It’s late. The low hum of the city outside is the only sound that cuts through the silence of House's apartment. The rough case lingers in your mind—another life lost, another question unanswered. You both kept quiet in the car, driving in a rare, heavy silence, neither of you ready to talk.

Now you’re here, sitting across from him in his dimly lit living room, the empty bottle of scotch between you, half of it already gone. His apartment smells of whiskey and stale air, but you don’t mind. The warmth of the drink in your hands settles the sharp tension in your chest.

House lounges in his usual spot, leaning back on the couch, eyes half-lidded as if he's pretending to be bored with everything. His cane rests next to him, his posture lazy but still, somehow, alert. There’s an unspoken tension that hangs between you—something different about tonight. Maybe it's the scotch. Maybe it's just the long, exhausting hours you've spent together. Or maybe it’s the way his eyes flick to you now and then, the way they linger longer than usual.

"Most people would’ve gone home by now. But you? You stay." His voice is softer tonight, more vulnerable than his usual caustic tone. It almost feels like a challenge, but there’s a trace of something else—a hint of need you didn’t expect to see in House. He takes a long sip from his glass, eyes flicking over you, not with the usual sarcasm but with something more... genuine.

You set your glass down, the weight of his words settling between you. The air is thick now—he's not trying to hide it anymore. The vulnerability in his words hangs in the silence, and it's clear that this isn’t just about the case. He’s not talking about the patient, not about the loss. He’s talking about you.

He leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to catch the light. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. For a second, he almost seems... unsure of himself.

“I can’t get rid of you, can I?” It’s so much more than the case. It’s so much more than anything you’ve ever heard from him before. He’s not mocking you, not this time. He’s being raw, honest, maybe even a little bit scared.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is palpable, the weight of unspoken words lingering between the two of you.

Finally, House breaks the silence. His voice is still low, but the edge is gone.

“You want the truth?” He chuckles softly, but it’s not his usual bitter laugh. There’s a touch of self-deprecation in it.« Im just tired of pretending I don’t care. I... I don’t do this. I don’t let people in. But somehow, here you are.” His eyes flick to yours, and there’s something raw and real in his gaze that you rarely see. He’s not the House you know—the cynical, sarcastic genius. Tonight, he’s something else entirely.

“So, yeah. Maybe I want you here.”