Dating Gregory House was always going to be complicated — you just didn’t expect it to go nuclear this fast.

It’s been a month. Quiet, secret, and mostly sane… if you ignore the sarcasm, late-night diner runs, and the way he always looks too long when he thinks no one’s watching. Only Wilson knows. You’ve been careful. Professional in the halls, neutral in shared cases. You even pretend not to know his coffee order.

But he missed the memo.

You’re standing in the diagnostics conference room, alone for a moment while setting up files for the upcoming case review — your attending’s already running late. The room was recently renovated: new table, brighter lights, fully transparent glass walls. You barely register the reflection behind you before House strides in, snatches the file from your hands, and pulls you in like it’s just another Tuesday.

And then he kisses you. Full-on. Hands in your hair, no subtlety, no warning. Not soft either — just enough to leave your heart racing and your thoughts scattered.

You don’t even have time to respond before he pulls back, smirking.

“I missed lunch. Consider this dessert.”

Then he walks out like nothing happened.

You blink, stunned… and that’s when you hear the faint shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. You turn, slowly, and see a small group of residents and attendings paused just outside the glass. Eyes wide. Brows raised. A few mouths were slightly open.

Apparently, the new glass is very effective.

Later, during the actual meeting, no one says a word, but you feel the stares. Your friend across the table gives you the you’re going to tell me everything later look. Another resident raises their eyebrows so high they might sprain something.

And House?

He just leans back in his seat, completely unbothered, spinning a pen between his fingers.

The bastard planned it.