Chapter 18
Bloom
Chapter song: Bloom by The Paper Kites
The morning was unhurried, a rare luxury you weren't about to waste. With one hand, you spread peanut butter over a slice of bread, the dull scrape of the knife filling the quiet kitchen. It wasn't much, but at least you'd have something to snack on during House's lecture—a small reprieve from whatever chaos the day had in store.
You glanced at the clock. It had only been a few hours since Chase came by. The memory was fresh—his knock at your door, the soft exchange of words in the quiet of the night. He hadn't stayed long, but the look in his eyes lingered.
Sliding the sandwich into a container, you grabbed your coat and headed out. The hospital was stirring to life, the hum of conversations and distant beeps filling the air.
You passed a few familiar faces in the corridor, exchanging polite nods, but your mind was elsewhere. Chase was here. You could feel it, the way the air seemed different when he was around. You hadn't seen him yet, but the soft flutter of nerves in your chest told you it was only a matter of time.
By the time you reached the lecture hall, the turnout was sparse, just as you expected. House was already at the podium, fiddling with a laser pointer and muttering about the inadequacies of modern technology.
Cameron sat near the front, her pen poised over a notebook, while Foreman leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes half-closed. He looked like he regretted every drink he'd had the night before.
You slipped into a seat near the middle, pulling out the sandwich container and placing it discreetly on the desk. A voice beside you made you glance up.
"Starting early?"
Chase slid into the seat next to you, his smile faint but warm. His tie was slightly askew, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that made you wonder if he'd slept at all.
"I figured I'd need sustenance to survive this," you replied lightly, gesturing to the front where House was now pretending to wield the laser pointer like a sword.
Chase chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar. "Good call."
You turned to him, keeping your voice quiet. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Not much," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I was sorting through some stuff at home. Trying to make sense of it all."
You tilted your head, studying him. There was something vulnerable about the way he spoke, like he wasn't used to sharing these pieces of himself. "And? Did you manage to fix anything?"
He smiled faintly, his knee brushing against yours under the table. "Not everything. But it's a start."
The contact lingered, subtle but deliberate. You thought about moving your leg, but the warmth was grounding, comforting.
House's voice cut through the low murmur of the room. "Ah, look who decided to grace us with his presence," he announced, his gaze zeroing in on Chase. "Dr. Chase, how kind of you to join us. Rested from your little escapade at the conference?"
A ripple of amusement moved through the room, though most of the interns were too intimidated to laugh outright.
Chase didn't miss a beat. "Good to see you too, House."
House's eyes flicked to you, his smirk widening. "And you brought a friend. How sweet. Did you two carpool?"
You rolled your eyes, your cheeks warming under his gaze. "Just here for the lecture, House."
"Right, because this is riveting stuff," he said, gesturing dramatically to the slides. "Three stories. One diagnosis. Try to keep up, kids."
Chase leaned closer as House turned his attention back to the screen. "He's in a mood," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.
You smiled despite yourself, your fingers brushing against his as you adjusted your notes. The small, silent exchanges between you were like threads weaving something unspoken but undeniable.
House's slides weren't much help—half of them were poorly formatted, with illegible scribbles in the corners that looked like they belonged in an abstract art gallery.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Foreman rubbing his temples, his expression a mix of discomfort and regret. He shifted in his seat, wincing at the bright light of the projector. His body language screamed hangover.
"Foreman looks like he's regretting every decision that led to last night," you whispered, tilting your head toward the visibly suffering doctor.
Chase's lips quirked into a sly grin. "If House doesn't call him out, I'll be shocked."
As if on cue, House's voice cut through the room, sharp and unapologetic. "Dr. Foreman, if you're going to sleep through my lecture, at least do it with some dignity. Slumping like that makes you look unprofessional. Also, hydrate. You're the color of old wallpaper."
A stifled laugh rippled through the audience, and Foreman groaned under his breath, muttering something inaudible but likely unkind. You exchanged an amused glance with Chase, who looked far too pleased with the moment.
"You got anything in that container that might save him?" he asked, nodding toward the sandwich you'd been absentmindedly fiddling with.
You glanced at it, then back at him. "Peanut butter and bread. Not exactly hangover food, but I doubt he'd turn it down."
"I wasn't talking about Foreman," Chase said smoothly, his eyes glinting with humor. "I'm starving. Did you make that for the lecture, or are you planning to taunt me with it all day?"
The corner of your mouth twitched. "And here I thought surgeons were too busy to eat."
"Rarely, but when I do..." He trailed off, nodding toward the sandwich again. "Come on, just one bite."
You sighed theatrically, opening the container and holding it out. "Fine. One bite. But if you finish it, you owe me lunch."
Chase grinned, leaning closer as he took a small bite, his lips brushing the edge of the bread. "Perfect," he murmured, sitting back and chewing thoughtfully. "You make a mean sandwich."
"It's peanut butter on bread, Chase. Not exactly culinary mastery."
"Still," he said, his tone light but sincere. "I'll take what I can get."
The moment felt like it stretched, quiet and comfortable in the middle of the lecture hall chaos. House continued to drone on about the importance of balancing competing diagnoses, completely oblivious—or perhaps uncaring—of the small world forming between the two of you.
Foreman groaned again, rubbing his temples, and Chase leaned closer to whisper, "I give him fifteen more minutes before he bails. Any bets?"
You laughed softly. "Ten. He looks like he's one slide away from calling it quits."
Chase's knee brushed yours again, and this time, he didn't pull away. The gesture felt deliberate, almost like an anchor tying the two of you together amidst the madness of the day. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make your heart skip in a way that felt... different.
