Cure- House, MD

chapter 19: a box

"Where's House?" I ask Chase as I pass him in the hallway. He's glancing at a file, his forehead slightly creased with concentration.

"Hasn't come in yet," Chase replies, not looking up.

"Not like him," I mutter, more to myself than to Chase, but he shrugs and walks off, apparently unfazed.

I head to my office, my concern growing. House isn't the most reliable when it comes to being on time, but not showing up at all? That's different. I pull out my phone and call him, letting it ring until it goes to voicemail.

"House, where the hell are you?" I say after the beep. "Call me."

I hang up and shoot him a text, then another, and then another. Nothing. No reply. The longer the silence stretches, the more my irritation grows, edged with worry.

Finally, I grab my keys and head out, muttering under my breath about how House better have a damn good reason for skipping work today.

-

His house is exactly what I expected—messy, cluttered, and completely unkempt. A motorcycle is parked haphazardly in the driveway, and the front door is, of course, unlocked. I push it open and step inside, closing it behind me.

"House?" I call out, my voice echoing in the quiet space.

Nothing.

I walk further in, taking in the mismatched furniture, the random stacks of books, the faint smell of old takeout containers. This is the house I'm supposed to be moving into soon, but it feels utterly foreign.

The faint hum of an alarm clock draws me toward the back of the house. I follow the sound to a partially closed door and nudge it open.

House is sprawled across the bed, still in yesterday's clothes, one hand resting lazily on the snooze button of his blaring alarm. His face is buried in a pillow, his leg bent at an awkward angle, his entire posture screaming "I don't care."

I groan, picking up the nearest pillow and hitting him over the head with it. "The birds are chirping," I announce loudly.

He groans, shifting just enough to glare at me with one eye. "Oh good, an ornithology lesson. My day is complete."

"Get up," I say, throwing the pillow back onto the bed.

He doesn't move. "Why? The hospital still standing? Thought so."

I fold my arms, giving him a pointed look. "They might not notice you're missing, but I do."

"Flattering," he says dryly, pushing himself up slowly. He winces, his hand reaching out toward the nightstand. "Hand me my pills."

I hesitate for a moment, then grab the bottle and pass it to him. He pops a couple into his mouth, dry-swallowing them with the ease of someone far too used to the ritual.

"You're really making a habit of barging into my house," he mutters, leaning back against the headboard.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should lock your door," I shoot back.

"Why? If someone wants to break in and deal with this, that's their problem," he says, gesturing vaguely at himself.

I shake my head, letting out a frustrated sigh. "You could've at least answered your phone."

"And ruin the mystery?" he replies, smirking faintly.

I glare at him, but it's hard to stay mad when he's looking at me like that—like he knows exactly how to get under my skin. Still, I'm not letting him off that easy.