Wrote this when I should have been writing my English Comp. Essay. Hope you guys enjoy! Please review


Inhaling, he could hear the faint sound of paper and tobacco burning, could feel the cancer make its way down his windpipe and into his lungs, the illumination of the hot rock cast soft shadows on his face.

Exhaling, his breath was slow, almost like a sigh and he watched as the smoke rose into the air and spun in a lazy dance as if to satisfy him one more time before totally disappearing.

It was dark, he wasn't sure how much time had passed since he had given up going to sleep and had come into the living to sit on the window sill and smoke like he did every night.

He should know better, not only because he was a doctor but because his father had died of lung cancer almost ten months ago. He didn't care, he should, but he didn't; that seemed to be a developing motif in his life, not caring.

He leaned against the window, shivering slightly as his bare arm met the cold glass and brought his left foot up onto the ledge and he settled back to the dark calm of the world. Glancing over to his right he could just see the kitchen clock and saw that it was 2:13 in the morning.

It was quiet, there were no cars driving past his apartment, the television was off, no voices drifting in from the street or the surrounding apartments.

Quiet.

Inhale.

The faint crackle of burning trees and cancer patients filled his senses. He wondered briefly what Wilson was doing at this time of night, probably sleeping on House's black leather couch again if the rumors that he and his wife weren't together anymore were true.

Exhale, oh so slowly, smoke rolls out of his mouth and he brings up his hand and his fingers entangle with the toxic air.

He glanced down and then back out the window, absent-mindedly flicking his ashes into the ashtray that balanced precariously on his left knee.

Glancing to his left once more the clock reads 2:16. Another long night alone, he didn't care. He didn't care, not really.

Inhale, smoke dancing down his throat, faint crackle of dead trees, dead leaves. Face illuminated by a tiny burst of fire as it greedily ate at its fuel.

Exhale, sharp and fast as his silent darkness was broken. He looked out the window, down at the deserted street as he heard a car coming towards his building. The revving engine and he could have sworn it sounded familiar but he didn't know why. He could see the shine from the headlights as the car got closer and closer and his eyes widened when the car slowed and pulled into a parking space next to his car.

By the time the driver got out of the car, the surprise was erased from his face and his mask of apathy was firmly in place. The driver shut the car door and looked up directly at him. Their eyes locked, blue and green and he forgot how to breathe for a moment as he stared into the ocean blue depths.

He hissed softly as a hot ash fell on his finger and he looked away to brush the offending ash away. Looking back he was surprised when his eyes couldn't find the blue he tried to tell himself didn't matter.

Inhale, the crackling of the cigarette was drowned out as he heard a key fit into the lock of the front door before him. The door opened and closed before he got hit with a blast of cold air and he was silently thankful for the courtesy given him.

He didn't know why House was standing in front of him; he didn't care, not really. The blue eyed man had ended what the two of them had months ago and he hadn't shown any signs of wanting to be with him once more.

The older man was looking down at the beige carpeted floor and tapped the end of his cane onto the ground as if ordering the floor to speak for him, or swallow him whole.

Exhale, he thought about saying something but decided he liked seeing the older man struggling to speak too much to break the wonderful silence he had wrapped himself in since the two had split.

Flicking his ashes away he continued to watch House in mute observation. The man certainly did look worse for wear. He wondered if it was because of him. Wishful thinking.

He brought the cigarette up to his lips once more but stopped when House finally looked up at him. He could see the blue eyes up close now; he could see what he couldn't before when the two had first caught sight of each other.

House couldn't say it. The older man's blue eyes gave him away, he could see everything House wanted to say but never could.

He grabbed the ash tray off of his left knee and quickly pressed the half done cigarette into the tray before getting up and moving over to House. He set the ashtray on the coffee table and grabbed House's hand, leading him gently to the bedroom, leaving his cigarette to slowly burn out.