The phone felt cold in his hand. A type of plastic hardness that didn't crack when you pressed it hard against your ear to hear a distant voice, the type of go-between that remained neutral no matter the topic of conversation. Long antagonizing over daily occurrences with a friend, invitations and loving trysts with a lover, complaints to an inefficient marketing service and tragic news that brought tears to the eyes of those on the receiver's end.

Alfred hadn't thought that he'd ever dial the number- not this one. Never this one. This number had only been found weeks before in his mother's jewelry box, along with a name framed with a large red heart. Alfred, an only son, had been going through the box in order to find the fancy pearl choker he'd always seen her wear in order to give it to the priest for the wake, a search that had ended with the small piece of paper.

When his teacher in elementary school had announced a children's equivalent to 'bring your kid to work' day, Alfred had fallen uncharacteristically quite and didn't join in on the excited chatter that the announcement had provoked. Gilbert had boasted that his father worked at a construction site and would probably bring his hammer to show everyone. The quiet Asian kid whom Alfred couldn't remember what his name was ventured after much pressing that his father was an attorney in a well to do firm.

When asked, Alfred said that his father was a secret agent who worked for the government- someone who couldn't attend his son's school events. Three years later, in a new class, he explained that his dad was a wanted hacker that couldn't show himself in public. At college graduation, his father's seat was vacant since he was on a scientific expedition under the sea to find Atlantis- haven't you heard that they discovered proof that proves that it exists?

It would have been easier if his parents were divorced. Divorce was so popular, it wasn't frowned upon like it used to be. Better if his father had died in some freak accident or perhaps in military service. There would be a grave to visit, a familiar face to mourn. His mother wouldn't look so strained when asked about Alfred's father- she'd be sad instead, showing the wedding ring she still cherished.

But she didn't have a wedding ring, since she didn't have a husband. She never did. Alfred would ask, when he was younger, where his father was. She'd smile and cup his chin and tell him that daddy was working in a big company overseas, and if he wanted to he could always write to him. Alfred had written excitedly about himself and his daily life and gave the letter to his mother to send, and approximately a week later he'd receive an answer in the mail.

The letters were always long and detailed, animated with stories and questions. How was school? His mother? What big discovery had he made that week? Alfred would always rush into his room and sit on his bed, savoring each word, and after reading the whole text a few times he'd sit down at his desk and write back.

He wrote back without fail until he rushed into his mother's room one day while in the eighth grade and saw his mother's hand moving on his father's stationary, using his father's handwriting.

She had sat him down later that day and explained that his father wasn't working overseas like she had told him years before. In fact, she wasn't sure where his father was or what he was doing. No, he wasn't dead- he was alive and living with his own family. She had loved a married man and had his love child outside of his legitimate marriage. He had promised to leave his wife and children for her and baby Alfred but backed out at last minute and had left town with his own family.

He hadn't told Arthur on their first date, nor on their second or third. On their fourth date Alfred had sat the other down and slowly revealed that Arthur was falling in love with an illegitimate child and could back out of their relationship if it disgusted him. They had made love for the first time later that night.

His mother had passed away wearing a smile, knowing that her boy was happily wedded and secured in his job.

And there he was, sitting on the living room couch with his husband squeezing his hand and giving him an encouraging smile as he dialed the number of the man that had fathered him, half wishing half dreading that his call would be answered.

"Hello?"

Hanna Chan Blah-Blah Corner;

I watched a documentary the other day about children born to mistresses and how they face their fathers that basically don't want them or just don't know about their existence later on in life. It made me very distressed that someone could hate a child just for being his own but not his wife's. Children weren't made to be hated, not deprived of a father and not even really understanding why he isn't there to teach you how to ride a bike or be the paternal presence in the house.

So this is my interpretation in a nutshell of the situation, leaving it hanging. Alfred could be rejected or accepted by his father- it's all up to your own interpretation. This isn't so much fanfiction as it is a writing release for me, but I'd love to toy with the theme in the future with Alfred and Arthur owo;

What's your opinion?

-Hanna