Lance accepted his loaded plate with a stiff nod and swallowed hard.
They ate without speaking, with Tanner’s fork occasionally scraping loudly across his plate. Lance barely made a sound as he slowly, and carefully ate his dinner. Every move, every bite, every look they exchanged felt strained, and while Tanner certainly hadn’t intended to make it awkward between them, he also didn’t know how to fix it. Tanner had broken something. He wasn’t sure what it was or how to explain it. He just knew it was broken. He just—he fucking hoped it could be fixed. He took a few more bites, hating the way Lance seemed to flinch every time his fork hit his plate, or he reached for his glass of water. He gave it a few more minutes, hoping Lance might speak first, but when the silence continued, he resolved himself to trying—something. Anything had to be an improvement.
He looked up quickly, raising his right hand, intending to make a formal apology for being an ungrateful little shit.However, before he could speak, Lance jumped up and his chair fell backwards, hitting the floor with a loud bang.
“Shit! I’m sorry!” Lance practically yelled. He looked—terrified. Tanner sat back, stunned by the sudden outburst and Lance’s fearful expression.
“Wait a fucking second—did you think I was about to hit you?” This was so confusing. Admittedly, he’d been a bit loud and riled up, but—violent? With Lance? Tanner could never be violent with him. But Lance’s body language didn’t lie. He’d reacted like someone who expected to get his ass kicked. Holy shit. Lance was scared of him. Tanner was responsible for frightening the nicest guy he’d ever met. He sat there in shock trying to figure out how things had gotten so out of control, so incredibly fast.
“I’m sorry,” Lance repeated, eyes downcast. He grabbed their plates, took them to the kitchen sink, and began washing them.
“Lance, I would never—” he stopped speaking, unsure of the right words to fix what just happened. How had Tanner fucked everything up so quickly? Lance had been perfectly happy before his arrival. His dinner was in the oven, a football game on TV. He hadn’t been pissed off at Tanner’s late arrival, so why in the hell hadhegone and lost his shit?
“I’m such an asshole,” Tanner said, terrified he’d scared Lance off for good.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just—” Lance broke off to stare fixedly at the dish he was washing.
“Didn’t do anything wrong? I was such a dickhead that you thought I might hit you,” he replied in disbelief.
“You did nothing wrong,” Lance repeated. He said it so calmly, so readily—no hesitation whatsoever—like he’d said it countless times before. Like this was normal for him.
“Lance?” Tanner spoke gently and carefully. “Can we—can we talk about what just happened before I go off the deep end?” And as much as he’d like to pretend he needed to clear the air for Lance’s sake—it was mostly for his own. He could feel his sanity slipping.
Lance nodded swiftly but didn’t look up. “Sure.”
“Lance?” Tanner repeated, even softer this time. “Can you look at me? Please?”
And when he did, Tanner resisted the urge to reach out and pull him close to comfort him.
“Listen. I’m sorry—” He broke off with a heavy sigh, wanting so much to get this right. “I had a shit day, I walked in the door in a shit mood, and I took it out on you. And that’s not right. I’m not even sure why I was so angry. I just—” he shook his head again and hated himself for his inability to speak as eloquently as he would have wished. “You slaved over a hot stove all day and waited for my dumb ass to get home to eat, and I had a fucking fit about it like a real jackass, and I’m really sorry.”
Lance gave a choked laugh and said, “I don’t know about slaving all day—I bought the meal kit at Costco—”
“Don’t be humble—I saw the polka dot apron,” Tanner joked, relying on his goofy brand of humour to get them back on solid ground.
Lance rolled his eyes at that.
“I really am sorry, though.”
“It’s fine,” Lance said, waving the apology away.
“It really isn’t—not when you still look like I’m about to hit you.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Lance said, shaking his head.
“You flinched—and then you fucking jumped out of the way.”
“And I’m sorry about that—”
“You’re not allowed to apologize for getting scared. It makes no fucking sense—” Tanner protested, as Lance finally cracked a smile. “I promise I would never hurt you. Not even on my worst day,” he vowed, feeling his chest tighten as he fought the urge to hug Lance.
“I know,” Lance said with a nod and a sad little smile. “Really, I know.”
“Then why did you flinch?”
And it must have been the right question—or maybe even the wrong one—because Lance avoided Tanner’s gaze and resumed washing dishes. Tanner tried waiting him out. It didn’t work.
“Lance—” Tanner said, aware that he was pushing the limit of what was considered normal for bros to discuss but not caring all that much as he leaned forward, placing a hand on Lance’s forearm and squeezing gently. Lance’s movements stilled, but he didn’t pull away.
