He stopped, chest heaving, eyes darting up to Ansel's face.
"And then I puked on you," he added weakly.
It was silent for a few seconds before, Ansel clicked his tongue slowly.
"So you thought.." he said, tone deceptively calm, "that getting drunk alone in my house, on my wine, was the solution?"
Lance winced.
"No.." he said immediately. "I mean—yes? No. I don't know. I just wanted everything to stop for a bit."
Ansel's gaze sharpened.
"Explain."
Lance hesitated, then exhaled shakily.
"…Henry.." he admitted. "He said some things, he shouldn't have. He got angry, accused me of shit, forgot I was the victim and just.." He laughed bitterly.
"Everyone gets to be angry except me, right?"
His shoulders slumped.
"I felt like shit. I still do. So I drank. I didn't mean to disrespect you. Or your house. Or your—ridiculously expensive taste in wine."
That earned him the faintest twitch at the corner of Ansel's mouth.
But only faint.
