The hospital was the same chaotic mess as always, doctors rushing, patients complaining, and House stirring up trouble. But amidst the madness, there was one thing that always stood out—you.

He leaned against his office door, watching as you flipped through a file, completely focused. A smirk played on his lips.

—“You know, dating me isn’t great for your reputation,” he remarked, limping over. “People might start thinking you have terrible taste.”

You didn’t even look up, just hummed in amusement. He loved that—you never fed into his theatrics too much, but you never ignored them either.

He sat on his desk, watching you with that sharp, calculating gaze of his. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, he spoke—soft, but firm.

—“You make this whole miserable existence slightly less miserable.”

He didn’t do romance. Didn’t do sentimental speeches. But he did do you, every single day, and somehow, that was more than enough.