He can see that House doesn't buy it, doesn't believe him, but Chase doesn't really care, because he's not planning on going anywhere. He's going to sit here and drink his whiskey until he's waster, and then he'll go home to Cameron's accusing eyes, and he'll watch his life twisting around him and stare blankly. But then House grabs the shot glass away from him and there's a sharp sound of shock that shifts into a brief murmur of protest as House puts it to his lower lip and tips it, forcing him to drink it.

Something changes. It's in his eyes, in his body language, how he holds himself, the way that he looks at House. He's softer, he's not fighting, and he's not hurting. House is aggressive, and Chase doesn't protest. Instead, he's tilting his head, sticking his tongue out to try and catch as much of the liquid as he can, even as it spills down the skin of his throat, soaking into his shirt and dripping from his jacket. They've been here before. Years ago. Just close enough to make it real.

"I- I'm sorry," Chase gasps once he's swallowed, off his tongue before he can think better of it, resist the urge. There's that look in House's eyes and it catches on all of the raw, broken parts of Chase that he's trying to ignore, deny, pretend that this isn't exactly what he needs. That he doesn't need harsh words and getting shoved up against a wall. And more than that. It's a secret that House already knows, and as much as he might have been able to ignore it in concept, he can't when it's House.

Then it hits him what just happened and his body tenses, but he doesn't pull away. He resists the urge to say something because anything he says can only make it worse.