Chapter Text
This fic is all about the first song in the playlist:
House usually didn’t go to medical conventions because they were wholly predictable, a waste of his time, and full of terrible doctors who slept, lied, cheated, stole, or made a deal with Satan to get through medical school and their residencies. That said, when House saw that this year’s Diagnostic Clinical and Laboratory Science convention was being held in New Orleans, the fact that there's a speakeasy on every corner and tons of venues hosting live music far outweighed how bored and annoyed he’d be at the convention. The convention itself, as he expected and predicted, wasn’t super interesting in that every talk or panel that he attended featured at least one blow hard doctor with a self-inflated ego that didn’t have really anything to show for their work as their data was questionable at best with, in particular, quite ambiguous laboratory methods. They could present about their research all they wanted and throw in words and phrases like ‘novel,’ or ‘future studies might include’ during the course of their presentations or panel discussions, but House knew that no decent medical journal would ever accept their research without some sort of bribe.
Talks, panel discussions, and coffee networking breaks blended together at some point after the first three hours of the convention. House checked his watch for what felt like the twentieth time in those three hours thinking that maybe this time, time itself would (somehow) move quicker so he could leave this hell and go out to one of the speakeasys or clubs. Sure, he could do that now, but seeing as it was barely noon, nothing respectable was open yet and while he was desperate to leave, he wasn’t that desperate to go to a chain restaurant and drink, or at least not be at the convention surrounded by people who dressed far more impressively than they actually were. He was barely paying attention to what the ‘pre-lunch keynote’ was talking about, and, was about ready to walk out of the room. Now, being he was standing in the standing only part of the room (intentional so he could leave far quicker and not have to touch any of these losers in the process), he could’ve just grabbed his bag and quietly left the room. However, House was absolutely, miserably bored. And, the speaker, a whited haired, beady eyed physician who looked like a sleazeball had said “for all intensive purposes” for the tenth time in fifteen minutes, so House had decided to not go quietly through the door. He scoffed loudly.The white haired sleazeball did what can only be described as the cross between a tut and a cough. House smiled wickedly at the sleazeball, and after he grabbed his bag, he yelled “For the record, it is ‘for all intents and purposes.’ No wonder why you’re just a ‘pre-lunch keynote.’”
House smiled slightly as he made his way out of the room and into the atrium where one of the water, tea, and coffee stations was in the center.. He got some water, and, while pretending it was actually high proof ethanol, he people watched. If he was being honest, people watching, while still boring and not entirely cerebral in nature, was still a time honored tradition that House would partake in, especially at medical conventions. No one truly acted the way they acted in real life at these things. Everyone has a motive, or goals that they want to accomplish during these conventions, and, as such, they put on a fake personality, and an even faker smile to try and win people over to their side. People who are decent actors are able to do that and score handsomely, but others flame out too quickly and spend the rest of the convention miserable and defeated. As they should be.
House walked over to the garbage can to throw away his now empty water cup and, a few yards away, wearing a crisp, slightly loose seafoam green button down, black slacks, and black dress shoes was someone who passed House’s “absolutely not an actor in any capacity” test, was a guy. In particular, a guy holding a brown envelope. House didn’t know anything about him as the person, a spunky-looking Asian woman who really liked touching her hair while she was speaking to this guy, wasn’t familiar to him. House felt absolutely drawn to this guy. He was young. Far younger than really anyone else at the convention. He was certainly old enough to be a doctor, but, likely had just graduated from medical school and was starting his residency, or internship soon. House stared at the back of the guy’s soft looking dark brown hair as it he was trying to send subliminal messages get this guy to turn around so House could look at the front of him. Though, that said, the back of him was certainly setting some very high standards. The conversation between this guy and this spunky woman concluded and the woman was now a blushing spunky woman who was holding what appeared to be a business card . Interesting. The guy ran a hand through his hair and muttered something barely above a whisper at the seemingly out of place brown envelope he was holding. He sighed and pivoted on his heel, away from this woman.
House was hypnotized. He wanted to know everything about this guy. He wanted to talk to him. To get a drink (or eight) with him. To drag his fingers, tongue, and teeth across this guy’s cheekbones. To figure out what the heck was in that envelope that seemed to make this guy’s eyes not sparkle when House knew that on any other time, his eyes would sparkle more than the Milky Way.
This guy was the kind of guy that you want so much that it makes you sorry. House wanted him desperately.
Not boring.