Lance had his hand on the door handle when Henry's hand closed around his wrist.
Not gently.
"Henry—"
"You're really going to walk out." It wasn't a question. His voice was low and tight. "Just like that."
Lance turned. "Let go of my wrist."
Henry didn't.
"You're with him," Henry said. "Even though you know he's going to leave you. Even though you know exactly how this ends. You'd rather be with him than me."
"That's my choice to make."
"Is it?" Henry pulled him back, not violently but with enough force that Lance stumbled slightly before catching himself. "I crossed the line right? I'm the one who ruined it. I'm the reason we can never go back to how we were. The cracks can't be fixed, I know that. So fine."
His eyes were dark and completely unguarded in a way Lance had never seen before. "Then it's either you love me or you hate me. But I am not letting you go."
"Henry—"
"I am not letting you go, Lance."
