Foreman focused on shaving, making each movement count, so that he wouldn't have to think too hard about what House wanted after House walked away from the conversation. Maybe House wasn't dumping him, or trying to make Foreman do the honours, but what did he think would happen if he brought Foreman's attention to everything he was giving up because he'd chosen to pursue what had to be a dead-end relationship? Foreman was enjoying it, but he couldn't think in terms of forever, or even beyond a few months. They'd drive each other insane eventually. Foreman didn't want to end it; his shoulders tensed further when he thought about it. Little things, like tickling House just because he could, or the look on House's face when Foreman had walked in on him in the showers at work. He'd never get to see that again, or take those liberties.
He liked knowing where he stood. He liked knowing the odds of any decision before he made it. But with relationships, it was easier to put the burden of feelings and meaning on someone else. Foreman could easily go along, make the gestures he needed to make, say the right things, without taking responsibility for the outcome. He knew he wasn't perfect--most often, he let his girlfriends do the dumping, and it was easy enough to accept because he wasn't over-involved. That was safe. His career didn't come into it.
With House, he'd finally found a situation where his two strategies conflicted--putting his career first, and letting a relationship alone and unexamined as long as he could. Foreman finished shaving, wiped the last of the gel from his face, and went into the bedroom to find some clothes. He dressed without thinking very hard about what he looked like, choosing the checked suit and a blue shirt and tie. Wandering out to the living room, he glanced at the television from where he stood behind the couch, then down at House's sprawl. Foreman didn't really mind having him there. It would be nice if the world saw fit to stay out of his damn business, but he knew better than to expect that. "Ready to go?" he asked, deciding to let the conversation drop. If their relationship became a problem, or it wasn't worth it anymore, they could deal with it then. House was the one who had a problem being happy, not him.
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He liked knowing where he stood. He liked knowing the odds of any decision before he made it. But with relationships, it was easier to put the burden of feelings and meaning on someone else. Foreman could easily go along, make the gestures he needed to make, say the right things, without taking responsibility for the outcome. He knew he wasn't perfect--most often, he let his girlfriends do the dumping, and it was easy enough to accept because he wasn't over-involved. That was safe. His career didn't come into it.
With House, he'd finally found a situation where his two strategies conflicted--putting his career first, and letting a relationship alone and unexamined as long as he could. Foreman finished shaving, wiped the last of the gel from his face, and went into the bedroom to find some clothes. He dressed without thinking very hard about what he looked like, choosing the checked suit and a blue shirt and tie. Wandering out to the living room, he glanced at the television from where he stood behind the couch, then down at House's sprawl. Foreman didn't really mind having him there. It would be nice if the world saw fit to stay out of his damn business, but he knew better than to expect that. "Ready to go?" he asked, deciding to let the conversation drop. If their relationship became a problem, or it wasn't worth it anymore, they could deal with it then. House was the one who had a problem being happy, not him.