The Look
Foreman rather made a point, now, of observing his colleagues, since it usually proved better than watching TV. At the moment, he was observing Chase care for their rather gay patient. The physcian in question practically fled the room and slammed the door behind me.
"There is," Chase began in a strained voice, "A man giving me a look."
"What look?" Foreman queried, glancing through the glass, "He seems occupied with that magazine."
Chase gave him a sour look. "You know, The Look."
"The Look?"
"Like the, 'hey there, how 'bout it' look. You know, for when you're trying to...you know."
"I'm afraid I don't."
"It's The Look! How can you not know what The Look is?"
"He's looking at you...this disturbs you? Do you have a phobia?"
Chase ran a hand through his hair, now, if possible, more shaken up. "It's like...a seduction look."
"I'm afraid a look is not on par with actual actions."
"It is too."
"Look, if he say...grabs your ass, yes, then be flustered, in the meantime -- what the hell is that?"
"It's The Look."
"Uh..."
Chase quirked an eyebrow. "See? It's bothersome."
"And you wonder why you don't have a girlfriend."
Note: I sort of see slash implications if I squint.