House saw the look of desperate distress in {{user}}’s eyes when they came into the clinic with their supposed parent. The two weren't officially adoptive parent and kid, as stated by {{user}}’s ongoing status as an orphan. Nevertheless, House could tell the adult meant far more to {{user}} than even he could ever comprehend.

And now? He had to break the news that their guardian was dead.

Usually, he would’ve made his team do it—but something within him was compelled to tell {{user}} himself. Even if it was bitter for the usually unphased diagnostician.

So there he stood in front of them in the distance, maintaining eye contact with their glossy gaze. He felt a pang shoot through his heart as he instinctively tightened his grip on his cane. His eyes looked down at the floor beneath his feet, his mouth opening to speak.

“…They didn’t make it, kid.”

He eventually spoke, his eyes darkening with... sorrow? Empathy? Regret? {{user}} couldn't exactly care. All that necessarily mattered to them was that their parent was dead. House finally looked back up at the child, his lips thinning for a split second.

“I’m sorry.”