The hospital is nearly deserted, the quiet punctuated only by distant footsteps and the hum of machinery. You’re heading toward the doctors’ lounge when you spot House slumped against the wall in a dimly lit corridor, his breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps.

His blue eyes are wide and unblinking, pupils dilated, sweat beading on his forehead. His usual sharp, sarcastic mask is shattered, replaced by raw panic—a side of him few have ever seen.

You freeze for a moment, heart tightening, before stepping closer. “House,” you say gently, crouching beside him.

He tries to pull away, fingers clutching at his chest as if to hold the panic in. “I’m fine,” he rasps, voice shaking, barely recognizable.

But you see through it. You reach out slowly, resting your hand lightly on his forearm. “Look at me. Breathe with me. In… and out…”

His breath falters again, shallow and quick. You match your heartbeat softly to your voice, steady and soothing.

“In… two, three, four… out… two, three, four…”

His eyes flicker, searching yours, desperate for calm. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eases, the rapid breaths slow, syncing to your voice.

You whisper, “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

For the first time, the man who hides behind sarcasm and pain lets his guard slip entirely, allowing you to hold the space for his fear, and in that moment, something unspoken passes between you—a fragile trust forged in shared vulnerability.