A Hate-Love Relationship || TypeTharn

12: A Needless War of Pranks #1

"What the hell happened here?"

Type is muttering softly to himself this time as he surveys the room closely. He's probably rebooting his pea-brain to include this latest piece of information that two can play his game. Perhaps, it truly didn't occur that Tharn is capable of returning the favour and Type is as much liable to property damage as him. It certainly is entertaining to study Type, already sweaty in his sports uniform, turn fifty shades of crimson as his face rapidly undergoes the five stages of grief. Except for how the grumpy jock hits pause at anger, once done processing the first stage of denial. His seemingly perpetual and default state for a reason.

Vibing to the music blasting through his earphones, Tharn fights to keep a huge smile from splitting his face wide open and letting the cat out of the bag early. His devious strategy is kicking off exactly as he envisioned. The nervous flutter in his stomach intensifies as he waits for the preoccupied guy to embrace predictable patterns and step into his trap.

Sure enough, Type is quick to lose his cool and angrily storms towards Tharn's side of the room. Tharn, who had been anticipating his roommate's blind wrath giddily watches as Type walks over to his allotted mark, too aggravated to notice the debris in his path. The sudden, loud squelching in the otherwise quiet room grabs his attention as he looks down in mild disgust. "What the hell is this?"

Aaaand, that is Tharn's cue to enter the stage.

A teensy tiny nudge from his end to set things (and the spears of poetic justice) into motion, which Tharn has been eagerly waiting for since the past hour. Type fortunately doesn't flee, sticking around in the perfect radius of the carefully planned decoy. Could be from the horror of not knowing exactly what he stepped on. Or is it perhaps the awareness that has him boggled? Maybe Type's reason for turning still as a statue is due to watching Tharn approach and fearing ulterior motives? Either way this works in Tharn's favor. He did put in a lot of thought into pulling this off. Just the right amount of jibes and challenge thrown around to casually push Type's buttons and at the same time to restrain the jock from ever crossing the line. He wants to punish Type for his regressive thinking, teach the bigot a lesson while putting him in his place using the same, stupid tactics the jerk thinks of as fair game. Tharn however has no interest in becoming practice punching bag for Type, and he needs to play it safe to ensure no serious harm befalls him in return.

Halting rather close to the gawking guy, Tharn deliberately bends down to pick the squashed tube of lube. He takes his time to straighten up enjoying his short-lived foray in Type's personal space. The seductive lingering of gaze sets the air between them sizzling with tension and his provocative smirks are planned to a T. The timing and execution combined with his acting skills fulfils their designed goal of knocking Type sideways - just the right amount.

"So, this is where it ended up, huh. I've been looking everywhere for this. Thought it ran out already." He pouts, overselling his faux disappointment while studying the ruined product as though it was a great tragedy. "Tch, what a loss."

A vein pops on Type's forehead dangerously close to exploding. "This-this is lubricant gel, you asshole."

The obvious statement declared in outrage nearly breaks his character, but Tharn determinedly clings to his act. He hums, using his large moon eyes to channel mock innocence and concedes with a patronising lilt. "No one says it was dishwashing liquid, Type." The instant rain of curses is expected and taken in stride. Tharn merely shrugs, continuing his script. "Aw, it's almost empty, but that's okay." He meets Type head-on next, allowing the embers of pain to reflect through his calm façade and flings back the spiteful opinions Type previously aimed at him. "A filthy perv like me is sure to have plenty more to rely on. You can have this one in case of an emergency." Taking advantage of Type's momentary shock, Tharn pushes the trampled tube into his hands, "Think of it as a welcome gift, roommate."