Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Daddy's kink

"What."

Technically, it should have been a question, but the muddled disbelief and sheer confusion that boiled in his brain made it sound more like a deadpan statement.

Either way, it got his message across.

Tord shrugged, and raised a brow, "Well, I suppose it's more of a, 'how well did you know your father', but whatever- semantics."

Not liking as to where the conversation was being dragged, Tom shuffled backwards slightly, squinting with a small frown etched across this face.

"Not a lot." He admitted slowly, as though the words were painful to articulate, "But enough. Why?"

Sighing heavily, Tord shook his head, an unusual set of contradicting emotions welling up in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turned to sit down on a nearby stool.

"You might want to sit down for this." He turned to pick up a bunch of haphazardly placed files that were left on the bench, shuffling them in a seemingly random order, "It's recommended, actually."

Squaring his shoulders, Tom huffed, "I'll stand, thanks."

Tord stared at him for a couple of seconds, before holding up a document with a large scanned image on the front, the edges crumbled and smattered with rogue droplets of ink.

"Does this mean anything to you?"

Clearly being very old, the paper itself held a hazy, almost dirty effect, years of fingerprints and improper care had warped the quality- smearing it grossly. Despite the resolution being as piss poor as it was, it didn't stop the weight that sunk down deep into his stomach once he realised what he had been looking at.

From the outside to general passers-by, it looked rather mundane- it was a picture of a small plastic bag, inside of which it contained a gram of a fine, black powder. But with context; with the searing, hot flashes of traumatic past memories that squirmed within the deepest regions of his brain- it meant so much more.

Something tightened in his chest, and he uttered out a very strangled, "No."

Undisturbed, Tord passed him the document. With obvious hesitation, he very gingerly took it into his trembling hands, paper crinkling as he attempted to not flinch out in irrational fear.

"That." He tapped the middle with a hard prod of his pointer finger, "Is the drug that your father created."

Shaking like a leaf, Tom allowed him to continue, unable to grasp even an ounce of strength to speak up.

"Not much is known about it, unfortunately. A lot of the research notes and more importantly- the recipe, was destroyed." His voice took on a deeper, more bitter tone, "It was so well hidden, in fact, most people thought that it was a myth."

"But it's not," Tom whispered, speech wavering as he felt his throat lock up.

"No, it's very much not." Tord echoed, "Do you know why that is, Thomas?"

Biting his lips, he kept his gaze strictly onto the picture, squinting his eyes in which he hoped looked like thought, and not as though he was attempting to quell his tears.

"It creates monsters." He muttered finally, legs feeling like rubber.

Maybe it was a good idea to sit down after all- Tord was right.

Then again, he usually was- unlike him.

"Classic, stupid Tom."

Another shiver shuddered through his form, this time overly violent, wracking his frame. Thighs twitching, he felt his knees buckle, legs turning into jelly. Feeling himself fall, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist, catching him before he could hit the floor.