No Laughing Matter
Title: No Laughing Matter
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by two photos seen here and here.
He won't say he's sorry. Not that I expect it.
I'm not sure I want him to. I don't know what I want, really. But I can't just drop it now.
We're both sitting on the couch and I've got a headache from glaring at him for so long. He's not looking at me. The television's turned up a notch too loud and I guess that's his way of keeping me from continuing the argument without yelling.
So I grab the remote from his hand and turn the TV off. He drops his spoon back into the cereal bowl, making the milk splatter, and turns to scowl at me. I scowl back.
All I know is that we're angry. I can't remember what the principle I'm fighting for is or even what it represents to me this time. He was mocking me, I think. And I'd had enough.
That's right. I told him I'd had enough and we started going back and forth. I'm wearing my best pissed as hell face, and it almost feels like a staring contest.
Then out of nowhere he starts laughing. Like seriously really laughing. He's laughing so hard that he's leaning forward. And setting the bowl down on the coffee table. My expression shifts into one of complete confusion and he points at me like I've got something on my forehead I don't know about.
“What are you laughing at? House?”
He can't breathe he's laughing so hard. I shove his arm forcefully with one hand and he waves at me to stop, like I'm making a joke that's killing him or something.
I scoot closer to him to try to get in his face and he brings his hand up to my forehead, fingers sprawled over my brow. Before I can jerk backwards he pulls his hand down over my face, fingertips stroking down the bridge of my nose and my cheeks. They only just touch my lips before moving away and when I open my eyes again he's stopped laughing.
“Better,” he says with a nod, looking smug.
“What? Why are you--”
“I can't talk to you when you look that way.”
“Look what way? House, this isn't funny. Stop grinning.”
“I can't help it! You look so...”
“Look so what?”
“Serious.”
I'm gaping at him dumbly now and he's gonna laugh again at any second. I try to squeeze a fist so that I can hit him when he does.
But I can feel the smile on my face already and I can't bring myself to give a damn.
So now we're both laughing and I've forgotten the principle of the matter again. I tell myself I should be even angrier because he does this a lot. Turns it into a joke. But I guess that's part of the reason he's worth the time.
Sometimes losing is more fun, anyway.
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by two photos seen here and here.
He won't say he's sorry. Not that I expect it.
I'm not sure I want him to. I don't know what I want, really. But I can't just drop it now.
We're both sitting on the couch and I've got a headache from glaring at him for so long. He's not looking at me. The television's turned up a notch too loud and I guess that's his way of keeping me from continuing the argument without yelling.
So I grab the remote from his hand and turn the TV off. He drops his spoon back into the cereal bowl, making the milk splatter, and turns to scowl at me. I scowl back.
All I know is that we're angry. I can't remember what the principle I'm fighting for is or even what it represents to me this time. He was mocking me, I think. And I'd had enough.
That's right. I told him I'd had enough and we started going back and forth. I'm wearing my best pissed as hell face, and it almost feels like a staring contest.
Then out of nowhere he starts laughing. Like seriously really laughing. He's laughing so hard that he's leaning forward. And setting the bowl down on the coffee table. My expression shifts into one of complete confusion and he points at me like I've got something on my forehead I don't know about.
“What are you laughing at? House?”
He can't breathe he's laughing so hard. I shove his arm forcefully with one hand and he waves at me to stop, like I'm making a joke that's killing him or something.
I scoot closer to him to try to get in his face and he brings his hand up to my forehead, fingers sprawled over my brow. Before I can jerk backwards he pulls his hand down over my face, fingertips stroking down the bridge of my nose and my cheeks. They only just touch my lips before moving away and when I open my eyes again he's stopped laughing.
“Better,” he says with a nod, looking smug.
“What? Why are you--”
“I can't talk to you when you look that way.”
“Look what way? House, this isn't funny. Stop grinning.”
“I can't help it! You look so...”
“Look so what?”
“Serious.”
I'm gaping at him dumbly now and he's gonna laugh again at any second. I try to squeeze a fist so that I can hit him when he does.
But I can feel the smile on my face already and I can't bring myself to give a damn.
So now we're both laughing and I've forgotten the principle of the matter again. I tell myself I should be even angrier because he does this a lot. Turns it into a joke. But I guess that's part of the reason he's worth the time.
Sometimes losing is more fun, anyway.