(no subject)
Date: Fall 2005
Characters: Lance Alvers, Zach Teller
Summary: After this thread, Lance returns home to face Zach. And the shit hits the fan. In a big way.
Status: In progress...
Private. Unless you want to get caught in the crossfire.
Hands shaking, he slowly fit the key into the lock, pausing a minute to rest his forehead against the faded wood. The alcohol that had been up to now pleasantly buzzing in his veins threaten to rebel on him, his stomach clenching in knots.
He left Candice an hour ago, walking from downtown in order to prolong the inevitable. He could only hope Zach was asleep, that he didn't have to face him. Could put this off till morning or next week or never. But that would be too easy and he didn't deserve easy.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, tucking his keys into his pocket and closing it behind him. He spotted Zach curled up on the couch, the TV on low. He couldn't tell if the other boy was asleep or not and decided not to check, walking to the fridge to grab a beer, wishing he still had gin left. Wishing he still fucking did pot. Something to make this less terrifying, to make his hands stop shaking.
God, he was going to be sick.