"han, ma bookie!"

“And you are?” you asked, standing slowly.

“I’m Castiel,” he said. “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

You blinked.

“Right. And I’m Father Christmas.”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Dean and Sam said they needed backup,” he continued. “They didn’t mention you.”

You snorted. “Likewise. I must’ve missed the part where Heaven started sending babysitters.”

There was a pause. His head tilted just slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle with one frustrating missing piece.

“I don’t babysit,” he said. “I kill demons.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So do I. Maybe we’ll get along after all.”

He didn’t smile, but something flickered across his face.  Curiosity, maybe. Intrigue.

And when Sam and Dean finally showed up, bickering about pie and hex bags, neither of you moved. You just kept staring at each other. Not in challenge. Not in distrust.

Just trying to understand.

—

The warehouse was crawling with vampires. You were already bleeding from a slice to the shoulder, but adrenaline kept you going. Your blade gripped tight, every step was calculated, every breath sharp.

Dean was right beside you, swinging his machete with brutal precision.

“You good?” he barked over the clash of metal and snarls.

“Just wonderful!” you shouted back, ducking under a swing and bringing your blade up, severing a vampire’s head in one smooth motion.

One came at Dean from behind. You didn’t hesitate, and you launched yourself forward, tackling it to the ground, wrestling for control before swinging hard and taking its head clean off, just as Dean turned around.

“Nice save,” he grunted, giving you a rare, genuine nod.

“You can buy me a drink later as a thanks,” you shot back, breathless.

It took another ten minutes, but finally, it was over. A mess of blood and bodies pooled at your feet. Dean leaned against a stack of crates, panting.

You joined him, pressing a rag to your shoulder.

“You’re getting slow,” you teased.

He gave you a look. “You’re getting reckless.”

You laughed, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

A moment passed.

Dean spoke again, quieter. “You’ve been weird lately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Define weird.”

He shrugged. “Distant. Quiet. Ever since… y’know. Pretty boy halo Barbie showed up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my God, Dean.”

“I’m just saying.” He glanced over at you. “You trust him?”

You didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “I want to. But he’s hard to read.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“Yeah. He’s not like us.”

You looked down. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

Dean didn’t argue but he didn’t look thrilled either.

—

The motel bathroom light buzzed faintly overhead as you struggled to wrap a fresh bandage around your shoulder. The angle was awkward, the tape kept folding on itself, and your skin stung with every movement.

You muttered a curse under your breath.

“I could help with that.”

You startled, nearly dropping the roll of gauze, and turned to find Castiel standing in the doorway, hands awkwardly clasped, eyes full of that same unreadable storm.

You blinked. “Do you always appear out of nowhere?”

His brow furrowed. “I knocked.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I thought about it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched before you could stop them.

Cas stepped closer, gaze dropping to your shoulder. “You’re injured.”

“Yeah, well. Part of the job.”

“May I?” he asked, gently reaching for the bandage in your hand.

You hesitated. Something about him, the way he looked at you made your throat tighten.

But you nodded.

He stepped closer, and his hands, when they touched your skin, were surprisingly gentle. Calloused, sure, but steady. Careful.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, voice softer now. “I’ve had worse.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I want to.”

You went quiet.

He focused on the bandage, but you caught the flicker of something else in his face, like he was concentrating harder than necessary. Like this wasn’t just first aid and touching you made something shift inside him that he didn’t understand yet.

When he finished, he stepped back, fingers lingering for half a second longer than they needed to.

“There,” he said. “You’re patched.”

You tried not to smile. “You’re a real poet, Cas.”

He tilted his head. “Is that sarcasm?”

“A little.”

—

The abandoned cabin was deeper in the woods than expected. When the ghoul came out of nowhere, everything turned sideways.

“Split up! Flank it!” Dean shouted.

You nodded, veering left as he cut right, the two of you disappearing into the dark in opposite directions.

In the chaos, you didn’t realise how far you’d gotten. Branches clawing at your arms, your lungs burning as you sprinted into the dark. Then came the sound of snapping twigs behind you.

It was fast.

You turned, and it lunged. And then your instinct kicked in.

Blade out. You didn’t hesitate, gripping the handle with both hands and swinging hard.

The edge caught the ghoul across the temple, sending it staggering. You followed through, slamming it down to the ground and driving your boot into its chest.

Then came the finishing blow.

You raised the blade high and brought it down again and again, until bone cracked and the skull caved in, brain matter splattering the forest floor.

You collapsed beside it, gasping, covered in dirt and blood and triumph.

By the time Sam, Dean, and Cas found you, you were standing over the creature’s corpse, breathing hard, knife still in your grip like a trophy.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

You turned at the sound of his voice. Eyes wide, relief crashing through you like a wave and you ran.

Straight into his arms.

“Missed you too,” Sam huffed, squeezing you tightly.

You laughed, a little breathless. “You have no idea.”

Next was Dean. Gruff and solid, and clearly holding back about seven different emotions.

“Nice work, sweetheart,” he muttered into your hair.

Then you turned to Cas.

He stood a few steps back. Stiff. Watching you with that stormy, unreadable gaze again. But there was something softer underneath, something almost vulnerable.

You stepped forward, arms just starting to lift before he spoke: “I’m not a… hugger.”

You paused, letting your arms drop.

“I thought as much,” you said, a faint smile playing at your lips. “Still. Thanks for coming.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“You’re welcome,” he said, voice quieter now.

And even without the hug, the moment hung there. He didn’t understand why that brief pause mattered, but he felt it anyway.

—

Sam was cleaning his guns, Dean was halfway through a beer, and you were in the shower, rinsing off blood and monster guts.

Castiel stood silently by the window, “Why do humans hug?”

Dean choked on his drink.

Sam looked up slowly, blinking. “Uh… what?”

Castiel turned to face them, frowning ever so slightly.

“She ran to you and embraced you,” he said to Sam, “And then to Dean. But when she came to me, I informed her I wasn’t a hugger.”

“Yeah. We saw,” Dean muttered into his beer.

“I don’t understand,” Cas continued. “Was that a mistake? Should I have participated?”

Sam cleared his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. “No, Cas, it’s not a mistake. It’s just- it’s a way we show connection, relief, comfort. You know, feelings.”

“I do feel things,” Cas said, genuinely puzzled. “I felt relieved. When we found her.”

Dean leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, well, hugs aren’t mandatory. It’s just something people do when they care about each other.”

Cas processed that for a moment.

“I do care,” he said, like he was surprised to hear it aloud.

Sam’s brow furrowed, softening. “Then maybe next time, let her hug you.”

—

You stepped out of the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt and joggers, hair damp, skin scrubbed raw from blood and ash. The boys had gone to grab food, but Cas was still there, sitting on the edge of the second bed, staring at the TV with the volume off.

“You watching something?” you asked, toweling off your hair.

He shook his head. “There’s no sound.”

“Still weird to me that you don’t sleep,” you said, flopping onto the bed opposite him. “You just sit there? All night?”

“I don’t require rest,” he said, tone soft. “But I enjoy the quiet.”

You glanced at him.

The lamp on the nightstand glowed warm and low, casting soft gold across his features. He looked almost peaceful like that. Hands folded, trench coat draped over the back of the chair, tie slightly crooked.

“You ever get bored?” you asked.

Cas blinked. “Sometimes.”

You sat up, grabbed the bottle of whiskey Dean had left behind, and poured a little into two motel mugs.

“Here,” you said, offering one to him. “For the boredom.”

He took it carefully, examining the liquid like it might be enchanted. “This doesn’t taste good.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s not really the point.”

He watched you drink, then mirrored the motion, grimacing slightly at the bitterness.

Another silence stretched between you. 

“Do you miss it?” you asked suddenly. “Heaven. Being… what you were.”

Cas stared into the cup. “Sometimes. But it was not what you think.”

You waited.

“I followed orders,” he said eventually. “Even when they hurt people. Even when I didn’t understand why. Down here, things are messier, but at least I know what I’m fighting for.”

You nodded slowly.

“You’re not half bad at this whole humanity thing, you know.”

He looked over at you, eyes steady.

“I learn from you.”

Your heart skipped. Just a little.

You looked down into your mug. “Well. I’m a work in progress.”

“So am I.” Cas said.

—

The case was small. A missing persons trail outside a tiny town in Colorado. Nothing big enough to warrant the whole team. Dean handed you the file and tossed you the keys.

“You and Cas take this one,” he said. “Think of it as bonding time.”

You shot him a look. Cas tilted his head, looking at you. “Are we… bonding?”

Dean smirked. “Not if you keep asking it like that.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. 

By the time you reached the motel, it was nearly midnight. There was only one room available (because of course there was) and it had two twin beds pushed against opposite walls. Beige everything, thin walls, flickering lamp etc.

You didn’t complain and neither did Cas.

You spread the case files out on the desk, along with a road map you grabbed from the petrol station.

Cas leaned in beside you, reading upside down. His shoulder hovered just a breath from yours. Every time you shifted, he shifted too. Not closer, but never away. 

“This symbol,” he said, pointing to a mark on a missing girl’s journal. “It’s Enochian. A warding rune.”

You turned your head to look at him. You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten. Your faces were inches apart.

Your breath hitched, just for a second.

Cas blinked. “Did I… do something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, stepping back, suddenly hyper-aware of the tension crawling up your spine. “No. No, you’re fine. I just- personal space, that’s all.”

He straightened. “You didn’t seem uncomfortable.”

You weren’t. That was the problem.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway. That mark, you said it’s Enochian?”

Cas nodded, still watching you a little too closely. “It’s meant to keep angels out.”

“Well,” you said, forcing your attention back to the map, “someone clearly didn’t want you snooping around.”

“I still found it.” he said quietly.

—

That night, you lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Cas didn’t move. He just sat by the window, watching the stars.

You weren’t sure how long you watched him before you finally fell asleep.

—

It was too quiet.

You and Cas crept toward the clearing where the last victim was found. There were symbols carved into the trees, a strange smell in the air like rot. The creature had been careful. 

You caught its eyes just before it struck.

It was stronger than expected. Bigger. Faster. The fight turned bloody within seconds.

Cas handled the first hit. You got the second. But it was the third, a swipe across your ribs, that sent you crashing into the forest floor, breath knocked from your lungs.

You gasped, hand pressing to your side, red already blooming across your shirt.

“Stay back,” Cas shouted, stepping between you and the creature, angel blade drawn.

But even he stumbled. It wasn’t going down easy.

Then gunfire. Salt. Fire.

Sam and Dean exploded onto the scene, shoving Cas aside just in time to land the final blow. The creature dropped with a sickening shriek, curling into ash.

“Where is she?” Dean shouted.

You managed to sit up, biting back a groan. “Here. Still breathing. Barely.”

Sam reached you first, crouching beside you with wide, panicked eyes. “Oh my God, are you-”

“I’m fine,” you croaked. “Just a scratch.”

Dean was next, crouching and pulling you into a hug before you could protest. Sam wrapped around the other side. You let them hold you, letting your eyes fall closed for just a second, grounding yourself in the feeling of home, of safety.

Then you heard him.

“I was worried.”

You blinked your eyes open.

Cas stood just a few feet away, his voice quiet, unreadable. His coat was torn, his tie askew. There was dirt on his face.

But his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, were fixed on you like nothing else existed.

You pulled back from Sam and Dean slowly. Your ribs ached.

“Well,” you said, exhaling a shaky breath whilst pushing yourself up onto your feet, “I lived.”

Cas didn’t move.

You held out a hand toward him to offer a handshake, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “Since you’re not a hugger.”

He stared at your hand.

Didn’t take it.

Didn’t say anything.

And then he crashed into you, pulling you into his arms.

You froze. Just for a second.

He was solid and warm and trembling ever so slightly.

Your arms came up slowly, almost in disbelief, before wrapping around him.

Tears stung at your eyes. He buried his face in your shoulder.

“I was scared,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded against him. “I know. Me too.”

—

Sam and Dean had gone out. Probably for food like usual, or maybe just to give you space. You were back in the room, stitched up and bandaged, lying across the bed with your arm resting over your eyes.

You heard the door open gently, feeling the air shift as someone entered.

Then the rustle of a trench coat. You lifted your arm and squinted.

Cas stood near the door, uncertain. “May I sit?”

You nodded.

He moved quietly, settling at the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap.

You watched him for a long moment.

“You okay?” you asked.

He tilted his head. “You’re the one who was injured.”

“Still,” you said softly. “You looked shaken back there.”

Cas didn’t answer immediately.

Then he spoke quietly, “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, trying to sound light. “I usually dodge better.”

Cas gave the smallest smile, barely there, but warm.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I knew the others would come, but the thought of losing you…”

He trailed off. You sat up slowly, wincing at the pull of your stitches. Cas looked at you, his eyes searching.

“I thought you didn’t understand human emotion,” you teased, voice gentle.

“I don’t,” he murmured. “But you make me want to try.”

The room went quiet.

The air between you felt different.

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to test the space.

You didn’t move nor blink.

He whispered, “Can I…?”

But before the question could finish, you leaned in, closing the space, pressing your lips softly to his.

It was barely a kiss. Just breath and warmth and the kind of stillness that says everything.

He pulled back first, eyes wide like he couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

You smiled, heart thundering. “Still not a hugger?”

Cas looked at you, gaze steady. Then he shook his head slowly.

“Not with you,” he said quietly.

That made something in your chest ache in the best possible way.

Before Dean could retort, the sound of approaching footsteps crunched over the gravel. Both brothers turned, flashlights catching the figure approaching, a woman, bundled in a worn jacket, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She moved with purpose but hesitated just slightly as she drew closer, her eyes finding Sam first, and softening into a small, relieved smile.

"Hey, Sam," you said, your voice a little shy but steady.

Sam stepped forward, offering a quick, familiar hug. "Glad you made it," he said warmly, pulling back to gesture towards the man stood next to him. "This is my brother, Dean."

You nodded, offering a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

Sam turned to Dean, “We met back at Stanford.”

Dean’s arms stayed crossed, but he gave a short nod, his gaze sharp and assessing. "So," he drawled, a half-smirk tugging at his mouth, "you’re the brain Sammy’s been singing songs about."

You flushed, ducking your head a little. "Just tried to keep him out of too much trouble."

Dean huffed out a laugh and for a second, something shifted between you, the air tightening just slightly.

"Come on," Sam said, cutting through the moment. "We’ve got files set up inside. Could use your eyes."

You followed them inside the warehouse, the chill sinking into your bones. In the makeshift ‘base’ they’d set up a battered table with scattered papers, news articles, and maps. You leaned in, scanning the information. Patterns leapt out at you almost immediately.

"It’s not random," you said, almost without thinking. "Look. The disappearances form a rough line, following the river. Whoever or whatever it is, it's moving upstream."

Dean leaned over your shoulder to see what you were pointing at, his breath ghosting close enough to raise goosebumps along your skin.

He let out a low whistle. "Well, look at that. A fresh pair of eyes is actually worth something."

You shot him a glance, and he met it head-on, something unreadable sparking in his gaze before Sam, oblivious, cleared his throat and started laying out a new map.

You turned back to the work, pretending not to feel Dean’s eyes linger for just a second longer than necessary.

–

The motel room was quiet, apart from the faint hum of the heater struggling against the night chill. Sam was out cold, a lump under the covers, but you sat cross-legged at the tiny, battered table, papers spread out before you like the pieces of some impossible puzzle.

Your pen tapped absently against your notebook as you squinted at the evidence. There was a thread here,  you could feel it, but it kept slipping just out of reach.

The soft creak of a floorboard snapped you from your thoughts. You looked up, startled, as Dean emerged from the shadows of the other bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He froze when he saw you. "You’re still up?" he asked, voice low and rough with sleep.

You gave a sheepish shrug. "Just... trying to make sense of all this."

Dean wandered over, peering down at the mess of papers like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something understandable. He scratched the back of his neck, clearly lost.

"Yeah, uh..." he muttered, squinting. "Research ain’t really my thing. I'm more of a 'shoot first, ask questions never' kinda guy."

You laughed under your breath, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. Dean caught it, his mouth twitching into a grin.

"But," he said, pulling out the chair opposite you and dropping into it with a dramatic sigh, "I’m a hell of a paperweight if you need one."

You smiled, a soft, genuine thing you didn’t bother hiding. "Thanks," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, you worked in companionable silence. You scribbling notes, Dean pretending not to fall asleep sitting upright. Every now and then, you’d explain something out loud, and he’d grunt in agreement even if he didn't totally get it.

And maybe it was the late hour, or the way the lamplight caught the easy crinkle of his smile, but something warm and steady started to settle between you.

–

Over the next few days, things felt almost normal.

You, Sam, and Dean moved from one case to the next with a rhythm you hadn’t expected. Even though you were quieter than the two of them, you’d found a place between them. You started to feel like part of the team, even if you stayed a little more in the background than Sam and Dean.

Sam noticed the change before you did. He caught the way Dean always made a point to sit just a little closer to you during dinner or hand you a cup of coffee without a word. And while you were still the quiet one, there was an ease to it now. You weren’t shy so much as content in your own space with them. The moments between you and Dean felt lighter now, no longer full of awkward silences, but small, quiet exchanges you didn’t have to force.

It wasn’t the loud banter or the sarcastic comments that kept you grounded with him. It was the way he always showed up when you needed him, even without you asking. The subtle ways he’d make sure you were alright when you stayed up late, the rare moments where his usual smirk would soften just enough to show he cared.

You didn’t speak much to each other and you weren’t sure either of you had the words to describe what was happening but there was a quiet, unspoken understanding that felt like it was pulling you closer with each passing day. You didn’t have to be chatty to share the space. Sometimes, it was just the way he’d catch your eye across the room, or how you’d both share a laugh over something only the two of you seemed to find funny. 

The connection between you was deeper than words.

–

The night air was thick with tension, the usual quiet of the woods disturbed only by the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. You and Dean had tracked the creature through the forest, hoping to end this hunt before it went any further. But things had taken a turn.

You were in the thick of it now, wrestling with the shapeshifter, each of you trying to get the upper hand. Dean was shouting from a distance, but you could barely hear him over the rush of adrenaline in your ears.

"Watch out!" Dean called again, but you didn’t have time to respond. You twisted, fighting to keep control, your body moving faster than your mind could catch up. The creature was quick, stronger than expected, and when it slammed you into the ground, you felt the wind knock out of your lungs.

Then, in a blur, it was over.

You barely registered the glint of metal before the pain hit.

Dean’s voice cut through the fog. “Sweetheart!”

His footsteps were frantic, you heard him shouting your name, but everything felt muffled, distant. Like you were underwater.

“No-”

You tried to move, to push yourself up, but the strength drained out of you as quickly as it had come. Everything was spinning. Your hands were slick with blood, and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. It was too much.

Dean was by your side in an instant. His eyes were wide, his expression torn between fury and fear. 

“Sweetheart! Get up! Please!” His voice was cracking, desperation choking his words as he lifted your head into his lap, shaking you gently. “Stay with me!”

But you couldn’t answer. You couldn’t find the strength. Your vision was fading, the world dimming at the edges as you drifted into unconsciousness.

Dean’s breath was ragged as he pressed his hand to your wound, his hands trembling. His voice came again, quieter now, but just as desperate. “Please... don’t leave me.”

You didn’t hear him anymore. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his hand, the last thing you saw was his face. The one that had been a constant presence in your life over the past few weeks, the one that had grown into something you couldn't ignore. The one that was breaking now, because of you.

–

The white hum of hospital machines was the first thing you registered. Then, the sterile scent and the dull ache in your abdomen.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, lashes fluttering against too-bright lights as you took in the quiet, unfamiliar room. It wasn’t the motel. Not the forest. You were alive, that much you could gather, but only just.

Your head turned slightly, and that’s when you saw him.

Dean was slouched in a chair beside your bed, arms folded tightly across his chest, chin resting against his shoulder. He looked uncomfortable as hell, like he’d passed out mid-guard duty, but still, there he was. Sitting right next to you, like he’d never left.

A moment passed before the door creaked open and Sam slipped in, holding two paper cups of coffee. He froze when he saw your eyes open.

“Hey,” he whispered, eyebrows lifting as he set the drinks down and crossed the room quickly. “You’re awake.”

You managed a faint nod. Your throat felt like sandpaper.

Sam’s smile was warm and tired. “Don’t talk yet. Just rest.” He glanced over at his brother, then leaned in. “He hasn’t left since they brought you in. Wouldn’t even let the nurses move him. This is the first time he’s properly slept.”

You looked back at Dean. There were dark circles under his eyes, his jaw unshaven, his flannel rumpled. Even unconscious, he looked like he was still on edge.

“He was… scared,” Sam added softly, almost like it hurt him to admit it. “Didn’t say it, obviously. But he didn’t stop pacing until he passed out.”

As if on cue, Dean stirred, brow twitching and nose scrunching slightly before his eyes blinked open. He straightened instantly, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing over at you.

And when he saw your eyes open, really open, a flicker of something raw and wordless passed across his face; relief, disbelief, something deeper. His lips parted like he might actually say something meaningful.

But then the walls went right back up.

“You’re awake,” he said gruffly, standing abruptly like sitting too long had made his skin itch. “Good. That’s… good. We kinda need you.”

You blinked.

“Hunt’s still going,” Dean muttered, voice flat but tight around the edges. “Can’t get rid of us that easily.”

And then, without another glance, he turned and left the room.

You exhaled slowly, not sure whether you wanted to laugh or cry.

Sam sat down beside you, shaking his head with a small smile. “That’s Dean for ‘I was scared out of my mind and I’m glad you’re okay.’”

You didn’t respond and you didn’t need to. That second of real emotion before he slammed the door shut again said more than his words ever could.

–

It had been a week since the hospital.

You were healing, physically, anyway. The stitches in your side still pulled with every breath, but you could handle that. What hurt more was Dean.

He barely spoke to you now.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. Didn’t sit beside you like he used to. If you joined a conversation, he found a reason to walk away. If you caught his eye, he looked past you. The warmth from those early nights, the quiet connection you’d built over lore books and tired glances, had gone cold.

And the worst part was, you didn’t know why.

One afternoon, while you and Sam were holed up in the motel researching lore, you couldn’t take it anymore. You closed your book slowly, heart thudding.

“Has Dean said something?”

Sam glanced over from his laptop. “Said something?”

“About me,” you clarified, keeping your eyes on the notebook in your lap. “He’s… different. I thought maybe he said something to you.”

There was a pause. A heavy one.

“So you noticed he’s ignoring you,” Sam said gently.

You looked up, surprised by how casually he said it, like it was obvious.

Sam offered a small, sympathetic smile. “No. He hasn’t said a word. Which is exactly the problem.”

–

It was later that evening when Sam found Dean leaning against the Impala outside, arms crossed, a bottle cap flipping between his fingers.

“You’re avoiding her,” Sam said, straight to the point.

Dean didn’t even look at him. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“She’s fine now,” Dean muttered. “Alive. Breathing. That’s what matters.”

“That’s not the point.”

Dean scoffed. “Jesus, Sam. Can we not do this?”

“No,” Sam snapped. “You sat at her hospital bed for three days, Dean. You didn’t sleep. You barely ate. And now she’s awake and you’re acting like she doesn’t exist.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, bottle cap stilling in his palm.

“She asked me if you’d said anything,” Sam added, voice lower now. “She knows something’s off.”

Dean looked away.

“You care about her. You don’t have to say it, but it’s written all over your face.”

“She almost died,” Dean said finally, voice sharp, like a defence mechanism firing on instinct. “She nearly bled out because of us.”

“She nearly bled out doing her job. Same as us.”

Dean’s silence spoke volumes.

Sam softened just enough to let the words land. “You don’t get to care about someone and then shut them out because it’s easier for you. That’s not fair to her. Talk to her, Dean. Before you lose the chance.”

–

You were sitting on the edge of your motel bed, fingers absently tracing the folded crease of a lore book you’d read three times already without absorbing a single word. 

A quiet knock on the doorframe made you glance up.

Dean stood there.

His hands were in his pockets, shoulders tense, like he was one step away from bolting. His eyes met yours, hesitant. Guarded.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, heart giving a traitorous little skip.

He stepped in slowly, shutting the door behind him but not coming too close. You waited, not trusting yourself to speak first.

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’ve been a dick.”

You blinked. Not what you expected.

Dean exhaled, finally lifting his gaze to yours. “You almost died. And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I shut you out. It wasn’t fair to you.”

The words hung between you, heavy but honest.

Your throat felt tight. “Yeah,” you said softly. “It hurt.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I just- It’s easier to push people away than feel like that again. But you didn’t deserve that.”

You didn’t speak, just looked at him.

There was something in his expression. Something raw. Unarmoured.

Dean took a small step closer.

You could feel the shift in the air between you. Like the world had gone quiet. His eyes searched yours, lingering, dropping for a split second to your lips before flicking back up.

You felt frozen in place. 

Then-

Click.

The door swung open.

Sam walked in, holding a folder. “Hey, I found something on-”

He stopped mid-step, sensing the tension instantly.

You and Dean shot apart like magnets reversed. He cleared his throat, stepping back.

You glanced down at your lap, suddenly very interested in the lore book again.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Everything okay?” he asked carefully.

Dean gave a short, gruff nod. “Peachy.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say something else but didn’t. Instead, he sat at the table and opened the folder, the moment gone, like a dream interrupted.

But your heart was still racing.

–

The town was quiet, the kind of quiet that made your hunter instincts twitch.

Sam stayed behind in the motel with a stack of lore books and newspaper clippings, but you and Dean were sent to talk to a local who claimed to have seen something off. To get the guy talking, you needed a cover and apparently, "newlyweds just moved into the neighbourhood" was the chosen angle.

Dean didn’t stop smirking the whole walk up the driveway.

“Wipe that look off your face.” you uttered.

“What look?” he said, all mock innocence. “I’m just a man in love with his new wife. Can’t help the glow, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes.

Once inside the house, the plan was simple: charm, probe, and get intel. Dean let you do most of the talking, but his hand found the small of your back more than once. His thumb traced slow circles there, subtle, but not for you.

You could feel his gaze on you even when you weren’t looking.

The man you were interviewing seemed friendly, a little nervous. The moment you mentioned hearing odd noises at night, he tensed, eyes darting and voice faltering.

Dean clocked it immediately.

“Mind if I use your bathroom before we go?” he asked casually.

The man nodded and gestured to the hall.

Dean took your hand the second you were out of sight and pulled you with him.

“Back room,” he whispered. “Guy hesitated when you brought up noises. Whatever he knows, it’s in there.”

You barely had time to nod before the door behind you creaked.

Footsteps.

Dean reacted fast, hands on your waist, spinning you into him, lips crashing onto yours as your back hit the bookshelf.

You barely had time to gasp.

It was intense, all heat, pressure, the scent of leather and aftershave lingering. His hand cradled the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as if he couldn’t help it.

A cough broke the spell.

The man stood in the doorway, blushing furiously. “Oh, I- I didn’t realise, sorry. Newlyweds, of course. I remember those days.”

Dean pulled back just enough to breathe, still close.

The man gave an awkward smile and quickly left the room, muttering something about “giving you some privacy.”

Dean stepped back slowly, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to ask.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s okay. It was smart.”

There was a beat. A loaded one.

Neither of you moved.

Then Dean blinked, stepped away, and nodded toward the desk. “Let’s grab the files and get outta here.”

You nodded, ignoring how warm your face felt, or the fact that your lips still tingled.

You regrouped back at the motel. Maps, scribbled notes, and Sam’s laptop forming a battlefield of lore and theories. The lead from the guy you'd visited had paid off: signs of a shifter. Classic behaviour. Now you just needed to corner it.

You sat close to Sam, discussing the route, piecing the pattern together. Dean watched quietly from the other side of the room, pretending to be focused on cleaning his weapon. Every now and then, your gaze flicked to him. Lingering. Unspoken things hanging in the air between you.

No one mentioned the kiss.

–

The plan split the three of you up, covering more ground but keeping in contact via radio. Dean swept the east wing of the abandoned building while you and Sam took the west.

Until he heard it.

“Dean!”

Your voice, panicked and breathless, echoing down the dark corridor.

He spun around, grip tightening on the shotgun. “Sweetheart?”

You emerged from the shadows, eyes wide.

“I got split up from Sam,” you said, rushing toward him. “I couldn’t reach you. I thought something had happened.”

Your arms wrapped around his torso. He stiffened, caught off guard.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, resting a hand on your back. “I’m here.”

You looked up at him, face flushed with relief. Something about it felt off to him. But then you cupped his face, eyes shimmering, and kissed him.

His breath caught.

It was warm. Soft. Familiar.

But wrong.

Too eager. Too sudden.

You wouldn’t kiss him like this. Not here. Not now. Not while Sam could be in danger. Not without saying something first. A joke, a deflection, anything that resembled you.

He froze.

Then pulled back, squinting.

“…You’re not her.”

The imposter barely had time to snarl before Dean jammed a silver blade straight into its chest, allowing it to drop.

You and Sam had barely made it through the hallway when the sound of a struggle echoed from the east wing. A loud thud, a grunt, and silence.

Sam raised his gun, eyes meeting yours. “That’s Dean.”

You nodded, heart hammering. The two of you bolted down the corridor, footsteps echoing off the cold concrete walls. You rounded the corner just in time to see Dean standing over a pile of burning flesh, disintegrating under the heat, silver blade still clutched in his hand.

“It looked like you,” he muttered looking your way, but never once meeting your eyes, “I burnt the body so you didn’t have to see it.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat. Sam’s jaw dropped as he lowered his gun slowly, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“Dean…” Sam said cautiously. “How did you- how did you know it wasn’t her?”

Dean’s eyes didn’t leave the shapeshifter’s body. He didn’t speak right away but then finally looked up. Not at Sam, but at you.

“I just did,” he said. “Trust me.”

You swallowed hard, a chill running down your spine. 

He had known. Somehow, without question, he’d known the thing that kissed him wasn’t you.

–

The next morning, the motel felt unusually quiet. You packed your things with a heavy heart, the events of the night before still swirling in your mind.

Sam was already up, waiting by the door. You gave him a small smile and a quick hug. “Thanks for everything, Sam.”

He nodded, his usual calm reassurance grounding you. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You stepped outside, and the cool morning air hit your skin as Dean pulled up in the Impala, engine rumbling softly. You slid into the passenger seat without much fuss, but as you neared the train station, something about your goodbye was different this time.

You paused by the car door, hesitating. A flicker of uncertainty in your eyes that Dean hadn’t seen when you said goodbye to Sam.

He swallowed hard, watching you walk away toward the entrance of the station. His chest tightened.

Then, like a sudden spark, he pushed the door open and took off after you.

“Sweetheart!”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide and confused.

“Dean?” you asked, breathless.

He closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce and desperate, like he was trying to make up for every second you might slip away. 

For a moment, you froze, stunned by the intensity, but then you melted into him, fingers curling into the back of his jacket as the world fell away. His other hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and the warmth of him grounded you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes were raw and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“I don’t want you to go.”

The fight left your eyes, replaced by something softer, something hopeful.

You nodded, and together, you walked back to the Impala, leaving the station, and the goodbye behind.

–

EPILOGUE

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets where you and Dean lay tangled together. 

Dean’s fingers tightened gently around your waist, and he broke the silence first.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “the first time I saw you... I didn’t know what to make of you. You were calm, collected, like you’d been through everything and still stood your ground.”

You looked up, curiosity shining in your eyes.

“I wasn’t sure if I could keep up with you,” he admitted with a soft smile. “But you never backed down, and that got to me.”

You smiled back, warmth spreading through your chest.

After a moment, you hesitated, then asked the question that had been lingering in your mind for days.

“How did you know that the shapeshifter wasn’t really me?”

Dean’s eyes softened, a quiet certainty in his voice.

“When it kissed me, something was off. It didn’t feel right. It was a copy, but not you.”

“It kissed you?” you laughed, eyes wide.

“Yeah yeah, not my proudest moment,” Dean chuckled, “But in all fairness at first I thought it was you. I pulled away when I realised it wasn’t.”

You smiled softly. “So you just knew.”

“I know you,” he said simply, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “Better than anyone else ever could.”

You smiled, heart full and warm, and settled in against him.

You didn’t need nor want his permission to live your life.

“Trouble in paradise?” House’s voice drawled lazily from behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was smirking like the smug bastard he was.

You whirled around, eyes flashing. “Go to hell, House.”

His smile widened. “Touchy. What did big brother do now? Refuse to tuck you into bed?”

You glared at him, chest heaving. Normally, you’d give as good as you got but today, House’s insufferable needling sparked an idea.

You stepped closer, so close he had to tilt his head slightly to look down at you.

“Actually,” you said sweetly, “he told me I’m not allowed to date you.”

House blinked. And then grinned, slow and sharp, like a wolf who’d just spotted a wounded deer.

“Well, well, well.” he murmured. 

You exploded. “It’s ridiculous. He acts like I’m still fifteen.”

House leaned heavily on his cane, tilting his head thoughtfully. “So… date me.”

You let out a laugh. “In what universe would I ever voluntarily date you?”

He smirked. “Not really date me. Fake date me. Think about it. You get to stick it to Wilson.”

You stared at him, stunned by the audacity, before asking “What’s in it for you?” your voice low.

“I get to make Cuddy jealous.” House said smugly, “She sees me with someone else, in this case with you, and she realises she wants me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’d even consider this ridiculous plan?”

House leaned in just a fraction closer. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur and his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Because you want to make a stance, show your brother that Wilson junior doesn’t want to be bossed around by him.”

You folded your arms, heart thudding harder than it should have. This was insane.

Petty. Dangerous. Stupid.

And yet… the idea of watching Wilson squirm by proving you could make your own damn choices was too tempting to resist.

You studied him. His face was open, or as open as House ever got. Smug, but also serious. He wasn’t joking.

“Ground rules,” you said finally. “No real feelings. No getting weird.”

House pressed a hand to his heart in mock solemnity. “Scout’s honour.”

You hesitated for one more breathless second, knowing full well you were about to make the worst decision of your life.

And then you stuck out your hand.

“Deal.”

House grinned before clasping your hand, his grip warm and firm.

“Deal.”

Somewhere deep down, a voice whispered that this wasn’t going to end the way either of you expected. But it was already too late.

–

You tugged at the hem of your dress, nerves buzzing under your skin as you stood outside the hospital’s charity gala.

You couldn’t believe you’d agreed to this.

You spotted him before he spotted you.

House was leaning against the wall by the entrance, cane resting against his thigh, arms crossed. His navy suit was rumpled like he hadn’t bothered to have it pressed, tie half-assedly knotted. Somehow he still managed to look maddeningly good.

Your stomach flipped. You blamed the champagne.

He caught sight of you and froze, just for a second. His eyes raked over you. Slow, assessing, lingering just a second too long at your legs.

You smirked. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, House.”

He recovered instantly, grin sliding into place. “You clean up alright. Almost convincing.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat blooming under your skin. “Let’s just get this over with.”

House pushed off the wall and limped toward you, he leaned in, voice low, “Remember, sweetheart, if we’re going to sell this, you have to look like you want me.”

You shot him a withering glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirked wider. “Flattered? I’m terrified.”

Before you could fire back, he grabbed your hand and just like that, you were tangled together, stepping into the glittering ballroom like a couple drunk on love instead of spite.

The moment you entered, heads turned.

You could feel Wilson’s gaze snapping toward you from across the room, his eyes narrowing in pure disbelief.

Cuddy froze mid-sentence, her eyes darting between the both of you.

It was working.

House squeezed your hand gently, a signal to play it up.

You plastered on your sweetest smile and leaned into him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. His heart thudded under your palm, too fast.

Was he nervous too?

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t last an hour here.” he said, just loud enough for Wilson and Cuddy to hear.

“You’re a menace,” you murmured.

He bent down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. He bit back a grin, “So are you.”

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of too-long glances, lingering touches, and whispered insults disguised as flirting.

You danced once, badly. House’s limp made it awkward, but neither of you let go.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the way House’s fingers splayed at the small of your back like he didn’t want to let you go.

Whatever it was, by the time Wilson cornered you both near the end of the night, you almost forgot you were faking.

“You’re kidding me,” Wilson said, looking between you, his voice low and furious.

You blinked innocently. “Problem, Jimmy?”

House slung an arm lazily around your shoulders. “We’re together,” he said with a straight face. “Deal with it.”

Wilson’s jaw worked like he was physically restraining himself from throttling House on the spot.

“I’m serious,” he said, pinning you with a look. “This, whatever this is, it’s a mistake.”

Something twisted in your chest. You opened your mouth, but House beat you to it.

“She’s an adult, Wilson,” he said, voice suddenly harder. “Maybe it’s time you let her live her own damn life.”

For a second, pure shock flashed across Wilson’s face. Then he turned and stalked away, fists clenched at his sides.

The second he disappeared, House’s arm dropped from your shoulders. The air between you shifted; charged, uncomfortable, intimate.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“That went well,” you said lightly, trying to keep your voice steady.

House didn’t answer right away. When you finally risked a glance, his blue eyes were fixed on you not mocking, not smug. Serious. Searching.

Your breath caught.

Then he smirked again, the mask sliding back into place.

“You owe me a drink for putting up with that,” he said.

You laughed, relieved and disappointed all at once. “Fine. But only if you buy the first round.”

He lifted his hand in a mock salute.

“Deal.”

You walked side by side out of the ballroom, the distance between you too small, your hearts hammering a little too hard.

–

The gala was over and the champagne buzz had faded.

But the heat of House’s hand against your back still burned through your dress long after you climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

The drive back to his apartment was quiet and heavy with unspoken things. You should have gone home. This wasn’t part of the plan.

But when he raised an eyebrow and muttered, “You coming in, or what?”

You found yourself following him inside without a word. The door clicked shut behind you and for a second, neither of you moved.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the streetlight spilling through the window. It smelled like coffee, old leather and him.

House limped over to the couch and collapsed into it with a long groan, tossing his cane to the side. He rubbed his thigh absently. You recognised the signs: the wince, the tight jaw, the way he shifted like he couldn’t find a comfortable position.

The pain was worse tonight. Maybe he’d overdone it dancing with you. Guilt prickled under your skin.

You took off your heels and walked over, perching cautiously on the edge of the couch beside him.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

House snorted. “Peachy.”

You didn’t buy it. You never had.

Before he could deflect with another sarcastic remark, you reached out, hesitantly, and rested your hand on his knee.

He tensed immediately, like you’d burned him.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice rougher than usual. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He looked away, jaw tight.

Without thinking, you slid closer, your hand moving up to his hair. You threaded your fingers through the soft strands at the back of his head and began stroking gently, a slow, comforting motion.

House froze. You half-expected him to shove you away, to make a crude joke, to ruin the moment like he always did.

But he didn’t.

He sat there, silent, breathing raggedly, as you stroked his hair.

His head tipped forward slightly, just enough that his forehead rested against your shoulder.

The world shrank to the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him against your side, the way his hand came up, almost reluctantly, to rest against your thigh.

You stayed like that for a long time.

When his breathing finally evened out, you realised he’d fallen asleep against you, vulnerable in a way you weren’t sure he’d ever allowed himself to be before.

Your heart ached in your chest.

Because you weren’t faking anymore.

And you were pretty sure he wasn’t either.

–

The next morning, you walked into the hospital with the distinct feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Last night had been a blur of emotions and unspoken words. You’d left House’s apartment in a daze. There was that undeniable closeness that you couldn’t quite shake. But you had left with no words, no explanation. Just a quiet exit, and a part of you wished you could forget how it felt to be so close to him. But you couldn’t.

And now, you were back at work, as if nothing had happened. As if you didn’t both know that the lines had been blurred in a way neither of you had prepared for.

You weren’t sure what had happened between you two. But whatever it was, it was hard to ignore. You’d tried to push it down, bury it beneath your professional exterior, but it wasn’t working.

Walking through the hospital, you could feel his presence before you saw him. It was like he was always a step ahead, like he always knew exactly where you were, even in a sea of people.

And then you saw him.

House was standing by the nurses’ station, hands casually shoved into his pockets, a half-smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes found yours almost immediately, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop.

You stopped too, swallowing back a rush of nerves you hadn’t been expecting. 

“Good morning,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Morning.” he replied with his usual nonchalance.

“Looks like you’re not late for once,” you quipped.

House raised an eyebrow, giving a mock gasp of shock. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you missed me.”

“Not even a little,” you said, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to walk past him with as much confidence as you could muster.

But he wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Well, you didn’t miss me last night, that’s for sure.” His words were quieter now, laced with a bit of that familiar edge that always seemed to catch you off guard.

You froze. What did he mean by that?

The tension was palpable, and before you could respond, you heard a voice behind you.

“Well, well, well. Look at the happy couple,” Wilson said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You turned to see him standing with Cuddy, both of them watching you and House with knowing smirks.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice cool but your pulse racing.

Cuddy crossed her arms, looking between you and House. “You two,” she said with a shake of her head, “We know you’re just playing a game.”

Wilson stepped forward. “Cuddy’s right. You’re acting like you’re together to prove a point, okay we get it, I shouldn’t meddle like I do-”

You cut him off, “We’re not-”

But before you could finish, House cut you off with a grin, one that sent a strange rush of warmth through you.

“This isn’t a prank, we’ll show them,” he said, walking over to you with surprising confidence.

Before you had a chance to react, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into him with surprising force, his lips crashing against yours in front of everyone.

It was fast, messy, and unexpected, but it wasn’t a mistake. It was deliberate. And you kissed him back, because you couldn’t help it. The world around you disappeared, and for those few seconds, all you could feel was him.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless. The silence that followed was deafening, and you found yourself at a loss for words. House’s eyes were on you, intense and almost vulnerable?

Wilson and Cuddy were staring at the two of you, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Okay,” Wilson said, a little too sarcastically, “I guess you two are officially together now.”

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you kept your gaze on House, and for a brief moment, the air between the two of you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

–

The next few hours passed in a blur. Your interactions with House were carefully guarded, and you both acted like nothing had changed. But you both knew. The kiss had meant something more than either of you were willing to admit.

And when the day ended, and you found yourself alone in your office, the reality of what had just happened hit you all at once.

You wanted him. There was no denying that now. And the kiss had only confirmed it.

But now, you both had to figure out what to do with all the feelings you were pretending weren’t there.

It had been a few days since the gala, and you and House were still playing the “pretend” game. At work, there were the usual fake smiles, subtle hand brushes, and the occasional fleeting gaze that seemed to carry more weight than it should. You’d catch yourself laughing a little too loudly at House’s dry humour, or finding your gaze lingering longer than you intended when he wasn’t looking. Every time, you’d remind yourself: It’s just a game. It’s just a game.

But the problem with that was neither of you really believed it anymore.

–

Later that day, House was in the hallway of the hospital, walking toward Wilson’s office. He knocked on the door, and Wilson, who had clearly been expecting him, waved him in.

“Sit,” Wilson said casually, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. House took the seat, immediately slouching back and crossing his arms.

“What is it, Wilson?” House asked, his voice guarded.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest.” He leaned forward, looking at House with intensity. “You and her, this thing you’ve got going on, you know it’s not just some game anymore, right?”

House stiffened, trying to mask the sudden tension in his body. “What are you talking about?” His voice was sharp, defensive.

Wilson sighed, exhaling loudly as if to emphasise how obvious it all was. “I’ve seen it, House. I’ve seen how you two interact. I know why she did it, she was teaching me a lesson. And rightfully so. I’m still unsure of what was in it for you, knowing you, I actually don’t want to know. But you’re not fooling anyone. And you’re not fooling her either.”

House tried to laugh it off, but there was a slight tremor in his voice. “It’s just a game, Wilson. You know I don’t do relationships.”

Wilson smirked, but there was no amusement in it. “Yeah, but you’re doing something. I can see it. Hell, I think she can see it too.” His gaze softened for a second. “You’re not pretending anymore, House. It’s not just for show. So stop lying to yourself.”

House ran a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He knew Wilson was right. He did care. But he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” House muttered, looking away. 

Wilson’s expression softened. “Just don’t mess it up.”

House didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The truth was sinking in, but he wasn’t ready to face it.

After the conversation with Wilson, House left the office, feeling like the walls were closing in. He walked to the labs, lost in thought. The words Wilson had said kept echoing in his mind.

He reached the door to the lab and paused. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open.

You were sitting at the desk, absorbed in your work, not expecting him. When you looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, confusion flickered across your face. You opened your mouth to say something, but House didn’t give you the chance.

Without a word, he stepped in, closing the door behind him. You barely had time to register what was happening before he was right in front of you. His hand cupped your face gently, his eyes searching yours for a moment, as if trying to read something that wasn’t there.

And then, without warning, he kissed you. It was sudden, intense, as if everything he’d been holding back was finally crashing down. For a moment, you forgot to breathe, your body stiffening with surprise. 

And then, as quickly as it had started, House pulled back, leaving you breathless and confused. His gaze softened, just a fraction, before he stepped away.

And with that, he walked out of the lab, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

–

The days following the kiss were some of the most confusing of your life. House had kissed you, but since then, he’d barely acknowledged your presence. You tried to let it go, he was probably regretting it, and you couldn’t blame him for it. So, you stayed quiet. You didn’t push him. But every time your eyes met, you could see it, the cold distance that was now between you. It stung more than you cared to admit, but you weren’t going to chase him. Not this time.

A few days later, when you were expecting to head home after a long day, House was nowhere to be found. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, but the empty feeling didn’t quite go away.

House was sitting on his couch, staring blankly at the TV. The room felt empty, almost like a reflection of his thoughts. He'd been doing a great job of avoiding you, but every second alone, every moment without distraction, was like a reminder of what he'd done, and what he didn’t want to face.

The doorbell rang, pulling him from his thoughts. When he opened the door to find Cuddy standing there, he didn’t even have the energy to send her away.

“What do you want, Cuddy?” His voice was flat, but she didn’t give him a chance to get the words out fully before stepping past him, entering the apartment uninvited.

“I think you know why I’m here,” she said, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him again.

Before he could say anything, Cuddy closed the distance, pressing her lips to his with an urgency that took him by surprise. For a moment, House was too stunned to pull away. But then something inside him snapped, a realisation hit him like a train. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he wanted.

He broke away, standing up quickly, his hands trembling as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t want this.”

Cuddy didn’t pull away at first, her expression unreadable. “What? I assumed your little stunt was aimed at me.” she asked, her voice softer now, but still firm.

“I know, I'm sorry, I wanted this, but now I’m not so sure,” House said, his words raw and unfiltered, though he wasn’t sure how to explain it to her.

–

The next day at work, House was still reeling from the mess of emotions that Cuddy’s kiss had stirred up. He didn’t want to think about it, but as soon as he entered the clinic, he saw you again and this time, you were talking to someone new.

The new doctor, about House’s age, was leaning over the desk with you, smiling a little too widely, saying something that made you laugh. He was way too familiar, way too comfortable.

House slowed his steps, watching the scene unfold with growing irritation.

“You know,” the new doctor said, flashing a grin toward you, and toward the rest of the team as if he wanted to make sure everyone heard, “Dr Wilson’s a real catch.”

House, without missing a beat, raised an eyebrow and shot back dryly, “Head of oncology and a catch. Yeah, been trying to get on that for years.”

A couple of nurses nearby chuckled awkwardly, used to House’s relentless sarcasm.

The new doctor laughed too, but then nodded directly at you. “No, that Dr Wilson.”

House’s smirk faltered. For a second, he just stood there, blinking, as if trying to process what he’d just heard. The new doctor didn’t seem to notice; he was too busy leaning closer to you, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious tone.

“She’s the whole package,” he added, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Smart, beautiful, intimidating, honestly, you’re making it hard for the rest of us to concentrate.”

You looked back at him, amused but still professional, not rising to the bait. But House could feel the surge of annoyance tightening in his chest. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, just turned and stalked off before he could say something truly reckless.

But one thing was crystal clear: he didn’t want anyone else anywhere near you. Not anymore.

–

You were curled up on your sofa when the knock came at your door.

Frowning, you pushed yourself up and padded over. It was late, too late for visitors, but when you opened the door, there he was.

Gregory House.

Looking awkward. Looking almost uncertain.

He stood there for a second, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jeans, the other gripping his cane tightly, shifting slightly on his bad leg.

You leaned against the frame, folding your arms. “…So is there a reason you’re here? Or are you just planning to lurk on my doorstep all night?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with zero preamble, he blurted out,

“I kissed Cuddy.”

The words hung there in the air, heavy and stupid. You blinked at him, expression unreadable.

A beat of silence.

Finally, you said, voice cool and tight, “Am I meant to congratulate you? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

House opened his mouth, closed it, then scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

“No,” he said finally. “I thought it was. I thought if I kissed her, everything would click into place.”

He let out a rough laugh. “Instead… I kissed her and all I could think about was you.”

You stared at him. The world tilted slightly.

He shook his head like he hated himself. “I don’t want her,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want the idea of her. I want you.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

Without a word, you stepped back and opened the door wider.

An invitation.

House hesitated only a second longer before limping inside. You shut the door behind him, your fingers lingering on the handle to steady yourself.

He stood in the middle of your living room, looking utterly wrecked, like he was waiting for you to yell at him or tell him he was too late.

But you crossed the space to him slowly, deliberately.

“You really think this was ever just a game to me?” you said softly, voice trembling. “Because it wasn’t.”

His breath caught. His hands hovered awkwardly like he didn’t know whether to touch you.

You didn’t give him the chance to second-guess it. You kissed him.

It was messy and desperate and so charged with everything you’d both been too scared to say. He stumbled a little into you, grabbing your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, House pressed his forehead against yours.

“No more deals,” he murmured. “No more pretending.”

You nodded, smiling a little through the emotion clogging your chest. “No more pretending.”

This was real. It had been real for a long time.

–

It wasn’t like you and House made some big, dramatic announcement at work.

You didn’t need to. It just changed. Subtle at first, the way he lingered when he handed you a file, the way your eyes softened when he made some ridiculous, sarcastic comment.

The team caught on pretty fast. Foreman smirked knowingly. Chase placed bets with Cameron about how long it had been going on. Cuddy pretended she didn’t notice, but you caught her smiling once when House stole a pen from your pocket and didn’t immediately give it back. But Wilson, he was the one you were really worried about.

You were halfway through reviewing a case when he knocked gently on your office door and slipped inside.

You looked up, heart pounding slightly. House was somewhere causing chaos as usual.

Wilson closed the door behind him. He didn’t look angry. Or even surprised.

Instead, he just gave you a small, tired smile.

“I’m happy for you,” he said simply.

You blinked, caught off guard. “You are?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“I should have known it was inevitable. You two… you make sense in a weird, terrifying kind of way.”

He hesitated, then added, “Just, promise me you’ll be careful with each other, okay?”

Before you could respond, there was a loud knock, and House sauntered in like he owned the place.

Wilson turned to him, expression sharpening just slightly.

“And you,” Wilson said, crossing his arms. “If you hurt her, I swear to God-”

“Oh, please,” House interrupted, rolling his eyes. “You’re, what, gonna saw through my cane again?”

Wilson just raised an eyebrow.

House’s smirk twitched but then he glanced at you, and the smartass bravado slipped for a moment, just long enough to let the real feelings show.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said quietly.

Wilson nodded once, apparently satisfied. Then he clapped House on the shoulder, hard, and left, muttering something about needing coffee.

House turned to you once the door closed. “Think he’s gonna make us get matching T-shirts? ‘Wilson’s Favourite Couple’?”

You laughed, getting up from your chair and crossing the room to him.

“No shirts,” you said, poking him lightly in the chest.

He grinned before kissing you, pulling you into his arms like he never wanted to let go.

You were head of cardiology, highly respected, and often relied upon for the toughest cases. But your work in diagnostic medicine had always intrigued you, and House always respected that, even if he’d never admit it.

Despite his abrasive exterior, you understood him better than most. You had the ability to see past the sarcasm and the often scathing remarks, to the person who was lonely and hurting. Maybe that’s why, after all these years, the two of you had become closer than you would both care to admit.

It was late at night. You sat in your office, feet up on the desk, fingers resting over your eyes. The day had been exhausting. Your most recent patient had been on the table for eight hours while you performed a heart transplant after they were diagnosed with end-stage heart failure. The surgery was successful, and now you were writing up the paperwork when your phone rang.

You swivelled in your chair and picked up the receiver.

“Cardiology department, Head of Cardiology speaking.” You shut your eyes for a brief moment.

“Hi, darling! It’s me and your father.” A familiar voice chimed.

Crap. You’d been at the hospital so long you’d forgotten your parents wanted to catch up. And you knew exactly what they would ask about.

“Are you at home, sweetheart?” your mother asked.

“I’m still at the hospital, Mum. Had a long surgery today, lots of paperwork,” you replied flatly.

“Successful?” your father asked in the background.

“Yes. Heart transplant,” you said, and immediately heard, “That’s my girl!”

Before you could go into detail about the case, your mother spoke up again.

“So… have you been getting out much? Socialising? Dating? We know you’re very focused on work, but sweetie, we just worry you don’t have balance.”

And just at that moment, someone burst through your office door.

You didn’t bother looking up. The forced entry with no knocking, the deliberate tap of his cane on the floor because you hadn’t acknowledged him. It could only be Dr Gregory House.

He stood at the door, posture slightly off-kilter, leaning more on his left leg as he gripped his worn-looking cane. His frame was tall and lean, but there was an underlying tension in the way he held himself, like someone perpetually bracing for pain but refusing to show it. His piercing blue eyes studied you with a mix of sharp intellect and barely concealed amusement, as if he’d already picked apart everything about you within seconds.

His face was rugged, lined with exhaustion and years of cynical observation, yet there was an undeniable charisma about him, even when his expression settled into its usual mask of detached boredom. His scruff, more neglect than style, added to the air of someone who didn’t care much for appearances, and his unkempt hair only reinforced that. His clothes were casual yet oddly distinctive: a creased button-down over a graphic tee, paired with jeans that had seen better days.

He shifted slightly, rolling his cane between his fingers, restless but calculated. There was something almost predatory in the way he watched people, like he was waiting for them to say something stupid just so he could tear them apart for sport. But beneath the sarcasm and the gruff exterior, there was something else, something guarded. And you just weren’t quite sure what it was yet.

Lifting a finger, you silently mouthed, “Just one sec.”

House gave a polite nod and stayed quiet.

“Mum, Dad, you don’t need to worry so much about my personal life. It’s hard to keep relationships when I work this much,” you sighed, rubbing your temple.

Your mother wouldn’t drop it. She kept pressing you, insisting that you needed to get out there more. You glanced up in frustration, only to see House grinning to himself before turning on his heel and walking out.

You frowned but continued talking.

Until suddenly, the office door swung open again.

“Hey, honey. Are you ready to go home yet?” House called loudly.

Your head snapped up. Eyes wide.

What. The. Hell.

“Who was that? Is that who I think it is? Have you been dating someone? What is he like? What’s his name?… What does he look like?” your mother squealed, unleashing a barrage of questions.

You froze, completely thrown off. Your gaze flicked to House, who simply smirked. Damn that bastard.

“What are you doing?” you mouthed angrily.

House’s smirk only deepened.

You swallowed hard. “Uh… yeah, I’ve been seeing someone.”

Silence. Then:

“So? Who’s the lucky man? You have to give us something!” your mother cheered. “Did you hear that, hun? She’s seeing someone!” she gushed to your father.

You exhaled sharply. “Mum, as much as I’d love to stay and chat while you pry into my social life, I have to get home.”

“Just one thing about him. Anything.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fine. He’s from work. Head of Diagnostic Medicine.”

A pause.

“So he’s smart… is he attractive?”

You looked up. House looked smug as hell. He raised his eyebrows, feigning curiosity. “Answer the question,” he mouthed.

You clenched your jaw. You were going to kill him.

“You had your one question, Mum. Now I really have to go. I’ll call you both tomorrow. Love you.”

And just like that, the nightmare ended.

As soon as you slammed the phone down, you turned to House, who was still standing there, looking far too pleased with himself.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, standing up from your chair.

House shrugged, completely unfazed. “What? I was just being supportive. I figured you needed an excuse to get off the phone.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t have to pretend to be dating me, House.”

He took a lazy step closer, tilting his head. “I didn’t. You did that all on your own.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Damn it.

House smirked. “Maybe you secretly wanted it. Maybe you like the idea.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Maybe I like the idea of strangling you.”

He let out a low chuckle, tapping his cane against the floor as he leaned in slightly. “That’s the spirit.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Just… don’t do that again. I try to separate my personal and work life for a reason.”

House gave an exaggerated, innocent look. “Don’t do what? Be charming? Impossible.”

You glared. He grinned.

And then, as he turned toward the door, he called over his shoulder:

“See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

With that, he walked out, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, and completely unsure how to feel.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning you walked into the diagnostic room, still feeling the sting of the phone call with your mum. It was hard to shake off her constant questioning, but House didn’t care about your personal life, and that was one thing you appreciated. Of course, he had his own way of making everything about him.

The team was already gathered around, and House was lounging in his chair, tapping his cane against the floor rhythmically. His eyes flicked up as you entered, a hint of amusement flickering across his face.

“Glad you could join us,” House said, barely looking up from the case file in his hand. “We’ve got a hard one. And just in time for your daily dose of frustration.”

You barely managed to keep your annoyance in check. “What’s the case?” you asked, sitting down, eager to get your mind off the family drama.

House didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid the patient file over to you, his fingers grazing the edge of the paper, slow and deliberate. “37-year-old woman with progressive muscle weakness, joint pain, shortness of breath, and mildly elevated creatine kinase levels. Nothing in her medical history points to anything obvious.”

You flicked through the file, barely listening to the team chatter. Everything about this case screamed complexity. “No autoimmune markers. Lung function’s shot, but imaging’s clear,” you muttered to yourself.

“Not bad for a first impression,” House said, leaning back in his chair, “But we both know you’ve got better than that.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and felt a flicker of irritation. “I’m not here for a compliment, House.”

“Shame. You’re missing out.” He smirked, clearly enjoying the game.

You exhaled, narrowing your eyes. You were determined to solve this case without letting him rattle you. “Her symptoms suggest a neuromuscular disorder, but the lack of sensory loss or atrophy doesn’t fit the typical profile.”

House raised an eyebrow, amused. “Go on. Keep thinking.”

You shifted your focus, your mind working through the possibilities. “The joint pain doesn’t fit with any classic rheumatologic disease either. No rash, no positive markers for lupus or RA.”

He leaned forward slightly, tapping his cane on the floor. “This is where you’re starting to bore me. What’s next?”

You barely suppressed the urge to snap at him. But you didn’t give in, instead letting your mind wander to a more unusual possibility. “What about restrictive cardiomyopathy?” you suggested, your voice steady. “It would explain the progressive muscle weakness, the lung involvement, and the elevated creatine kinase. This could be a heart condition mimicking a neuromuscular disorder. We’ve seen cases like this before.”

House froze. You could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, his smirk faltering for just a moment before it returned, sharper than ever.

“Restrictive cardiomyopathy?” He repeated, as though he was testing the words. 

You met his gaze without flinching. “Yes. The restrictive nature of the cardiomyopathy could explain the restrictive lung pattern and the muscle weakness. The arrhythmias fit as well. We just need a better look at the heart to confirm it.”

For a brief moment, House didn’t say anything. His eyes were on you, considering, calculating. 

“Alright, I'll bite,” he said, slowly nodding. “If you’re right, we’ll need to run an echocardiogram, MRI, and maybe a biopsy to get confirmation. But I’m not convinced yet.”

You didn’t let the challenge get to you. “Well then, let’s find out if I’m right.”

House raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before the usual smirk returned. His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Well, well, looks like you actually know what you’re talking about,” he remarked, a hint of begrudging respect in his tone.

You met his eyes, the challenge still burning in yours. “I do know my way around a heart, House. You should try not to forget that.”

House leaned back in his chair, tapping his cane thoughtfully. “Fine. We’ll run the tests you suggested, but if you’re wrong, I’m never letting you forget it.”

You smirked, feeling the familiar tension lift. “I’m counting on you to prove me right then.”

He stood up and paced the room with his usual confidence. “Oh, don’t worry. If you’re right, I’ll be the first to say ‘well done’. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

The team left the room in order to get the tests ordered. You stood and turned to leave, but as you reached the door, his voice called out after you.

“Don’t get used to being right before you even get confirmation,” he said, the words carrying that signature smirk of his.

You turned, glancing over your shoulder. “Because I’d turn out like you? Yes, that would be a disaster.”

He chuckles before entering his office, you had a fair point. 

The following day, you were back in the diagnostic room with House and the team, the air thick with anticipation. You’d suggested restrictive cardiomyopathy, and now the tests were complete. The moment of truth had arrived.

House sat at the head of the table, his eyes glued to the screen displaying the patient’s latest test results. The rest of the team stood by, waiting for him to dissect the data, but you were too focused on the numbers to care about his usual theatrics.

Chase cleared his throat. “Echocardiogram shows classic signs of restrictive cardiomyopathy: thickened walls, impaired diastolic filling.”

You could feel House’s gaze flicker towards you, but you didn’t look up, keeping your attention on the screen.

“Still not definitive,” House muttered, tapping his cane on the floor. “She could have an arrhythmic heart issue, or maybe it's some weird metabolic disorder-”

“House,” you cut him off, your voice calm but firm. “I’m right. The elevated creatine kinase, the lung involvement, the muscle weakness, all of it points to this. It’s not just the heart’s pumping ability that’s compromised; it’s its ability to relax properly, which is why everything’s cascading.”

House held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then looked back at the screen. “Fine. Let’s see what the biopsy shows.”

The room fell silent as they reviewed the biopsy results, and then, almost as if by instinct, House leaned forward, a surprised look creeping into his face. The biopsy had confirmed the diagnosis. The heart muscle had thickened, impairing its ability to expand and contract properly, putting strain on the lungs and muscles, which had been misdiagnosed as a neuromuscular issue.

For the first time in a long while, House was quiet. He didn’t smirk or make a sarcastic comment. He simply stared at the data, processing the outcome.

Then, he looked at you.

“Well,” he said, his voice slower than usual, “I’ll be damned. You were right.”

There was a brief pause before the usual sarcasm returned to his tone. “Don’t get too smug. It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you have all the glory. You were lucky. Not a genius.”

You smiled, feeling the rush of satisfaction but refusing to let it show too much. “I’ll take lucky. But maybe you should stop doubting my expertise.”

He grinned, that familiar spark in his eyes. “If I started trusting you, it’d ruin everything.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a challenge in your gaze. “Well, you might want to consider trusting me a bit more often. It’ll save you from looking like a fool in front of your team.”

He chuckled softly, and for a moment, it almost felt like a quiet truce between you both. But then, as quickly as the moment passed, he was back to his usual self, tapping his cane against the floor.

“Alright, now that we’ve got the answer, let’s get this patient on the right treatment.”

You smiled to yourself, more than a little pleased with your victory. “Understood, Dr House.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a couple of weeks since the phone incident. You hadn’t brought it up with House again, finding the easiest solution was to ignore him, not letting him get a reaction out of you. 

You had been working together on some tough cases, resulting in long hours and late nights. The most recent case had been particularly difficult. Every idea the group came up with seemed to be disproved, leading to dead ends at every turn. But amidst the frustration, there was a strange, almost addictive energy between you and House. His need to prove you wrong had only fuelled your determination to show him up, and while the others were beginning to crack under the pressure, you and House kept pushing each other. The competitiveness between you both was relentless, but it had started to yield some promising results.

Late one night, after yet another round of tests had come back inconclusive, you and House found yourselves alone in the diagnostic room, surrounded by piles of patient files. The others had left, their exhaustion evident as they filtered out one by one, but neither of you seemed ready to call it a day.

House, as usual, was the first to break the silence. “You still haven’t dropped it, have you?” he asked, his voice low but sharp, as though he were almost daring you to admit what was unspoken.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant. “I haven’t dropped it because there’s nothing to drop. You made your point.” Your voice was steady, but beneath it, you felt the familiar frustration stir again. 

His lips curled into the faintest of smirks, the challenge never far from his gaze. “Are you sure about that? You didn’t seem too comfortable with my intrusion when it happened.”

You sighed, “Well you don’t see me interfering with your personal life, but I don’t see what’s left to discuss. It’s done.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, but beneath it, there was an understanding that, despite the disagreements, the competition had led to something far more productive than either of you had expected.

“And yet here we are,” he muttered, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place, an unusual tone that made you look up from the files you’d been flipping through. “Still working together, still pushing each other.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just professional.”

House grinned, the gleam in his eyes mischievous, but there was something more there, something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Sure, professional. But I’ve got to admit, your way of thinking is almost as irritatingly brilliant as mine.”

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the proximity of your mutual respect, but the words caught you off guard. You blinked, processing them. “Did you just… compliment me?”

He didn’t respond right away, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he focused on the patient file in front of him. But then, just as you thought he might take his words back, he said, almost casually, “You’re competent. Just like me. We make a pretty good team, don’t you think?”

It was the first time in weeks that he’d said something without the sharp bite of sarcasm, and you almost didn’t know how to respond. The words felt different. 

“Yeah, we do,” you agreed, your voice quieter than usual. You glanced over at him, the line of your jaw softening, just for a moment. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, as you sat in your office, minding your own business and reviewing a new case, the door swung open and closed with a soft click. You didn’t even glance up, assuming it was another of House’s usual interruptions.

“House, I do not have the time nor the patience for your antics today,” you began, not even bothering to hide the irritation in your voice, but when you didn’t hear his typical bold response, you looked up and immediately froze.

It was your parents.

“Surprise!” your mother exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. “We wanted to surprise you for your birthday tomorrow! We’re staying for the weekend!”

Your father smiled warmly, standing beside her with that familiar, proud grin. The sight of them was enough to stop your heart for a moment.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Mum, Dad, what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice betraying your shock.

“We thought we’d fly in for your birthday,” your father said, still beaming. “We haven’t seen you in too long, and we thought we’d make the most of the weekend.”

You tried to steady your breathing, feeling your chest tighten. Of all the days… Of all the moments, this was the last thing you’d expected. The last thing you were prepared for. Your parents here, now, just in time for your birthday.

“Well, we’re staying at a hotel nearby. And we were hoping to catch up with you,” your mother added, her gaze sparkling with excitement. “And meet your doctor of course…”

Your stomach churned. The lie. The little white lie you’d been spinning for months. The lie about the man you had been “casually” dating. They were so sure of it, and you had managed to keep them at bay… until now.

"Yeah, that sounds great! I’ve got some work to finish up, and you’ll probably want to get settled in and have a look around," you said, your voice trailing off as you searched for a way to buy yourself some time. You could feel the panic rising in your chest. "I’ll call you when I’m done, and then I’ll come meet you. The hospital can be a bit overwhelming, and the layout isn’t the easiest to navigate. I’ll show you the way to the exit."

You ushered them down the hallway, your footsteps quick and deliberate as you tried to keep them moving in the right direction. You had to get them out of your office, away from House’s domain, and preferably out of sight before any more awkward questions could surface.

You kept your head down, focused on the path ahead. You’d almost made it to the elevator when your mother’s voice broke the tension with an audible gasp.

"Is that him?"

Your heart stopped. You followed her gaze, and the knot in your stomach tightened when you saw exactly who she was pointing to.

There was no mistaking him. House, as usual, in the middle of an animated conversation... or perhaps more accurately, an argument. You watched him with Wilson, their voices low but clearly heated over some obscure detail of a case. House’s cane tapped rhythmically on the floor, his posture relaxed but somehow still exuding that unmistakable energy that could only belong to him. Even from a distance, you could tell there was a tension between them. 

"Is that who you’ve been seeing?" Your mother’s voice was almost too eager, and you could feel her eyes on you, expecting a response.

You had no idea how to play this. You’d been doing so well at keeping up the lie, but now you were on the verge of blowing it all.

Before you could respond, your mother continued. "I looked him up online, you know. There was a picture of him and everything."

Your stomach churned. The last thing you needed was for her to find out you had been lying all this time. And of course, House just had to pick this moment to stand there in full view, arguing with Wilson like he owned the place.

You quickly composed yourself, forcing a smile, and doing your best to sound casual, despite the rush of nerves. "Yes, that's Dr House," you said, your voice a little too forced. "We work together. He's, um, just... Well, House." You tried to sound nonchalant, but you were painfully aware of the situation growing more precarious by the second.

Your mother’s eyes brightened with realisation, and she grinned. "He seems like quite the character. Not exactly the kind of man I imagined for you, but he certainly looks interesting. A doctor, no less!"

You were about to press the elevator button when your mother, in her usual overenthusiastic way, turned to you with a suggestion that made your stomach drop.

"Sweetheart, tomorrow night, how about you ask Dr House to come along for your birthday dinner?" she asked innocently, "You know, your dad and I would love to meet him. It’ll be nice to see what he’s like up close."

You had absolutely not anticipated this. You thought you could get away with the simple excuse that he was “too busy” to join you, but now your mother was looking at you with that expectant smile. And there was no way you could backtrack now without making things even more awkward.

You cleared your throat, the weight of the situation sinking in. "Mum, I-"

"Oh, please do! It’ll be such a nice surprise. You know how I love making things special," she continued, cutting you off. "We’d love to get to know him more. You’re always so secretive about him. Come on, sweetie, just ask him for us. It’s your birthday."

You blinked rapidly, trying to think of a way out of this without being exposed. But it was no use, she was determined.

With a sigh, you took one more deep breath before turning back towards where House and Wilson were standing. You needed him to play along for a few minutes, just long enough to convince your parents. He wouldn’t make this easy, you knew that, but you couldn’t face the consequences of telling the truth. Not with your parents standing there, looking so expectantly at you.

You approached them, trying to mask the nervous energy bubbling under your skin.

“I’m not dismissing it, Wilson,” House snapped, his cane tapping against the floor impatiently. “But this patient’s symptoms are physical, not mental.”

Wilson’s response was calmer but no less firm. “You’re ignoring the psychological factors. Stress is playing a massive role here, why can’t you just admit that?”

House rolled his eyes. “Because it’s not the issue. We need to find the real cause before this gets worse.”

You cleared your throat, drawing their attention. Both men turned to you, their argument momentarily forgotten.

“Hi, love,” you said loudly, linking your arm through House’s before he could react. “My parents were wondering if you’re coming to my birthday dinner tomorrow night. But of course,” you added with pointed emphasis, “they completely understand if you’re working.”

Wilson looked utterly, completely stunned. And, to your satisfaction, so did House. He stared at you, completely confused. Have you lost your mind? But then, as his gaze flickered to your parents, who were waiting in eager anticipation, something clicked. He realised.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “It’s your birthday tomorrow? You always swore no one would find out.”

You blinked, taken aback. You had just pretended to be dating him in front of your parents, and that was what he focused on?

“That’s what you got out of this interaction?” you hissed under your breath.

But his shock quickly faded, replaced by that signature smirk. And at full volume, he announced, “Nope, I’m not working tomorrow night. I’m all yours.”

You forced a smile, knowing damn well he was only agreeing to this to wind you up. “Great. I’ll send you the details.”

You turned on your heel, ready to make your escape, but before you could take more than a step, his voice rang out again.

“Wait. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You hesitated, glancing back at him in confusion. He lifted a finger and pointed to his lips.

Your stomach dropped.

There was no way.

You froze for a second, waiting for him to crack a joke, to let you off the hook. But he didn’t break eye contact, his expression expectant, teasing, yet entirely serious.

Your eyes darted to Wilson, searching for reassurance, but he only shrugged, just as baffled as you.

Slowly, hesitantly, you stepped forward and pressed the quickest possible kiss to House’s lips before immediately pulling away.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his smirk only growing as he met your flustered gaze. “I’ll see you later.”

His eyes stayed locked onto yours, smug, challenging, victorious.

You swallowed, and nodded swiftly, your parents looked absolutely thrilled. Wilson, on the other hand, still looked like he’d just witnessed a medical impossibility.

You shot him a quick nod. “Dr Wilson.”

And then, with your heart pounding in your ears, you walked away, your parents none the wiser to the absolute disaster you had just created.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the rest of the day, you avoided House like the plague.

You took the long route around the hospital to dodge his office. You hid away in the clinic, only speaking to his team when absolutely necessary. You volunteered for every test and procedure that required patient interaction, knowing full well House wouldn’t go near them.

It was a solid plan. Until it wasn’t.

Late afternoon rolled around, and you found yourself in the lab, carefully swirling liquid in a test tube, deep in thought. The hospital was quieter now, the rush of the day fading. The rhythmic hum of machines filled the air, drowning out everything else.

Which is why you didn’t hear the door open.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding all day,” a familiar voice drawled.

Your grip tightened on the test tube as you tensed. Slowly, you turned your head to find House leaning against the doorway, his cane resting lazily at his side.

“I haven’t been hiding,” you lied, your voice strained.

He chuckled. “Oh, come on. You’ve known me long enough to realise I am many things, but being oblivious is not one of them.” He limped closer and perched on the stool beside you.

You exhaled through your nose, shifting your focus back to the test, pretending he wasn’t there.

A few beats of silence passed before he spoke again. “You never told them the truth, did you?”

You froze for a fraction of a second, but you didn’t look at him.

House hummed knowingly. “Carried on the little fairy tale, huh?”

You finally turned to face him. “After that phone call, they were happy. They asked fewer questions. I didn’t plan for it to turn into this, but… I just carried it on for a little while. It wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“Well, congratulations,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve now been officially dragged into this lie.”

You crossed your arms. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who inserted yourself into my business. So really, this is your fault.”

His lips quirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll play along with your little charade for the weekend.” He started towards the door but then paused. “But I do expect something in return.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Such as?”

He turned back, leaning on his cane. “You do all my clinic hours next week.”

You huffed, amused. “And how do I know you’ll even be worth the trade?”

House smirked and took a slow step closer, lowering his voice. “I’ll be perfect boyfriend material in front of your parents.” He tilted his head, studying your expression. “Charming. Attentive. Maybe even a little affectionate.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

He extended his hand. “So… Do we have a deal?”

You hesitated for only a second before sighing and clasping his hand in yours. “Deal.”

The smirk he gave in return was practically villainous.

You were definitely going to regret this.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, House stood in his office, absently scribbling possible diagnoses on the whiteboard, only to cross them out one by one. Frustration flickered across his face, whether from the case or his own distractions, he wasn’t sure.

Brucellosis

Cryoglobulinemia

Whipple’s Disease

Adult-Onset Still’s Disease

Hemophagocytic Lymphohistiocytosis

Relapsing Polychondritis

Wilson leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You missed it.”

House didn’t look away. “Oh, great, you’re here to gloat. What did I supposedly miss?”

Wilson stepped closer, picking up the marker and tapping Adult-Onset Still’s Disease. “This.”

House raised an eyebrow. “I considered it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Wilson countered. “You were too fixated on Cryoglobulinemia explaining the kidney involvement, and when the cryocrit came back negative, you jumped ship. You ignored the spiking fevers, arthritis, and rash because they didn’t fit your inflammation theory.”

House’s jaw tightened. “Ferritin levels?”

“Through the roof,” Wilson said. “Like, absurdly high. You saw it and dismissed it as a secondary response. But it’s the key. Ferritin that high with intermittent fevers, sore joints, and a salmon-coloured rash? Classic Still’s.”

House exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before muttering, “Huh.”

Wilson smirked. “Yeah. Huh.”

For a few moments, neither Wilson nor House spoke, both of them fixated on the whiteboard, their eyes not straying for even a second.

"You know, you could've just told me you were going on a date," Wilson teased.

House didn't look up from the whiteboard, "Not a date. A deal. Clinic hours for playing 'boyfriend' in front of her parents. Nothing more."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Right, just a 'deal.' But I think we both know that's not the whole story. You’re not exactly the ‘boyfriend’ type, so what's the real reason you’re going along with this?"

House’s eyes flicked over to Wilson for a brief second, but he quickly averted his gaze back to the board, feigning disinterest. “I like to win, Wilson. Anything to get off clinic duty.”

Wilson smirked, crossing his arms. “You can lie to me all you want, but I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s eating at you. Why are you really doing this?”

House let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly frustrated, but he didn’t answer right away. He knew Wilson wouldn’t let up.

"Let me guess," Wilson continued, stepping closer. "You’re doing this to mess with her, right? Make her uncomfortable, keep her on edge. That's your style." He paused, watching House carefully. "But it’s funny, because it doesn’t look like she’s the only one who’s on edge."

House shot him a look, a mixture of annoyance and something else Wilson couldn’t quite place. "You think I care about her? Please. It’s a transaction, Wilson. I’m just doing her a favour."

"Really?" Wilson said, his tone teasing. "You know, for someone who’s ‘just doing a favour,’ you don’t seem to mind being her ‘boyfriend’ in front of her parents. Maybe you’ve got a thing for her after all."

House finally snapped, his voice sharp. "Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t do feelings. You know that." He took a deep breath, turning to Wilson.

Wilson didn’t seem convinced. "Sure. Whatever you say."

House turned back to the whiteboard, trying to focus on the case. But Wilson’s words hung in the air, making him uneasy.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening arrived, and you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit. You had been mentally preparing for the night ahead. House would be there, playing the role of your partner and you were already dreading how awkward it would be.

You met your parents in the lobby of the restaurant, where they were already waiting, dressed up and excited to see you. You could tell they were eager to get to know House better.

When House arrived, he was on his best behaviour. Gone was the usual sarcastic House. He shook your father's hand firmly, offering a genuine smile, then kissed your mother’s cheek as if he had done it a thousand times. Your parents were clearly taken aback by how charming he could be. The usual snark was replaced by soft, attentive conversation. It was surreal to watch him actively listen to your mother's rambling about her gardening hobbies and your father's endless questions about the hospital. House kept his responses just engaging enough, occasionally leaning in to listen more closely, his cane resting on the floor beside him.

Over the course of dinner, House answered questions about his work with impressive ease, even managing to make your mother laugh with a few anecdotes about his time in the hospital. You almost didn’t recognise the man sitting across from you.

As the evening wore on, your parents seemed content, chatting amongst themselves about the beautiful restaurant and the delicious food. They laughed and reminisced about old family trips. They were clearly satisfied with the whole evening.

When dessert arrived, your dad glanced at his watch. "Well, it's getting late. We should probably head back to the hotel before it gets later."

You could tell they were reluctant to leave, but they knew their time with you was coming to a close. Your mother smiled warmly at you as she stood up. "It was lovely meeting you, House. We’re so happy to see our daughter happy." You noticed House’s smirk softened for a moment.

"Thank you for dinner," House said smoothly. "I had a great time. We’ll have to do it again sometime."

With a final wave, your parents headed toward the door, leaving you and House standing at the table.

House turned to you, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he grinned. "Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You were perfect. You really want those clinic hours covered."

"Of course I was," House said, his voice smug. "I'm just that good."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, but before you could say anything else, he surprised you. "So, what now? I’m in the mood for another drink."

You hesitated, but then you remembered how much House had played along, how convincing he had been, and a part of you felt a bit lighter.

"Sure," you said, giving him a small, somewhat reluctant smile. "Let’s stay out for a little while longer. But just a little."

"Of course," he replied, offering you his arm.

As you both walked out into the night, you could feel the shift in the air between you two. The facade might have been a cover, but it almost felt real.

You both walked side by side, moving through the quiet streets.

“I’m in the mood for something warm. Let’s find a coffee van or something.” House says with a glance at you.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the idea. “A coffee van?” you ask, laughing lightly. “You?”

His expression softens, but only just. “Don’t act so shocked. Even I need a warm drink once in a while.” He pauses, then adds with a sly grin, “But no promises that I won’t judge your choice.”

You roll your eyes but smile, as the two of you stroll toward a small coffee van parked on the edge of a park. The van is tucked under a tree, its lights casting a soft glow into the early night. The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the air.

House orders his usual black coffee, of course, while you go for a hot chocolate, wanting something sweet and comforting to balance out the evening. The barista hands over the drinks, and the two of you make your way to a nearby bench with a view of the city lights.

The bench is positioned perfectly to overlook the park, with twinkling lights in the distance. You settle beside House, both of you holding your drinks, not saying much at first, but the peacefulness of the moment makes it feel natural.

“You know,” House says eventually, breaking the comfortable silence, “I can’t say I’ve ever had a hot chocolate before. Seems a little… too sweet for me.”

You take a sip from your cup, a smile tugging at your lips. “I thought you might say that. But it’s nice. Keeps things simple.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t do simple.”

You chuckle softly, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence again, watching the light breeze move the leaves in the trees. 

You were sipping your hot chocolate, when House suddenly spoke up. 

He reached into his bag, and handed you a small, carefully wrapped bundle, “Happy Birthday,” he said, his tone nonchalant. You raised an eyebrow, half-expecting another sarcastic remark or some ridiculous gift. But when you carefully peeled away the wrapping, it revealed a folder inside, your eyes widened, taking in the paperwork, patient notes, procedure details, and even original surgical tape recordings of the first successful heart transplant carried out.

“I remember you mentioning that you’d love to read the notes and hear the audio from Barnard’s first heart transplant, I’ve been looking for a while, thought there was no better time to give you it than your birthday.” he stated. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You’d mentioned it a while back, in passing, how you'd love to get your hands on a copy of the original papers from the procedure. You had no idea he’d actually remembered, let alone worked to get it for you.

He watched as you absorbed the moment. 

“This is incredible, House.” you smiled, turning to look at him.

For a few moments, you were too awestruck to say anything else. Then, with a grin, you grabbed your hot chocolate and nudged him. “Come on, let’s listen to it. You’ve got a recorder, right?”

He fished around in his bag for a moment and pulled out an old cassette player, handing it to you. “Let's do this.”

With a playful smile, you set the recorder up, each putting an earbud in your ears and settling back into your seats. You pressed play, and the muffled sounds of a busy operating room filled the air. It was surreal hearing the voice of Dr. Barnard himself, the man who made history.

And as you listened to the audio, you realised something: for all his gruff exterior, House really did know how to make someone feel special.

The tape clicked off, the last words of Dr. Barnard fading into silence. You pulled the headphones off, still staring at the paperwork, overwhelmed by the gift. "I can’t believe you did this, for me. Thank you." you whispered, your voice thick with gratitude.

House didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking to the papers in your lap, then slowly moving to you. The air between you two seemed to shift. You both sat in the quiet, not quite looking at each other but feeling everything.

Then, without warning, House leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a desperate, however steady kiss. It was raw, full of emotion. His hands found your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stop himself. You kissed him back, just as desperate, as if something inside you had snapped. 

But then, just as quickly as it had started, House pulled away, his breath shallow. His eyes widened slightly, and he sat back as if the space between you could somehow shield him from whatever that had been.

“That was a mistake,” he muttered, his voice tight, eyes avoiding yours.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. He’d already gathered his things, and stood up from the bench. The moment dissolved, and all that remained was discomfort. 

The drive was silent, the tension thick in the air. Neither of you spoke. Every thought seemed trapped in your head, and the only thing you could hear was the hum of the engine.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and he certainly wouldn’t look at you. He dropped you off home, with a simple “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

You sat up in bed, reading the papers he had given you. You hoped this didn’t ruin everything. Was it still an act, or was it real?

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, you drove your parents to the airport. The ride was quiet at first, with the weight of last night's events still lingering in the air.

Your mother was the first to break the silence. “You know, we like him,” she said casually, glancing out the window as you stopped at a red light.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“House. We like him. He’s good for you.” She looked at you with a knowing smile. “You should keep him.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly masked it with a forced smile. “Right,” you said, trying to sound casual. 

Your dad chimed in from the back seat. “He seems like a solid guy. A bit rough around the edges, but sometimes that's what you need.”

You didn’t respond, your mind drifting back to last night. You still weren’t sure what to make of it all, but your parents’ easy approval of him didn’t help the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

At the airport, you pulled into the drop-off zone, helping them grab their bags, “We will call you when we land, okay?”

“Okay,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Have a safe flight.”

Once they were inside, you lingered for a moment, watching them disappear into the terminal before you turned back to your car. You still had to go to work, but for some reason, the thought of facing House filled you with dread.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the hospital, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being on edge. You had expected to find House in his office or somewhere in the building, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The day dragged on, and the more time passed, the more it felt like he was avoiding you. You passed by his office, but he was never there. You tried to catch a glimpse of him on the floor, but again, you couldn’t find him.

By the afternoon, you had to admit it: House was actively avoiding you.

You tried to shake it off, focusing on your work, but his absence kept distracting you. It wasn’t like House to pull away, and the fact that he was doing it now made your stomach twist.

Why was he avoiding you?

When you walked into the Diagnostics room, Wilson was there, scanning over some charts with his usual calm expression. You stepped in, standing by the doorway, watching him for a moment before speaking up.

"Wilson," you began, your voice portraying a hint of frustration. "Do you know where House is? He's been avoiding me all day."

Wilson didn’t even glance up from his paperwork. He knew exactly what was going on, "You think he’s avoiding you?"

"Well, yeah," you replied, folding your arms across your chest. "He's not in his office, and I’ve barely seen him all day. What else am I supposed to think?"

Wilson sighed, leaning back in his chair and giving you a long look. "You know House," he said, his voice soft but with a knowing edge. "He’s not exactly great at dealing with feelings. He’s hiding. He always does."

You furrowed your brow, confused. "Hiding from what?"

"From you," Wilson said, "From whatever happened between you two. It’s easier for him to pretend it didn’t happen than to deal with whatever he’s feeling." He paused, meeting your gaze, "I don’t think House knows how to handle it. But trust me, he’s avoiding it. And to do that, he’s avoiding you."

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, House entered Wilson’s office, dragging himself in with his usual dissatisfied expression. He dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, tossing his cane aside.

Wilson didn’t look up from the papers on his desk, but the silence was heavy with unspoken tension. 

Finally, Wilson set his papers down, slowly lifting his gaze to meet House’s. "I’m not sure if I need to say this, but I will anyway," he started, a knowing glint in his eyes.

House raised an eyebrow, not thrilled by the direction this conversation was headed. "If you’re about to offer advice, Wilson, save it."

Wilson leaned back in his chair, his voice casual but laced with meaning. "You’ve been avoiding her, haven’t you?"

House shifted uncomfortably on the couch, eyes glued to the floor. "I’m not avoiding her."

Wilson didn’t let it slide. "You’re lying, House. And you’re not fooling anyone. You think she doesn’t know? She’s starting to get suspicious."

House’s gaze snapped to him, defensive. "I’m not pulling away. I’m busy."

Wilson shrugged, "I’m sure. But that’s not the problem, is it? You’re scared. Scared of what’s happening between the two of you."

House’s posture stiffened, and he exhaled sharply, trying to brush it off. "This is ridiculous."

Wilson’s gaze softened with understanding, but his words remained blunt. "You don’t have to say it out loud. But you’ve got to stop hiding. You’re pushing her away, and you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be."

House ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but said nothing.

Wilson leaned in slightly, his voice quieter now. "I’m not asking for some grand declaration. Just don’t mess this up. You care about her, and you know it. She cares about you. If you keep running, you’re going to lose her."

House let out a long sigh, rubbing his face with both hands. "I know," he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That evening, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had tried, and you had been shut out. You needed answers.

Without thinking too much, you grabbed your keys and drove straight to his apartment. When you knocked, you already knew he might try to shut you out again, but you weren’t leaving until you got an explanation.

He opened the door, and for a brief second, the surprise flickered across his face before his usual mask slipped back into place. “This isn’t a good time,” House muttered, starting to close the door.

“Too bad,” you shot back, stepping past him into his apartment. 

He let out a sigh, slamming the door behind you. “I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled.

You crossed your arms, standing firm. “You’ve been avoiding me,” you said bluntly, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “Why?”

House froze. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flickering with annoyance. He moved to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a long sip, pretending like he hadn’t heard you.

You didn’t let him get away with it. You walked over, standing directly in front of him, forcing him to face you. “Tell me why, House. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

His eyes flicked to you, and for the first time in days, you saw something vulnerable there. But he quickly masked it with irritation, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re the one who kissed me, and yet you’re the one running away.” you expressed.

“You wanted me to be a part of this arrangement,” he said sharply, a coldness in his tone. “The kiss didn’t mean anything, it was all part of the act. You can go.”

The words felt like a slap. You stood frozen, processing the harshness in his voice, but then, something changed inside you. You weren’t going to let him push you away this easily.

“That’s not how it was, and you know it,” you shot back, your voice growing louder. “You didn’t just kiss me for the act. You didn’t just make me think there was something real about this.”

He remained standing, completely silent, eyes not once meeting yours.

“Why did you kiss me back?” you asked, feeling deflated, “Why did you let it go that far if it was nothing to you?”

There was a thick tension in the air. And then, just like that, he snapped. “Because it wasn’t nothing. And I hate it.”

You took a steadying breath, stepping forward slightly. Your hand rose to his face, forcing him to look you in the eye. "Tell me you don’t want this, House. Tell me, and I’ll go. I’ll never bother you again."

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze flicked over your face, something unreadable in his expression. But then, his eyes softened ever so slightly, his usual defensiveness missing.

“I can’t.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

You felt a weight lift from your chest. Neither of you moved, but for the first time, it felt like you were both finally, truly facing the truth.

House let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

His laugh was humourless. “It means I’m me. I’m an ass. I’m miserable, I’m sarcastic, I push people away for fun. I lie, I manipulate, I-” He gestured vaguely. “I’m not nice. I’m not easy. You-” He pointed at you. “You’re smart enough to know better.”

You stared at him, your heartbeat hammering in your ears, “I like you.”

House scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, apart from the vicodin, and the cane, oh and the stubbornness-”

“I like you,” you interrupted, firmer this time. “I like that you challenge me, I like that you never let me win just because it’s easier. I like that you remember things I say, even when you pretend you don’t care. I like you. Just as you are.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. For once in his life, Gregory House was completely, utterly speechless.

You just looked at him. Patient, steady, completely unafraid of what he was so sure made him unlovable.

Before you could say another word, he grabbed your face and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was desperate, like he was trying to memorise the way you felt. His hands fisted in your jacket, pulling you closer. There was no fighting this. Not anymore.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, matching his intensity. His stubble was rough against your skin, his grip firm, like he needed you to know that this was real.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless. His forehead rested against yours, “You know, you’re still covering my clinic hours this week.”

You chucked, “Oh shut up,” before pulling him in and kissing him again.

That night was the night you finally figured out what was beneath the sarcasm and the gruff exterior. 

It was fear.

Not just fear of getting hurt, but fear of being wanted. Fear that if someone saw him, truly saw him, they’d decide he wasn’t worth it. That they’d leave.

Yes, comes his reply, permeating every crevice of your brain. It’s titillating, having his voice sound from so deeply within you. You gasp into his mouth, brow creasing with want. He kisses you back fervently, desperately, guiding you back deeper into the bedroom; this time it was on his terms. 

Charles is the first to break the kiss. Small, shallow pants fan out through his parted lips, barely audible over the rushing in your ears and the rapid drumming in your chest. His cheeks are rosy, closer now to the hue of his flushed lips that purse as he regards you intensely, studying. One hand lifts from where it was cradling the side of your face to ever-so-delicately brush a strand of hair back behind your ear, his gaze flitting across your features until you finally lock eyes. They sparkle even in the dimness of the firelit bedroom. 

He steps away from you suddenly, proceeding back towards the bedroom door that stood wide open. You watch as he swings it shut, taking care to allow neither the squeal of the hinges nor the slam of the door frame to invite any unwanted questions tomorrow at breakfast. Charles turns back to you, considering. He wrings his hands beneath his chin momentarily before slowly approaching you, the typical easiness about him dissipating. He comes to stand in front of you, his eyes looking to you for guidance. 

“Am I okay?” He asks softly, kindly. His fingers gently weave into your hair as his thumb brushes over your cheek. You nod jerkily, struggling to mask the way your body jitters. He raises his eyebrows as if to pose the question once again; he wants certainty, evidence. A man like Charles always does. 

“Yes-,” You suck in a breath, “Yes, of course you are,” you reply earnestly, searching his eyes in the hopes of conveying just how much you want this, want him, to continue. The corners of his lips quirk upwards into a lopsided smile, utterly boyish in nature. Cute. He comes right back into you, hooking a finger under your chin in order to pull you to his lips once more. You do not acquiesce however, tilting your face instead to brush the tip of your nose against his, smiling teasingly. 

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you murmur onto his parted lips as you lose yourself in his eyes. Those same eyes now flit down towards your lips once, twice, before he lowly utters,

“Oh yes they fucking do.”

Your mouths crash together once more, small moans of relief escaping you both as you lick into each other, tongues laving. You swallow his breath before he can gasp for it, both of your lips warm, wet and wanting. You resume your shuffle deeper into the room, reaching for his collar as you go. Before you could start on undoing it, the backs of your knees hit the bed, prompting you to gently fall backwards. Charles then reaches an arm to rest at the side of your head as he climbs on top of you eagerly. You smile into the kiss.

the man seems a lil avoidant, like he’s just wary of people in general so i'm not so sure how well he’d respond to hearing from a third party that you had a crush on him, whether that be a close friend of yours or an unfamiliar group of fellow rebels. he’d immediately feel like expectations were being pushed onto him and people were anticipating him to react in a certain way. he doesn’t like that, it feels like someone's yanked open the curtains that were obscuring him from the bright light of perception? so even though he returns your feelings for sure, he’s not going to react well to that kind of direct address/situation and would most likely pull away from you in an attempt to take back the control he feels he’s lost.

in the end i think if one of you were to make a move to further the relationship, it would have to be him because he doesn’t like feeling caught off guard or put on the spot. even then, he’s definitely not confessing the true extent of his fondness for you (even though it totally consumes him, this is a man that feels deeply, just look at those eyes babe). 

cassian is someone who expresses their love through actions and deeds, not so much words, at least not immediately, that’s a little too vulnerable for him at the moment.

let's be honest, his version of getting the message across to you is patting you on the shoulder and telling you “that’s really good” as he oversees your group’s blaster training. like the affection is there and you totally get free passes where others don’t, but overall there’s really nothing concrete to suggest he thinks of you as anything other than a friendly comrade, which is probably how he likes it for now.

again, addressing it head on either by yourself or having another person plant the notion into his mind is not the way to go about this. he’s like a stray animal, you see him from across the street and desperately want to pull him close and love up on him, but even the most careful approach will have him skirting away from you in a flash after one wrong move.

honestly the only way to go about this i think is to just let him do his own thing, find a quiet and subtle way let him know you’re open and will be waiting with open arms, and he’ll come to you eventually. i’d say he’d come to you in his own time, and I wouldn't be lying but let's be honest, that first really meaningful look (see elevator scene in rogue one 😩) and pleading of your name is going to come in a moment of high-stakes and danger. what can I say, there's nothing like a life threatening situation in which either one or both of your lives are in jeopardy and desperation and stress infect every decision made, to provoke a momentary lapse in resolve and allow some painfully concealed concern and devotion to seep out of one's every orifice <3.

then there’s the subject of his name. obviously he introduces himself as cassian (unless he’s undercover but that’s a whole other can of worms, you’d get there in the end), so you’ve not really any reason to suspect otherwise until you pose an innocent question about the origins of his name, which leads him to hesitantly surrender his birth name to you. this is only something he’d ever consider doing if he truly, deeply trusted you and felt ready to open up even just a little bit. again, it’s all in his own time, there’s no pushing cassian. psst, don’t be afraid of using his real name, he’ll answer to it…just pick the right moments iykyk

when on missions, clashes tend to happen. cassian believes he knows best (and maybe he does. he probably does lets be fr we’re dumbos), so you’ll every now and again notice him speaking for you or making decisions on your behalf. obviously as an independent entity, this will most likely get on your nerves so it’s an issue that’ll have to be addressed in a sit down session with him. he honestly doesn’t mean it in a controlling way, he probably sees it as him relieving you of any unnecessary burdens, so you’ll have to make it clear to him you’d appreciate it if he lets you stand on your own 2 feet and would, well… for a lack of a better phrase, ‘just butt out’. at the end of the day, you’d rather be equals, partners in crime, not so much some micromanaged talent. come on, it’s understandable cass.