Type sat on the bed, amidst a mound of clothes, ruffling his hair in frustration, regretting to have agreed to go to that Kirigun's party.
Tharn Thara Kirigun, 26, was none other than, Type's godbrother (if that's a thing). Conventionally, there ought to be some kind of a bromance between them, but they were miles away from such a relation. albeit Tharn was found at Type's house most of the times, yet They never talked in more than tongue-tied hi(s) and hello(s), that too only when Type would emerge out of his room and then they would occasionally stumble into each other. unknown to type even in all this emotional distancing Tharn, looked at him as though seeing a possession prized more than his dear life. Type on the other hand didn't want to think about tharn. why you ask? well, tharn was an artwork of a man (he being no less) and type FEARED having feelings for it would scar his pride (?). what better could you expect from a teenager?
The party was held to exult about Tharn being culled as the CEO of one of the most sought after companies in Thailand; he was just 26 for heaven's sakes and also it was his birthday. The latter part was known only to Type's family.
Now the question stands, that why was it Type who was spared into this. It, most aptly ought to have been his father, but the man was out of town for a business summit along with his wife. Type also had an elder brother Rambo, who was 19, and like a best friend to Tharn, but he had a college trip, that he had looked forth to since the beginning, so even he couldn't come. Someone had to go and the one left was Type, who was persuaded only after much of beseeching and upbraiding. Even dawdling and showing disinterest didn't work on his folks. every bit felt like it was darn destined to fall in place, everyone had to leave during the same spell.
Previously speaking of the pile of clothes, though Type was a much of a connoisseur and aspired to a stylist or dress architect in the future, yet he was unable to decide as to which apparel to adorn to the gathering. A part to him wanted to dress to impress, Tharn perhaps, and the other half, which mostly was his ego, wanted him to dress in the most odious and obtrusive way possible. Anyhow he ended up dressing in a black, mesh fabric shirt with vertical patches of patterns, coupled with sleek black trousers.
type looked anything but 16.
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he couldn't get enough of checking out himself in the mirror until he finally called himself dashing. Moreover, he got some pictures shot by, Mild, his most trusted housekeeping staff, who then aided him to single out a suitable scent. He couldn't look appalling; after all, he had an 'image' to keep up to, which sounded more like an excuse.
He engaged in all the self embracement, till he realized that it was already past five, he was late, but it was ok, there was no one to tick him off, and all this was just a formality, a drudgery after all.
It took four helpers and two rounds to place all the gifts in his G-wagon trunk, all were likely fragile and of whopping sums. Type's father had sent an enormous, personally customized collection of rare, handwritten journals belonging to successful and renowned personalities. Type mother presented an exquisite, premium collection of men's accessories, which included diamond-studded 18-carat gold watches, platinum wristbands, and chains, together with amber cufflinks and gold lapel pins. Rambo sent some kind of action toy, he knew Tharn treasured them, so he got him a limited edition, which was specific to the manufacturing country, and there too the production had stopped years ago. Rest was bric-a-brac - branded, quaint, glass, and porcelain. Lastly, it was Type's, who had undergone much brain-racking to select a present to present.
