No. No. He wasn't going to let anything show, he wasn't going to break down, he wasn't going to lose control any more than he already had. Foreman squeezed away the burn behind his eyes and forced a deep breath. He refused, he fucking refused to start blubbing like a fucking child crying for his mother. It was bad enough that House never let up on him once it was clear that Foreman would react to digs about his mom. At work, Foreman spent his control taking every word House said and stuffing it so deep in a box at the back of his mind, locking it down so tightly, that he never had to worry about showing an eyelid's flicker of a reaction. Not just because the topic of conversation came up. So his family didn't get together, each of them alone--his dad without either of them, Marcus locked away, and his mom lost in her own mind. Foreman wasn't like that. Foreman chose to just pass the holiday by. He didn't need to hear about other families celebrating, being close, and all of them, all of them would turn on him and wonder exactly what was wrong with his family that they weren't doing the same. Foreman was not going to admit they were any better for being together. Not to mention that he'd be fucking 'scandalous', worse than a punk rocker. He was a professional, a doctor, a success. But they wouldn't see that. Even Amber knew it.
Swallowing hurt like he was trying to down a horse pill, but when he turned, at least there was nothing showing on his face. "My mom's been sick," he gritted out, glaring to forestall any further questions. He wasn't so weak that he couldn't even talk about it. He just didn't want to.
What he wanted was to get out of here. Throw himself into an activity, use his muscles until they burned, until he was so exhausted he didn't have to think. "There's three weeks to think about it," he said, trying to end the conversation and the idea without making himself into the villain. Unless there was a plane involved, in which case buying tickets or not was a pretty immediate problem--don't think about it. "Why don't we get out of here? I'll get you a pass to my gym."
If Amber even wanted to go with him. After witnessing him nearly breaking down over something so simple, maybe she'd want to kick him out instead of dealing with it. That would be fine by him. He'd leave, put in his workout, and go home. Didn't fucking matter what he showed when he was in his own apartment, alone. That was probably for the best.
no subject
Swallowing hurt like he was trying to down a horse pill, but when he turned, at least there was nothing showing on his face. "My mom's been sick," he gritted out, glaring to forestall any further questions. He wasn't so weak that he couldn't even talk about it. He just didn't want to.
What he wanted was to get out of here. Throw himself into an activity, use his muscles until they burned, until he was so exhausted he didn't have to think. "There's three weeks to think about it," he said, trying to end the conversation and the idea without making himself into the villain. Unless there was a plane involved, in which case buying tickets or not was a pretty immediate problem--don't think about it. "Why don't we get out of here? I'll get you a pass to my gym."
If Amber even wanted to go with him. After witnessing him nearly breaking down over something so simple, maybe she'd want to kick him out instead of dealing with it. That would be fine by him. He'd leave, put in his workout, and go home. Didn't fucking matter what he showed when he was in his own apartment, alone. That was probably for the best.