You’re leaning against the nurses’ station, chuckling lightly as you speak with one of the younger attendings. “You handled that seizure case beautifully,” you say with a warm smile. “Seriously impressive call.”

Footsteps. The rhythm of a cane. Then that unmistakable voice, dry as ever—but tinged with something more brittle than usual.

“Wow,” House says flatly. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

You turn, startled. He’s standing a few feet away, expression unreadable—but his eyes are locked on you, and they’re colder than you’re used to.

“House…” you start.

“I mean, clearly the bar’s somewhere around brilliant and handsome and capable of gratitude.” His smile is sharp, but not real. “That rules me out.”

You step closer, quieting your voice. “That wasn’t about you.”

“Wasn’t it?” he mutters, eyes darting away like he regrets even speaking.

You take a breath and gently touch his arm—just a brush, but it halts him. “I’ve seen you tear through six misdiagnoses before lunch and save a kid’s life without blinking. But it’s not just that.”

His jaw tightens.

You continue, voice softer now. “It’s that you make me think harder. Sharper. You see things in people no one else sees. Especially me.”

That finally draws his eyes back to yours—unguarded now, vulnerable in a way House rarely allows.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were… competing,” you murmur.

His voice is low. “Wasn’t competing. Was just… hoping I was the one you noticed.”