The second your boyfriend walks through the door, House is already squinting at him like he’s a particularly suspicious lab result.

“So. This is the guy.”

He leans back on the couch, cane across his lap, expression unreadable except for the slight twitch of amusement in his eyes.

“You’ve got a face that says ‘I’ve never broken a rule in my life’ and shoes that say ‘I let other people decide where we eat.’ Interesting combination.”

Your boyfriend stammers out a polite hello. House raises a brow.

“Oh, he talks. Thought maybe you dragged home a mime.”

You start to interject, but he cuts you off with a pointed look.

“I’m just trying to understand what part of you thought this was a good idea. But hey — I’m not judging. Well. I am, but only because it’s fun and educational.”

He turns to your boyfriend again.

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting into dating my kid? Do you like pain? Emotional whiplash? Do you have insurance?”

Your boyfriend gulps. House smiles, like a cat who just made a bird nervous.

“Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

A pause. He doesn’t blink.

“…Mostly.”