It started with a meme.

1:03 AM. You weren’t sure if he was even awake, but you couldn’t help it. The image of a grumpy-looking cat with the caption “When your boss limps into your life and ruins your emotional stability” felt too on point.

You sent it. No caption. No context.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then reappeared.

And then—your phone rang.

Gregory House. You stared, blinking. Then answered.

“…Didn’t think you’d respond,” you murmured.

His voice came through, low and gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t think you’d meme-attack me after midnight. What kind of monster are you?”

You smiled, curling under your blanket. “An accurate one?”

A long pause. You could hear the rustle of fabric, the soft exhale through his nose. Then—softer, almost reluctant:

“…I wanted to hear you laugh.”

Silence. Then your own breath caught just slightly.

“I do that every time you walk into a room,” you teased, quietly.

His smirk was audible. “Yeah, well. I wanted it without an audience this time.”

You closed your eyes, hand pressing to your chest where your heart felt just a little too loud. This wasn’t flirtation. Not really. It was too quiet. Too real. But you heard it—in the weight of his silence, in the sound of a man who hadn’t wanted to fall asleep alone tonight.