He was always stealing. Her words, mostly, from her lips to his. The words of protest felt so damn heavy on her tongue, choking her so much more than that slender hand wrapping and pulling and letting him steal the acerbic words. She knew he liked the taste of venom, swirling it around in his mouth. A fine wine should always be cherished, complimenting the bittersweet blue of her eyes just so.

Metaphors rattled in his head; he hated hearing them, a constant reminder that he might actually care. Damn her eyes, he needed to dilute the poison lest he need to be taken away on a stretcher.

"Do you remember the way we used to melt?" lowering her to his level.

"Do you remember how it felt when I touched you?" He ran a finger down her spine, somehow knowing she would arch into him so he could feel the vibration of her whimper against his chest.

"Cuz I remember very well," he murmured, forcing shivers up her spine. Oh, how she wanted to scream out against him, words arranged just so to stab at his vulnerabilities. Yet she found it too easy to know exactly what to say to make him leave, too simple indeed for a problem like House. She didn't want easy, that's why she l—that's why she was attracted to him. Easy was boring, as he would most definitely say, and had, many times, before she would dangle a tantalizing clue in front of his mental nose, never satisfied with the smell of simplicity.

And then the words came out anyway, even though she never wanted to mean them.

"I used to think you were the one, House." She sighed before she could help herself, giving away more than resignation.

"Now I'm sick of thinking anything at all."

She knew him well enough to see the shift from blue to blue-grey, the smirk of predatory want to refusal to show weakness. The barrier safely up, he was free to be as cruel as he wanted, and she had no choice but to take it.