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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I can't decide which is better, bad boy Tharn or sweet Tharn xD
.................
The locker room is empty and soundless as Type changes into his football practice kit. The stench of sweat and dirty socks is unmistakable. Type groans at the smell and quickly shuffles his clothes into the locker in a haste to leave as quickly as possible.
Type feels his limbs heavy as rocks as he drags his feet out of the locker room and into the football field. He didn't have much sleep for the past few days, having too many thoughts running inside his head restlessly for the most part.
"Ai'Type"
Champ waves him over by the bleachers as he collects cones for the warm-up session. They are too early.
"Hey, are you okay?" Champ looks at him worriedly when he sees the eyebags under his eyes, he gives him a friendly nudge on his arm."I was stuck with por's workshop last week, there was a lot of work. Techno told me what happened... you have the guts you know"
Type merely shakes his head. He has no energy to talk about how fucked up his life is now.
"Don't take it too hard. It'll eventually blow off. They can't bully us after sports meet anyway" Champ characteristically blinks as he says that. He sounds absolutely certain. Type wishes he could be half optimistic as his friends are.
He bents down to arrange the cones but gets knocked so hard that he almost kisses the ground when someone suddenly barrels into him in high speed out of nowhere. Type grunts and turns his head with his usual scowl only to be bombarded with a wide grin and sprinkling spit.
"Ai'Pheun!"
It's Techno.
"Look who's here to see you~" He makes a sound that almost resembles a goose as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Type shrugs his arm off and turns away with a quiet grunt, meeting twinkly-eyed 'fangirls' with more perfumed notes is the last thing in his mind.
Apparently he is popular now, albeit it is for two different reasons. Some call him an arrogant motherfucker who doesn't know when to stay in line, and some consider him as some heroic figure with balls since he stood up for the barbaric motherfuckers- otherwise known as the hazers. And the rest-well, they either don't give a flying fuck about college social media or are the gay admirers. Type absolutely doesn't want anything to do with the last group but in the given circumstances it is wise to stay low and avoid getting trampled with the LGBTQ community. Heck, it's already worse as it is.
"Ai'Type"
The look on Waan is truly devastating. Type forgets the task at his hands and stares with a look of surprise and confusion, he didn't think Waan would even want to see his face again. But there she is clutching her violin case like her life depends on it. Her usual confidence replaced with undisguised nervousness.
