Multiple people gathered around the small dance floor, the open bar, and the lounging area. Hair was teased on every woman he saw, men had either locks of curls twisted down there face, ou it messily slicked back. He even saw a couple with mullets ou wigs of long hair and cheap, worn eye make up smudged all under their eyes. It was no shocking surprise that when he had went downstairs to rejoindre this ridiculous party, everybody stared confusingly at him.
“House, this is an 80’s party.”
A puzzled look was plastered on the Oncologist face, as he approached him par the stair case.
“They should be plus specific on the invitations.”
“You did this on purpose? House-”
“Wilson-”
There’s a slight pause, then House continues.
“Now it’s your turn to interrupt.”
He states, mockingly.
“House, toi were supposed to have changed.”
“I didn’t do this on purpose. When they put ‘80s’ theme on the invitation, they should put ‘19’ before it. Makes it alot less confusing. Especially, since these idiots were invited.”
He bobs his head upwardly, toward the pact-full dance floor of drunken donors and doctors.
“I’m going to get something to drink, toi want something?”
Wilson asks, ignoring his précédant statement.
“A beer.”
He nods obligingly, and quickly leaves.
House still stands there in the exact spot, studying everything. Whether it were a woman’s body language ou a man’s walking pattern; he observed it all. His mind busy on meaningless things, until a unique but yet familiar beat started to blare throughout the now overly-full dance area. Eyes wondered and darted across every corner of gigantic bottom floor, searching for her. Black 80’s fixed wavy curls flew elegantly around, as she turned her head, searching for him as well. Blue on blue met, one pair of eyes on one side of the room, the other pair on the opposite side. Her eyes lit up like sparklers on the 4th of July, his eyes filled with fire, burning of lust as he scanned her up and down.
She weakly smiled at him, and nodded her head left to the dance floor, indicating for him to meet her there.
He softly shakes his head no, and looks down then back up.
She mouths the word, “come on”, in a hopeful encouraging gesture.
He looks everywhere for a moment, and then his feet finally start to déplacer towards the dance floor, as does hers.
They stare at each other for a moment, flash backs of their past hitting the for fronts of their brains.
“Can toi still dance?”
“You act as if I have two bad legs.”
She smirks, and then begins to do a dance she doesn’t even know what to call. And, he joins as best he can.
They smirk at eachother, knowing what’s on both their beautiful minds.
“Feels like 20 years ago.”
She gives a half hearted smile, trying to lighten up the awkward mood.
“I don’t think I was wearing a 1780’s costume.”
“You had the full set of hair, though.”
He smirks, lightly.
“House…”
“Cuddy…”
“Why- why did toi just… disappear?”
The musique ends, and nothing else is happening, but this moment occurring between them right now.
He breathes a quiet nervous breath.
“I was 25, and I was… scared.”
He looks down at her, regret montrer in his piercing blue eyes.
She steps an inch closer to him, they’re almost toe to toe, when she notices brutal reality is standing right in front of one of the entrance doors.
“I can’t.”
She states, softly, backing away from him.
He stares, brows drawn together. He turns around, looking at the place she seems to be longingly staring at.
Lucas.
He turns his head back around to her, montrer he clearly knows.
She looks down, too guilty to even look.
Her lips turn into a crooked frown, and she walks away. Not even a sashay of her hips, to make him look.
Lucas welcomed her with open arms, tightly hugging her, and small continuous pecks on her soft sadly frowned lips. And, he watches from the dance floor, watching them leave hand in hand together. Soon after, a song starts up again from the DJ’s stereo system. A song only fitted for this mood, Boy’s Don’t Cry.
“House, this is an 80’s party.”
A puzzled look was plastered on the Oncologist face, as he approached him par the stair case.
“They should be plus specific on the invitations.”
“You did this on purpose? House-”
“Wilson-”
There’s a slight pause, then House continues.
“Now it’s your turn to interrupt.”
He states, mockingly.
“House, toi were supposed to have changed.”
“I didn’t do this on purpose. When they put ‘80s’ theme on the invitation, they should put ‘19’ before it. Makes it alot less confusing. Especially, since these idiots were invited.”
He bobs his head upwardly, toward the pact-full dance floor of drunken donors and doctors.
“I’m going to get something to drink, toi want something?”
Wilson asks, ignoring his précédant statement.
“A beer.”
He nods obligingly, and quickly leaves.
House still stands there in the exact spot, studying everything. Whether it were a woman’s body language ou a man’s walking pattern; he observed it all. His mind busy on meaningless things, until a unique but yet familiar beat started to blare throughout the now overly-full dance area. Eyes wondered and darted across every corner of gigantic bottom floor, searching for her. Black 80’s fixed wavy curls flew elegantly around, as she turned her head, searching for him as well. Blue on blue met, one pair of eyes on one side of the room, the other pair on the opposite side. Her eyes lit up like sparklers on the 4th of July, his eyes filled with fire, burning of lust as he scanned her up and down.
She weakly smiled at him, and nodded her head left to the dance floor, indicating for him to meet her there.
He softly shakes his head no, and looks down then back up.
She mouths the word, “come on”, in a hopeful encouraging gesture.
He looks everywhere for a moment, and then his feet finally start to déplacer towards the dance floor, as does hers.
They stare at each other for a moment, flash backs of their past hitting the for fronts of their brains.
“Can toi still dance?”
“You act as if I have two bad legs.”
She smirks, and then begins to do a dance she doesn’t even know what to call. And, he joins as best he can.
They smirk at eachother, knowing what’s on both their beautiful minds.
“Feels like 20 years ago.”
She gives a half hearted smile, trying to lighten up the awkward mood.
“I don’t think I was wearing a 1780’s costume.”
“You had the full set of hair, though.”
He smirks, lightly.
“House…”
“Cuddy…”
“Why- why did toi just… disappear?”
The musique ends, and nothing else is happening, but this moment occurring between them right now.
He breathes a quiet nervous breath.
“I was 25, and I was… scared.”
He looks down at her, regret montrer in his piercing blue eyes.
She steps an inch closer to him, they’re almost toe to toe, when she notices brutal reality is standing right in front of one of the entrance doors.
“I can’t.”
She states, softly, backing away from him.
He stares, brows drawn together. He turns around, looking at the place she seems to be longingly staring at.
Lucas.
He turns his head back around to her, montrer he clearly knows.
She looks down, too guilty to even look.
Her lips turn into a crooked frown, and she walks away. Not even a sashay of her hips, to make him look.
Lucas welcomed her with open arms, tightly hugging her, and small continuous pecks on her soft sadly frowned lips. And, he watches from the dance floor, watching them leave hand in hand together. Soon after, a song starts up again from the DJ’s stereo system. A song only fitted for this mood, Boy’s Don’t Cry.
When does l’amour become something we need, rather than something we want? l’amour was seen as something special a long time ago. Now l’amour is what we are expected to have with us everyday of our lives. l’amour is common currency when toi are a teenager, but turns to worthless pennies the older toi get. Do we not care about the substance of what l’amour was and not what it has been made into today par commercialisation from American films and télévision commercials and soap operas? Only when we experience l’amour for real, can we commentaire and judge others who are in Love. l’amour means something different to everyone. Not two people’s feeling of l’amour is the same. Why do we generalize, rationalize and compartmentalize Love? l’amour is and will continue to be an enigma. Only a handful of people will ever unlock it and witness its true beauty and essence. The essence we all crave.
Love.
Love.