the hospital had calmed down a few hours ago, leaving the diagnostics offices dim and quiet— the kind of quiet that made everything feel heavier than it actually was. house hadn’t left. he rarely did when something was bothering him.

he sat in his chair, slightly slouched, one leg stretched out just enough to ease the pressure, his cane resting within reach against his desk. a file sat open in front of him, but it hadn’t been touched in a while— his attention had been somewhere else all day.

you’d come in a few minutes ago, saying something— he didn’t even remember what— but it had turned into one of those conversations. the kind where you stopped engaging halfway in.

now you stood a few feet from his desk, arms loosely crossed like you were holding yourself together instead of just standing there. you weren’t looking at him anymore, gaze fixed somewhere off to the side like you were already halfway out the door.

house watched you for a moment longer than necessary, narrowing his eyes slightly as he picked you apart piece by piece— posture, expression, the shift in your breathing.

“what,” he muttered, tone dry, trying for dismissive and landing just short of it, “did i accidentally say something honest again?”

you didn’t answer, which was new. his fingers tapped once against the desk before stilling, irritation flickering— not because you were upset, but because you weren’t fighting him on it. you always fought him on it.

he pushed himself up from the chair with a quiet grunt, grabbing his cane as he straightened. the movement was familiar, practiced, but there was still that slight jolt when he put weight on his leg.

“you’re doing that thing,” he said, now observational, almost like he was diagnosing instead of talking. “where you pretend nothing’s wrong so you don’t have to actually deal with it.”

a pause.

you still didn’t look at him.

“which is ironic,” he added, quieter, “because that’s my move.”

that should’ve gotten something out of you. sarcasm. annoyance. anything. but it didn’t. and that, more than anything, was what got to him.

his grip shifted on his cane, fingers tightening unconsciously as he studied you again, slower this time, like he was realizing he’d missed something earlier and didn’t like it.

“what did i say.” he asked like he was already disappointed in himself.