Detoxified

Chapter 2: Episode 2

Type woke with a miserably bitter taste in his dry mouth. His head throbbed with a deep ache, and his entire body felt stiff and weak with fatigue. As he peeled his eyes open, his retinas seared with the blinding light of the sun filtering in through the windows. He groaned in full-body agony and flopped over to his other side to avoid the bombardment of sunlight. He blinked away the disoriented blurriness in his vision and found his roommate staring pensively at him from his desk chair.

Type flinched at the sight, startled by Tharn's presence in a place he'd never been in before, and scrambled to an upright position despite his body's every protest. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Watching you," Tharn said dryly.

"What, you just stare at people while they're sleeping like some creep?" Type scowled. "And what the fuck are you doing at my desk?"

Tharn breathed a deep, heavy sigh. "I'm making sure you don't die in your sleep," he stated matter-of-factly. "When I woke up this morning, you were breathing a little too slow for my liking."

Type narrowed his eyes at his roommate, searching his face for signs of fibbage. All he could really see was the darkened skin around Tharn's eyes and the grave frown bowing-down his lips. His hair was soaking wet from a recent shower, and excess water was dripping onto the shoulders of his school shirt. Odd. Tharn hated having his hair wet, and he always made sure to dry it thoroughly before dressing himself for the day.

Wait... Why did Type know that? It wasn't important information. Whatever, it was just a mundane observation. Type probably didn't realize that he'd been making the observation at some point during the past three weeks. Purely subconscious.

"What do you mean by that?" Type asked, perhaps a little dumbly.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Tharn mumbled. "Just because you've been a pain in the ass lately doesn't mean I want you to have an alcohol-induced death while you're sleeping."

He reached behind himself and grabbed a small bottle of pills and a lidded cup--Type recognized the logo on its side from the downstairs coffee shop--from the desk and rose from the chair to offer them to his wildly hungover roommate.

When Type eyed the items suspiciously, Tharn shook his head exasperatedly and placed them on top of the dresser. "Coffee and ibuprofen. Do with them what you will. I just thought you might appreciate it."

Type, even in his miserable, sorry state, managed a challenging glare up at Tharn. "I didn't ask for it."

"Didn't have to," Tharn replied bluntly. "I don't need to be asked for help to want to offer it. I guess you've allowed yourself to forget that to make hating me easier, right?"

Wow, Type had begun his previous morning feeling guilty for saying regrettable things, and now he felt guilty again this morning for having pulled that ridiculous scheme of his the night before. Tharn really thought Type hated him, but that hadn't been the goal at all.

Type averted his gaze, seeming suddenly perplexed by something as he scanned his surroundings. "I'm in my own bed."

Tharn couldn't help the amused breath that escaped him. "Shocked you even remember crawling into the wrong bed last night."

"But I'm now in my own bed." Type seemed far more interested in the fact that he'd been moved in the middle of his slumber than he was about the fact that he'd passed out on Tharn's bed in the first place. He whipped his head back around, and his eyes flared with accusation as he stared back up at Tharn. "Did you move me?"

Tharn detested the way Type was glaring at him right now. As if, by clumsily dragging Type to his own bed while he was asleep was some crime. Like Tharn was wrong to do so. Tharn knew he wasn't wrong. It had been his bed that Type had decided to occupy the previous night, after all. He had every right to transfer his roommate back to his respective bed.