Amber pushed against him at first, struggling against what he was saying, and Foreman nearly let her go. He could have backed away. Last night she'd asked him to stop and he had; he respected her, he didn't want to force anything. But she'd said--maybe she hadn't meant it, but she'd said that she hadn't done this before, been with someone long-term, and that she still wanted it. Wanted to learn. Maybe she knew more about having sex in washrooms, or whatever other wild stunt entered her mind, but maybe there was a way that Foreman knew more. He'd felt so embarrassed about not having that kind of experience, no store of raunchy stories or embarrassing morning-afters, and he'd thought she'd judge him for it. But to see her like this, it was clear that there were times he'd been in a place like this, and she hadn't. He knew what it was like to get so ground up and knotted by his feelings that he did the wrong thing, or nothing at all when that was worse; and, even when it was hard as fuck, he knew how to, in the end, get the hell over himself and say everything he needed to. He knew how much it hurt, when he didn't hear it back, or heard it wrong; when somehow, no matter how much two people tried, they could fuck up what they were saying to each other. If he'd said something wrong this time, he'd wait for Amber to tell him so, but he wasn't going to let her go in the meantime. He wasn't going to let her see distance when there wasn't any. It didn't matter if she swore at him, Foreman just kept his hold. He wanted to help her, to be with her and wait it out. He wasn't going to lose her because he'd been the one to let go.

"Shh," he whispered, maybe too soft for her to hear. His face was still buried in her hair, and now he could feel the hot dampness of her tears on his shoulder, against his neck. This morning she'd wanted reassurance about how they'd know, when they were fighting, that they'd make it through to the other side, and he'd said they'd talk. What it hadn't even occurred to him to say was that this was important too--holding on, closing his eyes and swaying with her, breathing slowly to encourage her to do the same. There was still a part of him that was so damn terrified of this--of caring--but it was fucking true, and he couldn't make himself deny it just for his own smug comfort. Amber was the one who mattered now, what she felt. Her shoulders were shaking, her breath catching in her throat, and Foreman spread his palms, his thumb rubbing in soothing circles over her muscles, the other still tangled in her hair. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."