I've always wanted to do a fic for House, so I think before I tackle the big sadistic monster that we all know and love, I'll try with the little people. So here's a little ficlet that popped into my head very loosely inspired by Chase's haircut and the whole Cameron situation. Reviews would be amazing, considering its my first House fic~

Sure, he was a pretty boy, but he was a mess inside.

Alison leaving left him dead inside, numb to everything but junk food and alcohol. He brought himself to work every day, somehow, pulling on a dirty sweater vest or button down, dragging himself to the car that he steered to the hospital. He spent hours thinking about her sometimes. On a good day, it was only a few.

He had actually thanked god for giving him his typical Hollywood look. The blond hair, the piercing eyes, the wavy locks, the round, baby-faced features that everyone-- except Alison, it seemed-- adored. He could hide his problems behind his society approved exterior. That, he was thankful for.

In essence, he was just a bundle of nerves, nerves with frayed endings, with dead endings, utterly destroyed like they were stormed through by a natural disaster. He felt cold all the time, lacking the warmth that love always had provided him.

Maybe he was scared. He was alone now, in the world, after all. That was reason enough to be scared. Loneliness. His mom was gone, his father was dead, and his wife, or ex-wife, he didn't even know anymore, had left him for being a moral-less man. He was just a body, a face, with a mouth that would spew words every once in a while.

It wasn't like he was depressed, anyways. He understood why Alison left. He understood why the rest of his family had succumbed to death. He was surrounded with death every day, that numbness was one he was glad he had acquired. Blocking out the pain preserved his sanity. A mess already, he didn't know what he'd become with the burden of loss on his shoulders too.

Chase looked in the mirror and saw a reflection that he couldn't even recognize. How strange it is when you don't even know yourself. A glance into a mirror shouldn't show you a stranger. He was sick of it, sick of all of it. Sick of the pain, the doubt, and the little bit of an identity crisis that went along with it. He was ready for it to stop, to end. This couldn't go on forever, it would be the end of him. He told people to move on every day, with their lives. Taking his own advice was hard, but he'd do it. Especially if it would stop his hurting.

He picked up the razor, bringing it to his blond locks. He snapped it on, and pulled it downwards, blond tendrils falling across the sink. He was a mess, but he would fix it. With the razor, he was cutting his hair, but with each stroke, he was also himself of a painful memory.

I promise future fics won't be as depressing! Thank you for reading, and I really hope you review!