He yanked a bottle randomly and grabbed a handful of ice from the fridge, the clink of cubes against the glass loud in the quiet kitchen.
His hands shook slightly as he poured the deep red wine into a glass, the liquid catching the dim light and drawing his focus.
Lance swirled the glass, letting the aroma fill his senses.
For a moment, he imagined everything, Henry's anger, the chaos at school, the scandalous headlines, fading into nothing.
The warmth from the alcohol promised temporary relief, a brief escape from the mess of his life.
He sipped slowly, eyes closing as he let the bitterness roll across his tongue, then settle in his chest.
Each swallow was a tiny attempt to calm the storm inside him.
And for the first time in hours, Lance allowed himself to just be, alone with his thoughts, the wine, and the quiet hum of the kitchen around him.
Three hours later.
The front door clicked open.
