What if Tharn suddenly became straight and said, "Type, I'm not gay anymore," and it is something Type wouldn't expect to hear from Tharn? Type still wouldn't believe that and would seek a reason behind it.
Warning: Includes scenes of being buried a...
Literally we call Christmas an "X"mas... Anyways Tharn ugh... I love this unique bouquet this is the first time I saw something like this...
"Idiot" Tharn mumbled...
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Flashback
It was just a few days before Christmas last year—cold, quiet, and heavy with unspoken feelings. That was when things between Tharn and Type started to change, with an invisible wall growing between them that neither wanted to face. Before everything turned chaotic, before the ancient pact of Deletio Vitae and the trouble with Ms. Nana took over their lives, their problems were simpler but still painful.
Type could feel it. He didn’t know when it started, but he noticed Tharn’s touch becoming more distant. The late nights, the unanswered texts, and the smell of alcohol when Tharn came home—it all added up. Type wasn’t blind; he saw the signs, but didn’t want to believe them, especially with Christmas so near. They were supposed to spend time together, like always. But Tharn had been drifting away, even before the dangerous pact entered their lives. The sweet moments, when Tharn would hold him and whisper softly, happened less and less. Instead, Tharn came home late, smelling of alcohol, his mind elsewhere. Then came that night—the night Type waited for him, hoping things could still be fixed. But when Tharn finally came home, drunk and ignoring the dinner Type made, everything fell apart.
Looking back now, it all felt strange. The fights with Ms. Nana and the Deletio Vitae seemed far off compared to the personal struggles they faced at home. That night, just before Christmas, was when everything started to break—before the chaos, before the danger. It was when their love was tested by neglect and misunderstanding.
Now, as they sat together, thinking about the past, that night still haunted them. It was a reminder that even without ancient pacts and deadly enemies, the biggest threat to their love had always been between them.
Type arrived home at exactly 8:00 PM, his body aching from the long, exhausting day at work. Despite his fatigue, he went straight to the kitchen, deciding to prepare dinner. He was dead tired, but he wanted to at least do something for Tharn. They hadn’t had a proper meal together in days, and it was starting to feel like they were barely living under the same roof.
By 9:00 PM, the food was ready, but there was no sign of Tharn. Type checked his phone for any messages, but the screen was empty.
10:00 PM passed. The dinner was cold now, and Type sat on the couch, his frustration bubbling under the surface. He was starting to get pissed. Tharn didn’t even bother to send a damn text. What the hell was he doing? Going out again? Drinking with his stupid friends? Type clenched his fists, feeling his anger build with each passing minute.
Finally, at 11:00 PM, the front door creaked open, and in stumbled Tharn, reeking of alcohol, his shirt untucked, and his tie hanging loose. Type’s blood boiled instantly. His jaw tightened as he stood up from the couch, eyes burning with anger. He had waited. He had tried. And this is how Tharn repaid him?
