Clarity

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"I'm sorry but- whomst the fuck?"

After briefly deciding that the upcoming conversation was a bit too important to be had in a dirty alleyway, covered in grime and hard as a rock, the two had quickly made their way bad to the house (again, as quick as it was possible, considering the situation). Luckily, Matt was still out on his daily shift, and Edd had long since locked himself away in his bedroom, working on his art. This made sneaking into Tord's room all the more easy.

That doesn't mean that they didn't have the conscious mind to whisper, however.

Sitting opposite one another, legs crossed, face scuffed an irritated red, Tom pulled at his oversized pyjama shirt, stretching the hem so it fitted comfortably over his bent knees. All things considered, after the interaction they just had and the sudden, frantic relocation to Tord's bed, he felt as though the current situation lacked an unfortunate amount of kissing. Then again, a couple of days ago he wasn't fully, mentally prepared to even entertain the possibility of said kissing.

Small steps.

Tord huffed, "You're in a drug trafficking ring."

He spoke slowly, as though talking to an animal, or a very stupid child.

Gritting his teeth at the condescending tone, Tom snorted irritably, "And how do you know that?"

"The leader's son spends a lot of time at the cafe- most of the ingredients or the sweets themselves come from the bakery down the roa-."

"The buff Russian veteran?!" Tom jumped in suddenly, features quickly warping into ones of horror, "I was joking! I didn't actually think-."

A snorting laugh escaped Tord, seemingly by accident, as he attempted to cover it up with a sharp cough, "Good guess, I suppose."

Placing his face into his hands, Tom groaned lowly, the horrific reality of his life finally starting to wash over him, "I can't believe-"

"That was strike one, actually." Tord nonchalantly added. At Tom's questioning stare, he continued, "Of why I thought you were a member."

"Well, I'm not."

"Yet," Tord muttered darkly.

It was times like this where he started to really question why he was attracted to Tord in the first place.

What an asshole.

"Tord." He ground out, exasperation practically dripping from the single syllable.

Shrugging easily, "I'm not accusing you... Now ...I'm just saying that, given the circumstances, you are definitely the sort of person to accidentally become a gang member."

"Am not." He muttered childishly, whatever minuscule amount of proud that he still somehow possessed hurting at the suggestion, "But... If they did try to recruit me, how would they do it?"

A thoughtful silence polluted the natural flow of conversation.

Tord grunted, eyes downcast in contemplation, "Maybe by doing a task that proves loyalty?"

"And what would that be?" Tom hummed.

"I don't know- have you been offered to do something? Drop a package off? Spend extra time with a certain client?"

Thinking back to the last few days were difficult, everything seemed so long ago. He really didn't have a great grasp on the passage of time.

Finally, "No."

Clicking his tongue, Tord nodded his head absentmindedly, "Make sure to look out for that."

"You-" He looked up quickly in disbelief, back straight from tension, "You want me to go back?"

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