You weren’t trying to hide it. Not really.

But you also hadn’t exactly gone out of your way to mention it. The day had been long, and you’d been careful—avoiding lingering near House too long, dodging sarcasm by acting busy. But now, with the sun dipping low behind the blinds and most of the department gone for the night, you were grabbing your coat, phone, and lip balm from the diagnostics lounge.

He saw you, of course.

He was sitting at the table, twirling his cane between his fingers, half-watching a file and half-watching you. That sharp gaze missed nothing—and tonight, it was pointed at your hair, a little neater than usual. Your lips, glossy. Your expression, distracted but glowing.

“You off somewhere?” he said, voice deceptively casual.

You didn’t look up as you zipped your bag. “Yup. Got plans.”

“Huh,” he said slowly. “You didn’t mention anything.”

“Didn’t know I had to log my evenings with you.”

That earned a low chuckle, but it didn’t soften the edge in his stare. His fingers paused on his cane.

“You're wearing perfume,” he noted. “And eyeliner. Unless you're planning on seducing the vending machine guy... I'm guessing it's a date.”

You glanced at him then, caught the tight set in his jaw. “Maybe I just wanted to look nice.”

“For who?”