quiet conversation as House flips through a medical journal, muttering a Latin phrase under his breath.

You lean in, eyebrow raised. “Actually, that’s ‘corpus callosum,’ not ‘corpus callum.’ The ‘ll’ makes all the difference.”

House freezes, then dramatically clutches his chest like you’ve just dealt a mortal blow. “You wound me with your pedantry,” he says, voice dripping with mock pain.

You smirk, amused by his theatrical flair. “I’m just here to save your life—and your Latin.”

He shoots you a sideways glance, a flicker of a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t let this go to your head.”

As he adjusts his lab coat, his eyes soften just a bit as they meet yours—those rare moments when the sharp edges fade, and something warmer flickers beneath.