Chapter 505: Unraveling
"...Before?"
"You were drinking."
"And?"
"You don’t usually drink during the day."
"Sometimes I do?" Lane tried to argue, but even he knew it wasn’t holding. Yes, occasionally he would crack a beer or something in the early afternoon on a day off, but it wasn’t a habit. So, emptying that many cans, when he was just hanging around the apartment alone, was bound to raise some questions.
Lane bit his lip, his mind racing. The reason he had been drinking was that he was stressed out about Blanc and everything going on with the secret organization, but he couldn’t tell Damien that. Not yet. Not anytime soon. Not until Damien had a ring on his finger and was locked in place, so that he couldn’t back out of it so easily...
But if not the truth, then what? What excuse could Lane give that would sound believable enough for Damien?
"Ugh." Lane tousled his hair, coming up to the only conclusion that made sense. As much as he didn’t like playing that card... "I was just... About last night... With the Al... my parents..."
He didn’t finish. Even suggesting that the fact that anything his parents did to him could rattle him so much that he needed a drink was enough to make him shudder, his stomach twisting. After all, he didn’t give a damn about them anymore. Not in this way. He refused to ever again be even remotely saddened by their attitude towards him. All that they could spark in him was pure, unadulterated rage and thirst for revenge...
But at least it worked. Damien only let out a soft, "Ah," and went silent again.
Did he know that Lane was lying? Probably. Almost certainly. Somehow, he always seemed to know. His Lane’s bullshit detector must have been blaring alarms in his brain.
However, at the same time, it made sense. Who wouldn’t be affected by their parents trying to get them killed?
Even if it was hardly the first time.
That must have been why he didn’t try to question Lane any further. He only quietly asked, "Are you... alright?"
"Hahah, what?" Lane forced a strained chuckle. "Of course I’m fine. I was just... well..."
He wanted to dismiss it. Wave it off, end the topic lightheartedly.
Yet, for some reason, he was at a loss for words. Lying on the sofa in Damien’s apartment, with his boyfriend silently watching him with concern, he suddenly found himself unraveling. As if he were a child again. As if it was the first time he had been thrown into a dungeon, facing death per his parents’ plans.
Had he been so shaken back then as well? He’d like to think he hadn’t been. But if he hadn’t, then where were those turbulent emotions coming from?
Time seemed to be flowing unbearably slowly, so slowly that even the blood in Lane’s veins seemed to still. All the city noises that he could normally pick up with his superior hearing quieted down, as if the world around them disappeared. There was only Lane, his thoughts, and Damien, standing in silence near the couch, waiting, giving Lane space to express his feelings.
Lane wouldn’t, though. Expressing his feelings wasn’t something he was particularly good at, he wasn’t fond of it either. Especially those kinds of feelings.
Not even with Damien.
That’s why, when he finally spoke, it was once again in a forced light-hearted tone. "So, the dinner?"
Damien remained quiet for a while longer. Abandoning the conversation like that and ignoring the issue must have felt jarring to him. After all, he grew up in a completely different environment. With all of his younger siblings, who seemed to have no problems talking about their problems... He was probably hoping that Lane would tell him what was on his mind. Get it out of his system.
It would have been a much healthier resolution, and Lane could see it as well.
Still, that didn’t mean he was going to do that.
Luckily for him, Damien eventually let out a sigh. "Whatever you want."
"So, fried chicken?" A smile blossomed on Lane’s face. More genuine this time, caused by the relief from being let off the hook.
"If that’s what you want to have..."
"Cool. Great."
Lane quickly unlocked his phone, and started tapping on it, putting an order through. Meanwhile, Damien collected all the empty cans scattered around the table and the floor. Lane threw him a glance, wanting to offer help - technically, he should take care of it, since it was his mess - but then he didn’t. Simply because he was temporarily wary of starting any conversation with the man, even about something as mundane as trash, lest it lead them into something else, something less... safe.
So, instead, he just busied himself with his phone. Once the food arrived and they sat down to eat, he provided an extensive commentary on the taste and the texture (a completely unnecessary commentary, since it wasn’t the first time they ate it, and Damien could taste the chicken as well), just to fill the silence. Lest Damien decided to start a conversation that was inconvenient for Lane.
He didn’t ask any questions about the protest, the monsters, or the Association’s plans on how to deal with the situation. Usually, he would have, but it also wasn’t a safe topic, not after the little exchange they had had in the morning.
And after they finished eating and cleaned up, Lane immediately announced that he was still hungry, and wanted a ’dessert’. He didn’t even give Damien any time to rest, or do anything, really, he just stripped him out of his uniform himself as he dragged him to the bedroom...
Lane wasn’t fine.
Damien knew Lane wasn’t fine.
They weren’t fine.
Lane could almost hear the cracks between them deepening in real time.
But Damien was still willing to let Lane do whatever he wanted to him. Unraveling under him in bed, responding with passion no one could have expected from this stern, strict, ice-user of a man.
And that surely had to count for something, no?
At least that’s what Lane tried telling himself.