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Twenty-Three: Enemy

Twenty-Three: Enemy

Thumping bass that rattled Wren's ribcage, flashing lights, and a particular humidity only achieved by cramming way too many people in a room. The club was everything Wren expected it to be, and yet so much more. There was so much to take in. Wren's head kept swiveling back and forth as he tried to keep track of everything, but the motion, along with the strobe lights, was starting to make Wren a little sick, so he focused on Beau's back as he followed him through the sweaty, writhing crowd.

"This is my favorite club," Beau said over his shoulder, having to shout to be heard, and even then, Wren barely caught it. The club, named simply Provoke, seemed the same as any other club, so what made it special to Beau was beyond Wren.

The music playing switched between wordless dubstep, remixes of rather, well...provocative songs, and songs that even Wren recognized. There didn't seem to be any one pattern to the type of music played, except that it was all heavy on bass and incredibly fast.

There was a long bar to the right of the doors that was currently packed with people shouting orders to bartenders over the music. Just beyond that was a very small seating area with three small two-seater tables and a couple booths along the wall, giving people a place to rest for a moment. Or maybe it was for other things. Wren only glanced over for a second and saw a girl on someone's lap, moving rather indecently, and hurriedly looked away, cheeks burning.

The left of the club was entirely dedicated to a large open dance floor and a small stage for the DJ. Bodies writhed in a wild tangle in the center of the dance floor, the crowd so thick that it was hard to distinguish individual people. The crowd thinned a bit toward the edges, and Wren desperately hoped that he and Beau stayed there and didn't try to break into the squirming human nucleus of the club.

The most disorienting thing, in Wren's opinion, wasn't the wild dancing, indecency, or drunkenness. It was the smell. Pheromones of all designations floated through the air, mixing into a nauseating cocktail that had Wren twitching. Alpha, beta, omega, it all swirled together, making Wren's nerves go a little haywire, especially because an overwhelming majority of those pheromones were tinged with arousal.

It felt like being in one gigantic orgy, and in a panic, Wren grabbed onto the back of Beau's shirt, hanging on for dear life. Beau glanced back at him and smiled reassuringly, leading Wren to one of the open pockets at the very edge of the dance floor. It was a bit quieter here, more people were simply talking to each other rather than dancing, and they happened to be right under a fan, which helped to dispel the scents assaulting Wren's nose a bit. Wren sighed in relief and Beau patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"It's a lot to take in, huh?" he said. That was an understatement, but Wren nodded anyway. "Just catch your breath for a second, you'll get used to it," he assured. Wren wished he could be that certain.

Still, Wren had no choice but to take Beau's advice and try to find some sense of calm. And thankfully, after a few moments, Wren's heart rate slowed a little and he felt less like finding the nearest hiding place.

Seeing that Wren's shoulders had relaxed, Beau looked up at him hopefully. "Better?" he asked. Wren nodded, and Beau beamed, grabbing Wren's wrist and dragging him towards the bar.

Wren's alcohol tolerance was...well, he didn't know for sure actually. The only times he'd actually had alcohol were when Will stopped by and insisted on it, but neither one of them ever actually drank enough to get drunk. Wren had been slightly buzzed before, but mostly it just made him sleepy and a little floaty.

Beau said Wren didn't have to drink if he didn't want to, but Wren thought the alcohol might help him relax a little bit. He didn't think he would truly enjoy this whole club experience, but at the very least, he could mellow out enough to help Beau enjoy it. So, when Beau asked him if he wanted anything, Wren gave him his order and let Beau yell it at the next free bartender. Wren stayed a few steps back, to avoid being swept up in the crowd around the bar, and once Beau successfully retrieved their drinks, he started making his way back to Wren.

Except, before he could make it, someone blocked his path, bumping into him and causing the drinks to slosh around. A few drops hit the floor, but miraculously, Beau kept them from fully spilling. Wren started forward, initially thinking it was an accident, except, when he got up to Beau, he saw Beau glaring at the person who'd bumped into him with a vicious hatred that looked utterly out of place on Beau's happy-go-lucky face.

Frowning, Wren approached a little more cautiously, coming around to Beau's side just in time to hear Beau spitting insults at the man who'd bumped him.

"...you fucking asshole, what the hell is your problem? Leave me the hell alone."

The man responded to Beau's venom with a sort of smug silence, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a leather jacket with a white shirt underneath and black jeans, heavy black boots covering his feet. He was taller than Beau by a head, about Wren's height if slightly shorter, with caramel skin, high cheekbones, thick brown hair, and a long straight nose. With the scents of the club confusing Wren's nose, he couldn't immediately discern what the man's secondary gender was. He was incredibly handsome, and though expressionless, Wren could tell he was more amused by Beau's expletives than offended.

Although, the moment Wren appeared behind Beau's shoulder for support, that expressionless face cracked a tiny bit, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Wren.

Wren shuddered under that look, scared for no apparent reason. Why did he feel like this man immediately hated him?

Beau caught the look too and rolled his eyes. "What the fuck are you looking at? If you've got a problem with me, take it up with me, not my friend."

"Friend?" he repeated contemptuously, voice deep and quiet, yet still just loud enough to carry through the noise of the club. "That's a new way of describing your latest fling."

Wren blinked, confused. Was he...jealous? Of Wren?

And who was this guy? Clearly, he knew Beau, but Beau very clearly didn't like him. Maybe he was Beau's ex? That might explain the jealousy.

"He's my friend," Beau repeated through gritted teeth. "Now fuck off and let me enjoy my night, Jesus. You're like hemorrhoids."

The man didn't appear to be listening to Beau, eyes still steadily fixed on Wren like a pair of sniper rifles. He bristled, all but baring his teeth at Wren, and stepped forward threateningly, inserting himself into Wren's space. Wren's beath caught, startled at the unexpected movement, but he didn't have time to move back, preparing himself for the man to throw a punch.

Except, the moment the man got into Wren's space, he froze, blinking rapidly, expression clearing like storm clouds parting in the sunlight. This close, Wren could finally tell the man was an alpha, and he froze, but the man no longer seemed worried about Wren, backing up easily and even giving Wren a nod of apology.

Beau gaped at him incredulously. Catching the look, the man shrugged. "Omega," he said by way of explanation. Apparently, this meant Wren was not a threat.

"Unbelievable," Beau breathed sharply, turning on his heel and gesturing for Wren to follow him. Wren did so, sparing one last glance for the man behind them, who didn't follow, but did give Wren a little wave and a thumbs up when he saw him looking back.

"Who was that?" Wren asked when they were far enough away.

"That," Beau spat, still clearly incensed, "was my mortal enemy."