Seventeen: Details

*thanks to B and gelifling65 for your support!*

As soon as Wren managed to untangle his own feet, he pushed himself away from Vincent’s chest like he’d been pricked with a needle, backing up a few extra steps just for good measure.

Wren cleared his throat awkwardly, averting his eyes to the side. “Um, sorry.” And now that he was looking in that direction, he was immediately distracted by a clean, moderately sized kitchen that despite being a little on the small side, was still impressively decked out with all the appliances one would ever need, plus a few that were just for luxury. Wren instantly wanted to use the shiny top-of-the-line multicooker sitting on the counter. He’d never gotten one before, not necessarily because he couldn’t afford it, but because his apartment was rather small, and he didn’t have anywhere to put it. He could cook perfectly well without one, so he didn’t need it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t fantasize about using one.

“No need,” Vincent said, still smiling. “It was partially my fault too. Please, come in, have a seat.” He gestured to the living room, which was equally as impressive as the kitchen with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side half covered by rich red velvet drapes, a black leather sectional couch forming a partial square, and a glass coffee table. The only thing that didn’t look like it came out of a professional home design catalogue was a long black table next to the windows that seemed to be exclusively dedicated to plants. Planters of all types and sizes were arranged around the table, and there were even a few hanging planters strung up against the window with clear suction cups. Wren recognized several of the plants as common herbs, like basil, chives, rosemary, parsley, even peppermint.

Good with plants. So that was one more thing Wren knew about Vincent. He filed the information away for later, wondering if Vincent used the herbs to cook, or if he perhaps sold them. If so, Wren would happily buy some.

Wren took a seat on the leather couch, near the end, taking up as little space as possible, although for some reason Vincent decided to sit right next to him. Wren eyed the considerable amount of empty space on the couch in confusion before glancing at Vincent, who offered him an innocent smile.

Wren wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was Vincent’s apartment. Who was Wren to dictate where he should sit?

“Do you like to cook?” Vincent asked out of the blue. Wren frowned but answered easily.

“Yes. Do you?”

Vincent shrugged. “Now and then. I don’t cook for myself as often as I should, even though I know how. My mother beat it into me at a young age that cooking was an important skill everyone should have, although I’m sure my expertise pales in comparison to yours.”

Wren rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. He thought he was pretty good at cooking, but that was just his opinion. He didn’t have much opportunity to cook for anyone but his parents and Will whenever he stayed over, and they all said they loved his cooking, but he didn’t fully trust their opinions. They were biased after all.

Wren searched for something to say in return so that the conversation wouldn’t die out awkwardly. “Do you like plants?” he asked, and then winced internally. Of course he likes plants, Wren scolded himself. No one has a table full of them if they don’t. What a stupid question.

Vincent didn’t seem to notice Wren beating himself up and nodded. “I enjoy caring for them. It’s calming. I harvest the edible ones for friends and family. You can have some as well, if you’d like.”

At a loss for what to say, Wren just nodded slightly, clenching his hands against his thighs nervously. Vincent was too close. That scent was surrounding Wren, making his throat go dry. He didn’t feel any lightheadedness yet, which meant Wren was handling the pheromones fairly well right now, probably because Vincent was relatively calm, thus subduing his scent, but it may not stay that way.

Wren wondered if the mint in Vincent’s scent came from the mint plants he was growing. Wren had always liked mint. Both Will and Adam despised anything mint because it reminded them of toothpaste, but Wren didn’t. When he was little, he used to get frequent stomachaches, and his omega father would always make him peppermint tea to soothe him, so Wren had come to associate the smell and flavor with comfort.

 When the silence went on for a little too long, Wren dared a glance at Vincent to see if Vincent was waiting for him to say something else, only to find Vincent looking at Wren’s throat with slightly glazed over eyes, like he was lost in thought. Wren didn’t know what Vincent was so interested in on his neck, but clearly, he was boring Vincent, so he bit the inside of his cheek and cleared his throat to try and focus the conversation on the actual reason that he was here.

“So, about the Entanglement…”

Vincent blinked at him, startled out of whatever he’d been thinking. He shook his head slightly like he was clearing it and sat back against the sofa, casually throwing an arm over the back of it, right behind Wren. Vincent must be part furnace or something, because even though Wren wasn’t leaning back, he could feel the heat of Vincent’s arm almost as though it was wrapped around his shoulders. The fine hairs on the back of Wren’s neck rose, a tingle shooting down his spine like someone was dragging their fingers over his skin. He fought to conceal a shiver.

“Right,” Vincent said, clearing his throat. “I’ve already informed my family about you, and they’re excited to meet you. My parents have invited you to stay in our home for the duration of the Entanglement, but if you choose to stay in your apartment, they’ll understand.”

Wren frowned, a little confused. Wasn’t the omega moving in with the alpha a big part of Entanglements? Why were they giving Wren options? Vincent must have read the question on Wren’s face, because he explained a moment later.

“My family is traditional, but they wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. And while they’ve offered you the choice, I want you to know that if you do choose to remain in your apartment, my mother will be very disappointed considering she’s already gotten a room ready for us. In fact, she asked me to ask you if you prefer weighted blankets or heated ones.”

Wren gaped at him for a moment, but he understood. He was given a choice, but it was clear which choice he was supposed to make. “Um, either’s fine,” he mumbled eventually, feeling very small all of a sudden against the very huge changes that were going to be made in his life. Changes much bigger than what kind of blanket he preferred.

And worst of all, Vincent had just confirmed one of Wren’s biggest fears – he and Vincent were going to have to share a room. While he had expected that, the reality of it suddenly came crashing down on him like an asteroid. Wren was fighting off his natural inclinations towards scent-drunkenness just sitting next to Vincent on the couch.

How much worse would it be sharing a bed with him?