I received a lot of feedback asking me to not stop these reviews. I'm not shying away from the ugly or the toxic guys. I'm facing them head on and recognizing them, but that doesn't mean I can't still love the characters and their story. To quote @idlebeks “Toxic characters have an important place in fiction. They can act as vehicles of catharsis and self-examination" And there is nothing wrong with enjoying the show as you make these revelations. It's actually what makes these self revelations easier to take in.
The Cold Light of Morning
So here’s the deal: Tharn crosses the line. We know it. He knows it. But when it happens, what do we do? We cheer. Because revenge is cathartic. Who hasn’t fantasized about handing it back to someone who’s been awful? Type’s been unbearable, so, on a surface level, it feels good to see him “get a taste.”
But then the hangover sets in, not just for Type, for us. Because in the morning, Type grabs Tharn’s shoulder like it’s a boob (and yeah, I laughed too the first time, sue me). But then the camera lingers. His face shifts. The horror hits. And suddenly you remember: oh right, he’s not just some jerk getting punked; he’s a survivor of SA. And that is when your own stomach flips.
This is the genius and the cruelty of MAME’s writing. She makes us complicit. We laugh, then we flinch. We want revenge, then we recoil when it looks like revenge against someone who’s already walking wounded. It’s messy, it’s uncomfortable, and honestly? That’s why it works. Because in real life, trauma and anger don’t play out in neat little arcs. They collide, and everyone gets a little blood on their hands.
Coward, Armor, and Hickeys
So Tharn throws out the word: coward. And at first it’s almost funny because we’re watching this tall, grown man literally hide under a blanket like a kid. But here’s the thing: it’s not just hiding. It’s regression. Type has been here before. A boy with no power, no defense, no tools, forced to curl up and make himself small. That quilt isn’t just fabric; it’s his only shield. At least at the moment.
And then? Tharn calls him a coward. Which hits right on the nerve. Because for Type, weakness has always been weaponized. Techno told us earlier that classmates mocked him, questioned him, and even used SA rumors against him. That’s the core of why he built this hypermasculine armor: if he’s “the tough guy,” then nobody can pierce him with that word again.
Now look at what’s happening in this room: Tharn accidentally recreates the exact cycle of exploitation. He pokes at the soft underbelly, sees the cracks, and even though he’s not trying to be cruel in that moment, it lands like cruelty. And for Type? Boom. He's a shaken soda just building pressure.
But then, humor. We need it. The writers know we require it. Because otherwise we’re just crushed under this feedback loop of pain and miscommunication. So we get the comedy of Type falling off the bed, rubbing his sore butt, and discovering the hickeys like, “Oh great, not only am I traumatized, now I look as if I lost a fight with a vacuum cleaner.”
Bad Friends, Bad Choices, and the Author’s Mirror
Type is raging, and honestly? He’s right. Techno did abandon him that night. But Techno’s defense is what makes this whole exchange burn: “Stop right there! This whole thing is your fault. You got yourself drunk when you knew exactly who you were with.”
Read that again. That’s not just Techno talking; that’s society talking. That’s the voice of victim-blaming culture, but put into the mouth of someone we love, someone who should protect him. And because Type is a man, it slips by unexamined. If Type were a woman, the entire fandom would have been screaming.
Now here’s the brilliance: MAME doesn’t let this just sit. She writes Techno’s own book, and what happens? Techno gets drunk, Kla takes advantage, and suddenly he’s the victim. And what does he feel? Responsible. Just like he once told Type, “It’s your fault; you got drunk.” He eats those words when it’s his turn.
And then, who’s there when Techno wakes up broken and ashamed? Type. And Type throws his own words back at him: “I made sure you were safe. I put you in your own house.” Translation: “I never wanted what happened to me to happen to you. Because I know what it costs.”
This is the multifaceted storytelling MAME excels at. She shows us how deeply ingrained victim-blaming is, so much so that we excuse it when it’s aimed at Type. Then she flips the script, gives the same violation to Techno, and dares us to hold him accountable for words we ignored before. When Kla takes advantage of Techno, everyone’s outraged. Because he's their favorite, their soft boy, the “innocent” one.
But the truth? Techno once turned those same knives on his best friend. And that’s the full circle: MAME shows how easily people absorb these toxic narratives, but also how deeply it shatters them when the roles are reversed.
Type’s about to be free. Techno, ever the fixer, has found a way out. Champ is already cheering. Everyone thinks the nightmare is solved. But then Type slams the door shut himself: “If I move out, I will be the loser. It’s only him who will move, not me.”
On the surface? That’s stubbornness. Revenge. Pride. He’s saying, “I won’t be the one to run.” But underneath? There’s a tremor. If he really wanted freedom, this was it. The golden ticket. He doesn’t take it. Why?
Because he’s not only chained to revenge; he’s tethered by something else. Hate is already beginning to blur into fixation. He’s telling himself it’s about power, about “not losing,” but his refusal to leave keeps him tied to Tharn’s orbit. That’s the seed of the “thin line between love and hate.”
And MAME does something brilliant here: she shows us two victims reacting differently. One putting on an armor of hate and the other hiding from the world, afraid. Neither way is “right” or “wrong.” Both are valid trauma responses, but MAME sets them side by side to highlight how people cope differently.
What happens with the snacks is really a turning point. Tharn still wants to frame everything as a game of revenge, as if he’s evening the score, but the truth leaks out in small ways. He remembers Type’s tears, the anger laced with fear, and it rattles him more than he would like to admit. He tells himself he only “scared him a little,” but guilt is already sitting underneath the justification.
That’s why the snacks matter. Tharn doesn’t buy them for himself; they’re an apology in disguise. He knows Type would never accept an outright peace offering, so he writes the sticky note. The warning isn’t really meant to keep Type away; it’s bait, because Tharn knows exactly how stubborn and prideful Type is. If it feels like rebellion, Type will take it.
And when he does, both of them get what they want. Type feels like he’s gotten back at Tharn by breaking the rule, and Tharn gets the satisfaction of knowing his apology has been accepted,. That’s why Tharn smiles. It’s not just about food being stolen; it’s about connection, about the two of them engaging in this strange ritual of defiance that’s really a form of communication.
Tharn holding onto the note, seals it. Keeping that scrap of paper shows something else entirely. He’s already treasuring the tiniest piece of Type, even as he denies to himself what it means. The whole scene becomes more than guilt; it’s the first moment where Tharn starts reaching for Type, not as an opponent, but as someone he wants close, someone he would rather not see cry.
That porn group chat scene is absolute chaos comedy. It’s this perfect mix of juvenile humor, awkward exposure, and social embarrassment. The kind of thing that only works because we’ve already seen how wound-up Type is. The way the girls dismiss it with that “ew” response is classic too; it highlights the gendered assumptions around porn, as if men are “supposed” to be open about it and women “aren’t into it,” which adds another layer of humor because we know that’s not actually true. We just generally want our porn with a dash of romance. Anyway, he's got his tissue box and is ready to go to town. And then the getting caught. Legendary. It's like that horrifying moment when you lose your bikini bottoms in the water and come up mooning everybody.
The next part literally had me leaning over and being sick, but let's talk about it. I will say that the book goes way further than the show, and honestly? I never felt like it even fit Tharn’s character in the novel. That’s why I was so relieved when the series toned it down. But toned down or not, let’s not kid ourselves; it’s still assault. Period.
And here’s where I need to stop as a survivor and explain something that people who’ve never lived this might not understand. Type freezes. He’s strong with his words, strong when it comes to throwing verbal punches, but the moment Tharn makes it sexually physical, he collapses into the boy he used to be. Think about elephants: when they’re babies, they’re tied with a rope they can’t break, and they try and try until their spirit snaps. Then as adults, that same flimsy rope holds them because they believe they’re still weak. That’s what’s happening here. Type’s body is grown, but his trauma tells him he’s twelve again, powerless, helpless. That’s why he can’t fight back. That’s why freezing is real. Survivors know this. People on the outside often don’t.
And this is where it gets complicated: I’ve said before that hate can push people into ugly acts, and this is Tharn’s moment of ugliness. But it also feels wildly out of character. Tharn has been patient, has been caring, and suddenly we’re meant to believe he would cross this line? I don’t buy it. This is MAME forcing drama into the story at the expense of character integrity. I understand it in some ways because how else does Tharn really see Type? But it's uncomfortable because it doesn’t feel like Tharn; it feels like the author saying, “We need to escalate.”
That said, MAME also knows too much about how survivors actually spiral. Because Type’s internal voice is brutally accurate:
“Why can’t I fight harder?”
“Did this happen because I deserved it?”
That is precisely the kind of nasty, looping verbiage our brains spit out afterward. And it’s why I kept getting sick rereading it. Not because it’s “dramatic” but because it’s true.
Now, if you watched this scene and felt nothing or even laughed at the awkwardness, and you’re a survivor? Please hear me: that doesn’t make you wrong. It doesn’t make you broken. We all cope differently. Some of us dissociate. Some of us get triggered. Some of us even find gallows humor. There’s no right or wrong way to process. The only wrong thing is hurting yourself for how your brain reacts. Therapy matters. Compassion for yourself matters more.
It kills me that Type’s begging sounds like a child pleading with an adult. “Let me go. Please. I’m sorry.” That’s not seduction. That’s trauma reenacting itself in real time. Tharn eventually realizes something is wrong; he touches his face, he sees the tears, and he backs off. But by then the damage is done. And Type’s response is valid; kicking him off the bed and screaming, “I hate you,” is the only power he has left in that moment. Afterward, him curling up alone, trying to self-soothe through the memories… that is the most realistic image of trauma I've seen, and it’s devastating.
Tharn is finally starting to think. Flashing back, putting things together. Notice how he doesn’t talk to his bestie the way Type talks to his; that suggests on some level, Tharn already knew he couldn’t trust him. After the flashback, Tharn decides not to stay and eat. Meanwhile, we see Type tossing and turning in bed. He’s having PTSD nightmares. And let me be clear: these aren’t just “bad dreams.” Nightmares are a primary symptom of PTSD because they aren’t random; they lock you in place, trapping you in the terror of the original event. What you dream can feel as terrifying, as violating, as the original abuse.
Tharn walks in on this nightmare. And honestly? He is very lucky he wasn’t physically hurt. In a dream state, we fight back. I’ve punched my husband in the middle of one, no exaggeration. That’s the reality of trauma. From here, the series pulls us into Tharn’s self-deception and Type’s spiraling flashbacks, the nightmare dragging him back into his trauma. The voice of the abuser. The begging. The struggle. The helplessness. And woven into that, Tharn’s voice cutting through: “Wake up, Ai’Type!” And Type, in the dream, pleading, Help me, Tharn. That shift is monumental. His body doesn’t trust, but some part of him is already reaching for safety in Tharn, whether he’ll admit it or not.
When Type finally wakes up, what he sees isn’t mockery or ridicule; it’s worry. Genuine worry. Tharn holds him, reassures him, and comforts him until Type pushes him away with a fist, and rage takes back over. And round and round we go: anger, defense, denial, shame. But underneath? A tiny fracture in the armor. A seed of safety planted.
But the punch? That was expected by me. Imagine waking up from a living nightmare only to find yourself face-to-face with the person your brain has cast in the abuser’s role. Of course the body lashes out. And Tharn’s reaction? “What the hell was that for? I helped wake you up!” It's so telling. Why do people incite a riot, then get mad when you riot? Neither of them is guiltless here, which is precisely why they’re so perfectly matched.
Look at how Tharn hits back verbally: “I was kind enough to help a grown man who is afraid of nightmares.” He lets his anger take over, spits out ugly things. And then Type, armored up, snaps, “I’m not afraid of nightmares. Back off if you don’t know anything.” This is hypermasculinity as survival. If he admits fear, he admits weakness, and weakness means danger. Tharn tries again, soft at first, “Then what are you afraid of?” but ends in frustration: “Do you expect me to believe that when you’re trembling and crying? Stop being cocky.” He doesn’t know he’s just said the absolute worst possible thing. Both of them are caught in this vicious cycle of hurting with words, too afraid to look directly at the other’s pain.
And here’s where I want to scream, Fuck me, guys; do you not see the beauty in this show? Type begins crying, hugging himself, self-soothing. “I didn’t ask for help.” That’s not just words; that’s survivor logic. If I didn’t ask, then I’m not weak. If I didn’t ask, then I’m still in control. Therapy, people. Therapy is the only way through this. We all wish there was a magical dick or pussy that could cure us. But the reality is, the crying, the clinging, and the shame take work, not time, to get past.
And then we get the mirror. Tharn staring into it, seeing himself but not recognizing himself. Mirrors in literature are rarely just mirrors; they reflect hidden truths. They don’t lie, even when we try to. What he sees isn’t just his own frustration; it’s the confusion of a man who wanted to strangle someone five minutes ago but can’t shake the image of that same boy crying. Tears he pretends are “useless” but that have already undone him.
Type has officially stressed himself into being sick. And yes, before anyone rolls their eyes, that’s real. PTSD and anxiety can absolutely overload your body to the point it crashes. Panic attack, fever, stomach upset; it’s like a heart attack but with bonus trauma. I have been there, 0/10, do not recommend.
So what happens? Tharn tries to wake Type like a halfway decent roommate. Type tells him to fuck off. Tharn storms out. Classic. He doesn’t even know Type’s sick until Techno calls. Cue sad puppy Tharn, who was probably already halfway in love and is now very much gone. Let’s pause here. These two did get along before the “gay reveal” and the wall of trauma slammed down. They were well matched. Tharn is a caretaker by nature, and Type, for all his armor, is absolutely starved for care. You put that dynamic in a pressure cooker, and… well. You get this episode.
Tharn sneaks in with stolen porridge (Techno, you big himbo, you’ve been robbed), and from that point, it’s over for him. Sick, vulnerable Type is kryptonite. The clutching hand, the whispered “don’t leave.” Toast. Man’s not getting out alive.
And then the infamous water-to-mouth moment. Let’s be honest: if Tharn wasn’t already halfway in love, he wouldn’t have crossed that line. Caretaking plus attraction equals messy boundaries. It’s both tender (he wants to help, he’s desperate to soothe) and a bit violating. But here’s where the show is sharp: Type needs this as much as Tharn needs to give it. Not the literal “kiss medicine down his throat” (yikes), but the presence. The, stay with me. The fact someone doesn’t walk away when he’s weak. Because here’s the truth: Type has no one. No therapy, long-distance parental love, no safe outlet. He’s all thorns because underneath he’s starving for affection.
Meanwhile, Tharn is codependency on legs. He needs to be needed. That’s why this works; they’re both disastrously imperfect, but the puzzle pieces still snap. Survivors don’t need perfect. We require someone who fights past our walls without ripping them down.
Techno, god bless this boy, is the neutralizer. He tells the truth no one else will. He basically says, “Yeah, your enemy nursed you, you dumbass, because that’s what Tharn does. He’s a caretaker. If it had been me, you’d be dead.” Which is both hilarious and accurate. Techno’s comic relief lands because it’s rooted in honesty.
Also: shout-out to Kla lurking in the background. The snacks from Japan scene? Dead giveaway. Nobody hands their best friend’s snacks to their brother unless it’s part of a crush-driven campaign. You guys think Type is bad; Kla is bad. Kla doesn't give a shit about anybody but Techno. He will use and abuse for Techno's attention. The only thing that keeps him in check is Type and his fear of him.
One act of kindness does what all the screaming and hatred could not. It cracked Type’s wall. He’s not “healed.” He’s not “changed.” But the seed is planted. Hatred breeds more hatred. Kindness: unwanted, awkward, messy; plants roots. I know because I’ve lived it. Storytime. I grew up with someone who would later be an infamous killer. Suffice it to say when I found out he had been executed, I cried like a fucking baby. And guys, I don't cry. But this person, who had hurt so many, was one of the few people to treat me with incredible kindness when I was at my weakest and most vulnerable. Maybe if more people had shown him kindness, like he had shown me. Then perhaps we both could have been saved. When the urge to hate happens. I think of that. I don't know what someone else is going through or what burden they are carrying, and could my one act of kindness to their hate be the ripple effect?
So yeah, this was the episode that broke me. Made me laugh (fake sleeping, busted), made me gag (the forced medicine), and made me ache (the whispered “don’t leave”). Imperfect, problematic, human.
Thanks for coming to my TED talk meta. 💜💜💜
