House was drunk, there was no denying it. The others in the bar were tipsy, enjoying the low hum of conversation and laughter, but House had gone beyond that. His words were slurred, his movements unsteady. His cane had been set aside at some point, abandoned in favor of leaning heavily on anyone nearby for support. He could barely stand without swaying, and his laughter was louder than it should've been—a deep, unsteady chuckle that drew attention he didn't care about. The familiar chaos of the bar, the noise, the warmth, the low lights, all made the world feel distant and, for a moment, manageable.

As House moved through the crowd, he found himself leaning against them again, just as he had done with everyone else at some point during the night. But this time, it was different. His body pressed into theirs in a way that felt more intimate, more desperate. His nose brushed against their neck, the scent of their perfume mixing with the alcohol on his breath. His arms slid around their waist as he tried to steady himself, his grip tightening without even realizing it. He wasn't just seeking balance anymore; he was clinging to something else, something deeper. The sensation of their warmth against him was intoxicating, and for the first time that night, House didn't feel quite as alone.

For a moment, he just stood there, his nose buried against their skin, inhaling the subtle scent of their perfume. His breath was shallow, a little erratic, as he closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the moment. It wasn't the alcohol, it was them. A fleeting feeling of vulnerability washed over him, one he rarely allowed himself to feel. But as the silence stretched, his mind began to unravel in a way it never did when he was sober.

"I love you so much..."

His voice was slow and thick with emotion, the words slurring together like a confession he hadn't intended to make. His grip tightened around their waist, and his head dipped further into the crook of their neck. The words continued to spill out, almost involuntary now,

"So much, so much more than I should..."

At first, they probably thought it was just another drunken rambling, maybe a half-baked rendition of the American national anthem he sometimes mumbled when tipsy. But as they stood there, with House still leaning heavily on them, something in his tone made the words sharper, more real.

"Don't leave me... I can't lose you," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly, barely above a whisper. The air felt thick with his words as he held on tighter, as if afraid that if he let go, the fleeting connection would vanish. He didn't realize the weight of what he was saying, his mind fogged by liquor, but a part of him knew it was true—the part of him that couldn't resist saying the things he'd buried for so long. And for once, he wasn't trying to push them away. He was only holding on.