There aren't many people who can put up with Type's hot head. He's impulsive, bratty and foul-mouthed. It was a miracle when 'The brat' fell in love with sweet and pretty Ai'Waan, 'The goddess' of their college on one fine evening when he took a soc...
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Type doesn't get why all those seniors delude themselves thinking they are all high and mighty, like they have stepped down from Olympus or something, when he can only see a bunch of hooligans and Edward Cullen wannabes, all losers desperate to become popular.
They think they do a fantastic job, Type snorts at the thought. Apparently only in bullying and making fun of the freshmen.
Pathetic.
Type scowls when the bunch of said glory hounds openly flirt with underclassmen as they appreciate their service. He recognizes a few of the girls, they are from Sports Science. At least some of them have the decency actually to look annoyed rather than flattered.
"Of course we would love to help!" One of the hypocrites bellows, "After all we are here to guide all the freshmen, You can count on your Phi~"
Oh the fucking irony, half of the freshmen currently kneels on the fucking concrete court, sweating like pigs under the glaring Sun. While the girls had the honor to serve the so-called gods, guys were expected to entertain them by undergoing misery.
"Motherfuckers!" Type grits his teeth.
"Hoi, haven't you had enough already Ai'Type~" Techno whines at the end, probably delirious from the prolong dehydration and knee ache. He looks so done with everything. Then again every one of them looks half dead, swaying even at the gentle breeze like some spineless shrubs with their hands raised. Type continues to glare down the seniors unperturbed by his own flushed skin and sweat rolling down his temples in cascades.
It's the fucking rag season. Although he doesn't have a clue how those rules only apply for the guys and not the gals, and how their target particularly ends up being any major that has a ring of Science to it.
"They hate us... and our ego" Techno mumbles so quiet that he has to strain his ear to catch what he's babbling. Just because they study comparatively hard subjects they don't deserve to be labeled as egoistic. If anything none of them have their heads up their ass like those seniors.
"Bullshit! They just want to score some chick and parade on high horse fuck them!"
Techno winces and wildly whips his head left and right like a half headless chicken. "Be quiet" He whisper yells, "I'll die if I run another fucking lap"
Setting fire to Type's frantic burning hot anger, Tharn appears out of nowhere in his pristine white college T-shirt tucked inside equally dirt-free white bottoms and sport sneakers, showcasing those pearly whites that look so annoying and fake!. The prick surely bleaches those hideous choppers with Chlorox.
Type's eyes widen when he high fives with one moron, and scowls deeply when each one of them flocks around him and goes for some pompous brother handshake as if they were long lost brothers. Tharn runs his gaze over his kneeling fellow peers, fucking traitor! With a neutral look until he locks eyes with Type's defiant orbs. Thin lips curve upwards to form an infuriating smirk and Type glowers back like he wants to tear him into pieces and throw his remainings into a pit of larva.
