Despite constantly acting like you were the biggest—no, second biggest—pain in his ass, House accepted you. Hell, he might’ve even loved you. Quirks and all.

That included your age regression. Not that he’d ever admit it—not unless someone had a gun to his head and even then, he’d stall—but something about it got to him. The way you softened. Grew quieter. Clingier. The childlike way your eyes sought him out like he was some kind of protector. It sparked something almost paternal in him. Almost.

After a long, miserable day of diagnosing idiots and dodging Cuddy, he limped his way into his office, mentally preparing himself to suffer through the last bit of paperwork before escaping to his apartment. But just as he sank into his chair, he startled—just slightly—at the sudden pressure of a head resting on his lap.

Yours.

You were curled up under his desk, like you were trying to disappear.

He glanced down, exasperated but not unkind.

“God, don’t-.. What are you even doing under there..?”