Blue orbs widen, lashes no longer partially shielding his irises as House calls him a pervert, shock writing itself all over his face. It's the jarring sensation of it, how he goes from watching in helpless awe as House moves, fluid as he turns and then stopping with perfect precision it's like not so much as a muscle twitches after his feet snap into place. His lips are slightly parted, and he's almost stammering, except that it's more inarticulate sounds, than actual word fragments that slip past his lips, out of his mouth. Chase is still young, and it shows in more than just his floppy blond hair as he tries to come up with a retort to that accusation. And then House throws his sweaty towel at Chase, and the teen tries to catch it, but he's still so stunned that his reactions slow, and instead he spends a few seconds rather comically groping at the air and just barely missing the towel before it flops to the floor.

The silence hangs for a few moments, before he finds the words to at least try and fill it. "I'm not-- I didn't mean it like that," he insists softly. His hands fidget, fingers hooking together and coming apart, teeth pressing into his bottom lip as he stands there awkwardly. It's dishonest, at least in part. He might not have intended for the statement itself to be taken as perverse, that didn't mean that he didn't have perverse thoughts about House. Because he most certainly did. It was that easy grace that he moved with, the power that moved through his arms and extended into the expressiveness in his fingers.

He deliberates between picking up the towel and leaving it there, over and over again, until finally he surrenders; kneeling down to pick it up and sort of uncertainly handing it back. "I just meant that you're gorgeous when you're dancing." Chase can't keep the affect from his voice, is a bit too young still to really even think to try as he looks up at the older dancer.