A chill ran down Lance's spine the moment he realized Henry had reached his house far too quickly.
He wasn't ready for this conversation.
Not mentally, not physically or emotionally.
He bit his lip hard enough to taste metal while he tried to gather himself. Refusing to open the door wouldn't change anything.
Henry had a spare key, and he would absolutely use it.
"Shit," Lance muttered, but he walked to the door anyway.
He opened it to find Henry standing there with two bags in hand, breakfast in one and hangover meds in the other.
He looked annoyingly put together for someone who'd spent half the night pissed off.
"Hey," Henry said. His eyes swept over Lance immediately. "You okay? You drank a hell of a lot yesterday."
Lance swallowed and looked away. The silence between them was heavy and too pointed for anyone to ignore.
Normally Lance would have asked if he did anything stupid while drunk.
But his reaction right now for embarrassment and awkwardness, like he already knew what happened.
Henry hissed slightly, he guessed Lance remembered what happened yesterday.
He stepped forward. Lance stepped back. Henry kept coming, and Lance's balance faltered until he hit the couch and fell onto it.
Before he could sit up properly, Henry planted his hands on either side of the cushions, trapping him there without even touching him.
"Do you remember what happened last night?" Henry asked.
Lance stared at the floor. "Yes."
"All of it."
"…Yes."
Henry looked a little pissed, remembering everything meant he also remembered his encounter with Ansel and Henry did not like that.
"Guess there's no use pretending anymore. I've been crushing on you since the night we graduated high school.." Henry said. "Since we were eighteen. I've wanted you since then, but keep slipping away, going around fucking every guy you met, testing my patience.."
Lance pushed weakly at Henry's chest, but Henry didn't bulge, his eyes were on Lance's, searching for answers that Lance couldn't give.
Sighing, Lance spoke up "Yeah, I sleep with the guys I dated, what's wrong about that? You need to let these feelings go Henry, I'm never going to reciprocate them.."
Henry laughed, like Lance had said the funniest thing ever.
He was never going to reciprocate them?
"Don't make me laugh, I know how easy it is for you to fall in love with a good dick, how about I show you mine? I know what you like, I know how to satisfy your masochistic cravings…"
-_-
"So all you want to do is sleep with me? Is that what you're after Henry? I feel disgusted hearing what you just said. Why don't you just rape me? That's the reason we went drinking isn't it? To get me drunk so I wouldn't remember what happened the next day. You're just as sick in the head as I am Henry and that's why we can't be together."
Henry paused his lips, he stared at Lance for a moment then laughed.
"Then I'm going to have my way with you every chance I get. I'm going to ruin this friendship, because for the past six years all I've wanted to be was your boyfriend, to be your lover, to fuck you when and how I please. But you make it so hard Lance, you make it so damn hard. I'm going to kiss you now, you fucking better not complain.."
Henry leaned in slowly, and Lance instinctively brought his hands up to shield his mouth, bracing himself for whatever Henry thought he had the right to do.
Henry didn't stop moving. He lowered his head anyway, the breath between them tight and heated, his eyes locked on Lance like he was done pretending to have restraint.
Lance's pulse jumped. He pressed his palm harder over his lips, forcing space between them even though Henry's body hovered close enough to steal it if he wanted.
Henry's hand closed around Lance's wrist, not harshly but firmly enough to make it clear he intended to pull it away and close the distance.
Lance felt the pressure shift, felt Henry's weight settle in front of him, felt the moment right before something irreversible could happen.
Then Lance's phone rang.
Making both of them froze.
Henry's grip tightened while Lance's breath stalled. Neither of them looked away from each other at first, the sound breaking through the air like a warning.
When the phone rang again, Henry finally turned his head.
The name on the screen lit up in bright white letters.
Ansel Lowell.
Henry's jaw clenched immediately. Lance could feel the tension roll through Henry's entire body, sharp enough that it might as well have cut through the space between them.
Lance swallowed hard. His hand was still trapped in Henry's grip, his back still pressed against the couch. Henry didn't move for several seconds. He just stared at the name flashing on the screen like it confirmed every thought he'd tried to bury the moment he walked through the door.
Lance's stomach curled.
Henry looked back at him, and there was nothing soft left in his expression.
Only anger and jealousy.
"Pick it up," Henry said, voice low and rough enough to scrape down Lance's spine.
Lance didn't reach for the phone, he left it to keep ringing.
Henry leaned in again, even closer this time, the heat of him impossible to ignore.
"I said pick it up." he repeated, like it wasn't a request anymore.
The phone rang again.
And Lance reached for it with a shaking hand.
Lance finally pressed the green button, his thumb trembling slightly. For a second, all he could hear was static and his own breath caught in his throat.
Then Ansel's voice came through, low enough to vibrate but sharp enough to cut.
"Lance."
Just his name, said in a tone that made Lance sit up straighter without thinking.
There was no warmth, no patience. Only irritation simmering right beneath the surface.
"You made me wait," Ansel continued. "I don't appreciate that."
Lance swallowed. "I'm sorry.."
"Forget whatever it is you're doing. When I call, you answer." Ansel's voice was a low, dark rumble, the words dripping with authority. "Understood?"