DISCLAIMER -House does not belong to me.

Because good…was never enough for him. It was always the stack of faults which pushed him forward. He sometimes wished he wasn't such a pessimist, such a masochist, wasn't so scared. He wished he could be happy. He wished he knew what he actually wanted.

But then again, he never did what he wanted. He did what he needed the most, because that kept him driving on, that made him set targets to achieve.

He was, and he had long ago accepted this fact, a naturally unsatisfied person, who didn't know what he wanted and neither did he care. He was a person who had befriended stress and angst, bitterness and mistrust, that by the time he actually let the walls around his heart melt slightly, someone always ended up disappointing him.

And he never blamed them. He knew he was tough to put up with, hard to please, completely and totally insufferable once his exterior turned to a translucent shade, allowing a glimpse of himself and his soul to the others.

The worst fact, though, was the lack of knowledge of the reason behind all these things. He didn't know who was to blame for his plight other than himself, and that reminder always made him feel like a bigger disappointment.

A small voice he always brushed off as useless excuses reminded him that he wasn't the offspring of the world's best parents. Excuses were not meant for him.

Chase stares at his hands, studying the lines. What was he exactly? A self-loathing disappointment?

A hand. On his shoulder. Gasps.

"Surgery didn't go well?" Not concern –not concern not concern anything but concern please please please- why was he here?

A shake of head.

Squeeze. Another gasp. Fingers slowly working on the buttons.

"We did all we could."

Fingers. Burning, hot rushing down in a sensual rhythm across his skin as the shirt slides open in a smooth motion.

"It's okay."

Bite. A moan. More more more more more –need to forget need to breathe –ah ah ah more more more… House. Can't get enough of him.

Why?

Why him?

And then, a whisper, stinging and biting, breathing right into his ear and hitting his heart straight, and it's so good, "It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe if I had-

"No," House nibbles on his ear, and pulls him toward the bed, "Nothing you could do. Forget it."

And then a kiss, soft, placating, reassuring… completing.

"Sleep. You're tired."

"I'm not your baby, and I need it desperately." Chase sucks at the skin, because god he needs to confirm that there's no feeling and no attachment because they always end up hurting and he wants to keep it a strict no-strings attached relationship.

"Sleep." A final order.

Chase wonders why House never disappoints. And then he gets slightly scared and tries to sleep in the restless night with House's warmth beside him.

The blonde risks a look over his shoulder at House's sleeping face. Something in his heart painfully squeezes itself until it's suffocating to breathe. He sucks in a harsh breath and waits for the first crack.

Waits for the crack until it all breaks.

Waits for it all to crumble around him.

A brush of hands. Electrifying. Breathtaking.

Chase sobs.

He doesn't need this, not after everything he's gone through.

Silently, he prays.

Please let it be anything but love.

He can't handle that now. Not after years.

But as House's arm wraps around Chase in his sleep and the blonde takes in another scared breath, he feels the earlier cuts heal.

It's petrifying and it's risky and it's utterly unpredictable.

But then again, with House, it's always risky and unpredictable and petrifying.

House is the promise of pain. And Chase is a masochist.

A/N: Hey! So I wrote this and as usual... I don't know what it all is exactly, haha. *nervous giggle* But I hope you still liked it.

So, should I be waiting for reviews? :)