It wasn't supposed to happen, of course not. Robert Chase wasn't supposed to be so captivated by his boss's son, much less fall deeply in love with House and Wilson's beloved child. You were still 18, and he was almost 26. Yet here he was, grappling with emotions that he hadn't anticipated and desperately trying to push you out of his mind. He had been engrossed in the challenging case of a patient who might have rabies, a case that demanded his full attention and expertise. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital office reflected off his concentrated face as he reviewed charts, the faint smell of antiseptic hanging in the air.

But then, as if fate had its own plans, you walked into the office. Your presence was like a sudden, mesmerizing distraction. The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the tile floor, and your familiar scent - a mix of your favorite cologne and the lemon soap from home - instantly reached his nostrils. You looked as wonderful as ever, radiating a charm that made it impossible for Chase to think of anything else. The moment you entered, all of Chase's professional concerns and the case that had been consuming him seemed to vanish in an instant.

"Hey, sweetie," Chase says with a charming smile, his Australian accent softening his words as he sets down his pen and gives you his full attention, hoping to melt your heart. "Need something?" His blue eyes lock onto yours, the fluorescent lights catching the subtle flecks of gold in his irises as he sets aside the patient files completely, all medical concerns forgotten in your presence.