If Vance were a music genre, that’s what it would be.
Vance smiles a bit, keeping an arm around Owen’s waist as he hugged him sideways, turning to look into his face curiously, “S’because I’m naturally quiet.” He said playfully, somehow relieved that it wasn’t a problem for Owen, knowing that sometimes he wasn’t very chatty or the best sort of company when he couldn’t come up with good conversational pieces, and explaining all the reasons he was just naturally quiet seemed silly, so he left it at that, “Uhm.” He started, thinking, “Do you have a roommate? I wanna see your room sometime, but… not if there’s a roommate involved tonight.” He knew they weren’t likely to get into anything physical, but he still wanted the privacy.
"No roommate," Owen divulged, because while he was generally a people person, living with someone who would at least start off as a stranger and possibly remain that way wasn’t high on his list of life goals. "And my room’s… a lot closer, so we… you come home with me, baby,” he said a little more seriously than intended, steering Vance toward his building and sliding a hand into Vance’s back pocket, body thrumming with need he had to figure out a way to supress, knowing that fucking Vance right now would change things, and not sure if he was ready to let that happen.
“Mine’s only fragmentally better,” Owen promised, leaning into Vance a little and letting them have a moment of intimacy with it. “You’re not a bad singer, by the way! I can’t believe you did that with me. When we first met, you were so quiet,” he remembered, chuckling. “Adorable! But quiet.”
“It’ll come back.” He promised softly, shrugging his shoulder, “Being quiet, I mean.” It was the truth. He knew he’d have periods where’d likely be more quiet than others. And it was good that Owen had a knack for getting Vance to lighten up, because the evening had been awesome. “You’re not a bad singer yourself. Next time, YOU get to be the girl.” He conditioned, turning dark eyes to Owen and letting his body lean back, enjoying the closeness while he could, not sure when Owen would take it away.
"I like you quiet," Owen sighed wistfully. "I mean! Not that I don’t like it when you talk," he laughed, "Just, quiet seems a little more naturally you, and I like you being… you,” he explained, wrapping both arms around the man’s waist sideways, walking a little crooked, but dealing with it until the extra pressure put a strain on his leg and forced him to let go to stand up straight again. “Am I going home with you, or are you coming home with me?” He questioned, in case Vance’s mess angst was for real.
Vance let Owen push him out the door, watching him closely and curious, wondering what it was that had Owen so suddenly frazzled, knowing that there was an intense moment back there and wondering if Owen had felt it too. “Oh, thanks, forgot about the shirts.” He huffed, watching Owen as he came back, glad for the boy’s arm, letting his body relax as they headed out, “I should have cleaned my room…” He realized sheepishly as they headed into the dark streets and back towards the campus.
"Mine’s only fragmentally better," Owen promised, leaning into Vance a little and letting them have a moment of intimacy with it. "You’re not a bad singer, by the way! I can’t believe you did that with me. When we first met, you were so quiet,” he remembered, chuckling. “Adorable! But quiet.”