okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay.

I did it. It is a fail, but at least it exists.

have a new chapter peasants!

Chapter two

As to be expected. I had not seen my real farther for years at this point. It had become so I truly thought of my foster parents as my real parents, which was not so much as a bad thing, but rather odd. Since I had been with these people for seven years at the time I'm talking about, I suppose I was able to emotionally bond with them much like a child does with their real parents, but I had been with my real family for eleven years prior this, surely I would have felt even the slightest bit of emptiness from the void they left in their absence?

No, apparently. From the moment I walked out of that house I had never looked back, not once did I want to see their faces again. But there was one person I always visited, Allistor. His grave, I mean. Every Sunday, I always found myself sitting on the bench adjacent the curved stone engraved beautifully in my late brothers name, with a flower or two if I had the money. Its sad that I cant do this anymore, but we all have to move on at some point, even I.

Anyhow, it was one of these times, one of those Sundays, where I was sat on the blackened wood bench , lost in the coldness of the wind, that I saw him again. As I mentioned before, a while back, most people who attended my old high school were those from a wealthy background, and I was no different. My father was a priest, and my mother was a politician- odd couple, right?- who had both inherited all of their parents money. I guess that was why I was so surprised to see my father that day, dressed head-to-toe in filthy, ripped rags.

He looked at me, his eyes had heavy bags under them tinted an unhealthy blue, his whole face sagged and wrinkled in an un-shaved mess. When he saw me he did not react, just stared, no hate to his blood shot eyes, but certainly no love in their either. Then, he shuffled his way over to me, limping slightly, to plonk himself down beside me, sighing contently.

"shit weather we're having," he grumbles, keeping his eyes ahead of him.

Taken aback greatly, I try to fight back any of the rage that was trying to creep up my throat. My eyebrows were furrowed and my mouth agape, as if I was about to speak to him at any moment, staring intently at him. And I say "you can say that again." In a sharp, defensive voice.

Grunting, he shuffles on the bench, trying to get comfortable "I guess it's getting to that time of year. Hope it doesn't snow…"

"Dad." I ignore him.

"… what?"

"what the fuck is this?" I ask, sounding strangely calm "Why are you dressed like that, and why are you here-when I've never seen you at Allistor grave before- and why are you trying to talk to me? I hate to tell you, daddy dearest, but I'm still gay,"

He makes a muffled noise, like something was caught in his throat, and looked down at his hands. I kept my eyes steady, staring at him, waiting for my answer, ready to dismiss it by walking away once again if it was any sort of obvious lie.

"Well, well," his voice is scratchy "what a potty mouth you have developed son."

My eyes sharpen "you are disgusting. You know that?" and then I get ready to stand up and say my goodbye, before he speaks again.

"Your mother left me, soon after you did. Don't blame her… but, it left me with half the money I had previously. Less people started coming to church… because of the news publishing the article about your trade with Allistor, everybody started calling me abusive-"

"And they are bloody well right! You hit me, and you basically killed your other son, what man of god would do that?" I was eager to make him feel bad, even when seeing him in the rut he was. I have this scar on my hip, from one time when I was nine and got him angry. I think it was something to do with me and Alfred getting into trouble with one of the neighbours. Dad was drunk, and in his rage at me swiped a broken glass bottle towards me, if I hadn't have nudged out of the way, the cut would have been to my stomach.

Now, I was stroking that scar with my thumb, comforting myself that I had every right to be mad at him, and he saw this too "I want saying that I didn't… abuse you… I was just saying it ran my business to the ground… and now I have no money, at all," he says it in a rush, and punctuates it with a violent cough, before carrying on slower "I… just missed my son."

I blinked "maybe he wouldn't be dead if you didn't force him to trade with me," I sound unsure, because I still blamed myself for my bothers death as much as I blamed the other man. Slumping my shoulders, I feel a tear trickle down my cheek, but wipe it off before it could be seen.

He hums "Yes. You're right."

"you don't even feel guilty do you?"

Then he looks at me bitterly, like he would have done when going to slap me, but keeps his arms firmly at his side. I flinch.

"There is not a night where I don't see you boys in my sleep, Arthur. You're right, what man of god abuses his children? Even if you are gay… god wont punish you, I'm sure… he forgives all. Maybe even me…" it starts off as a strong statement before falling into aimless rambling.

I say, nonchalantly "god doesn't exist,"

"maybe."

It's odd, being brought up in a strictly religious environment, and then loosing faith. I suppose its equally as weird me being gay, after that one time when I was six. You see, I used to spend time with my dad at church, sometimes because he dragged me there, sometimes out of my own free will. It wasn't because of god or anything for me, though, back then I was a believer.

I used to like going there to watched the rays of light burst through the stain glass windows, and the now tinted streams dance together. Kicking my legs under the bench I would hum to myself as my dad preached something at his alter that I didn't quite understand at the age I was. I rarely got distracted from these daydreams, but there were a couple of times.

For instance, the time a man stood up in the middle of one of my fathers talks, and shouted in a pained sob "forgive me father, for I have sinned, I lay in my bed with a man, I loved a man," and he dropped back down and started begging "forgive me, forgive me, please… please forgive me,"

He was obviously highly religious, brainwashed to think any little mistake he had, any time he did something that he was not supposed to he would be cast deeper and deeper into hell. I was sat next to him, and his screech had jolted me, my heart was racing out of fear. Even though he had terrified me though, I reached my tiny hand to his shoulder and timidly said "it's okay, I'm sure he forgives you sir,"

But my touch make him recoil, and he slapped my hand away with some force. My farther got angry, really angry, but for once not at me. Not moving from his place, he slung an accusing finger towards the man and shouted "Don't you dare harm my son with your filthy hands, you damned sinner!" it was different than how he would shout at me- more, civilised? I think that's the best way to put it. He was in front of a group of people after all, who all had what they thought to be concrete morals, anything more aggressive than his little act would have caused the lot to stop coming to his church.

I don't remember the mans face too well, just that it was slightly tanned and the wrinkles had become bags, but I think the terror on his face at that moment in time had burned into my head. Although it seemed impassive, it was as if he had visibly given up on everything at that moment in time, he had broken down, I tried to comfort him once more, but he drowsily turned and walked off before I could say anything.

That memory popped into my head as I saw the same expression on the face of the man in front of me, the one who scrubbed me clean that night so that I didn't 'catch the disease', he had given up.

I groan, and turn to look him in the eyes "Look, I am never going to forgive you for what you did, for taking my brother from be, for caring about this fucking non existent…. Asshole more than your own family. But." I reach into my pocket and take out my wallet "here. Think of it as payback of all the years you provided for me,"

His eyes widen slightly at the sight of the fifty pounds I was handing to him- I had recently got a part time job, and was intending on using the money for new books- before he smiles and takes the money with a nod.

That night at around seven o'clock I video called Alfred, it was something we did from time to time, though we usually kept to e-mail. He answered right away.

His new room was a lot more grown up from the pig steigh he had previously, though it still had all of the things I deemed childish- the figures, the red white and blue theme, the bundles of mcdonalds wrappers in the bin- it was all organised in a way that formed the delusion that this room belonged to a mature adult. That said, most of the time when I video called him, including the time i'm speaking about now, he was laid down on his bed so I didn't get to see much of said room. Just him, his captain America pillow, and the red wall behind him; which was not necessarily a bad thing.

"Yo! Arite, whats the sitch?" He says with a grin and a playful wink.

My reply is to blink for a moment before shaking my head slowly, in attempt to mask the amusement I felt from the silly quote "Hello Alfred, good day?" I ask, nonetheless.

Nodding clumsily, he reaches beside him and a crinkling noise was made apparent, only for his hand to return full of crisp for him to stuff in his mouth "Yeah, it was pretty chill, yours?"

My fingers start tapping the ebony glass of the desk I sat at- the computer at my house was downstairs, but since my foster parents were almost always working I was free to use it at my will- the sound echoed like around the room like that of the shoes of a galloping horse, Clearing my throat, I picked my words carefully, for some reason not wishing to look like I called him to discuss the topic of my father, trying to seem nonchalant "Well, You'll never guess who I saw today," I say, not wanting an actual guess from him, luckily he complied and replied with a shrug "My father. The real one, I mean."

He seems to be a bit more on guard from that statement, sitting up quite rapidly on his bed and adjusting his laptop so I had a clearer view of his face, before saying "He didn't do anything to you right? I swear, if he did-"

"You'd what? send him an angry letter?" I cut him off, before sighing "he did nothing to me, he has morphed into nothing but a guilty tramp, by the looks of it he even lost his faith... I gave him fifty pounds,"

The confession seems to aggravate the other boy "You did what? why? he deserves to be a hobo!"

I could see a slight fury building in his eyes, and immediately regretted bringing up the subject "Alfred, please calm down," was all I said, with a slightly shaky voice, and he visibly did as I asked. His shoulders slouched back to what they were before he had stiffened them, and his breath deflated like a balloon.

"I'm sorry Artie, but... I don't know, knowing what he did you you, I just really don't want you getting hurt anymore, heh," his cheeks had gotten slightly tinted, and he slung an arm behind his neck. I remember thinking, 'what a dork', despite myself and the situation "I scared you didn't I... damnit,"

I blink in bemusement, tilting my head slightly "no? I just didn't want you getting too worked up over such a little thing. I mean, I definitely put him in his place so you don't need to worry about him hurting me,"

The conversation that followed consisted of me acting with the pride of a five year old, and Alfred sitting back and watching, throwing in the odd comment like "oh damn, you actually said that?" or "I wish I could see his face! I didnt know you had it in you!"

I dont know what it was, the fact that he got in a fight for me, or maybe that he seemed so concerned for me getting hurt, but I seemed to really want to prove that I could handle myself. I was recalling the events in detail, raising my voice at every curse word to make it seem like I had complete control over the situation. The smile he was giving me, back then I thought it was a proud smile but I realize now it was more amused, entranced in my random arm movements out of enthusiasm. By the end of it, I was rather embarrassed, to say the least, I realised I had just spent the last half an hour showing off to my crush like an idiot, and my cheeks became aflame.

He grinned at me "well, I bet he regrets ever treating you like shit,"

I return the gesture with a smile "yeah, he does... but, what comes around goes around, I suppose?"

I don't know how he did it, but somehow he had made a bubble of joy surface through the dried out anger that lined my stomach. This had become a habit of his, and I wasn't, I'm still not, sure whether or not it made me feel comfortable, but in the end it didn't matter, because as much as I wanted to cover up what I felt was an humilifying thing- getting happy over just simply taking to somebody- there would always be cracks in your mask. Such as that little twitch in the side of your mouth when somebody says something overwhelmingly humorous but you're trying to act as if your mad at them.

That day was the last time, till this day, that I saw my real father. Yet, somehow, I find it most memorable for the undying grin I had plastered on my face when talking to Alfred.

long ass A/N and review reply below. If you don't care about that sort of thing, I don't blame you, go get a cup of tea and relax instead of reading my shitty ramblings.

I wrote this chapter around five times.

Thats around... well, this chapter was 2,500 words (hurr chapters are normally 4,000 words hurr) so, lets say around 10000 words. for one chapter. This whole story so far is over 32,000 words long. what the duck, how did I do that? and yet there are many more chapters to go...

I was thinking of shortening this section since I'm finding it so hard and awkward to write, what do you guys think? honestly I don't think you are enjoying it much (totally not my fault for not updating for... two months? probably more. heh.)

thank you to everybody who followed/ favourited! (I think I should mention I am british so any U's in my words its just my country rlly likes U's... fanfiction tried to correct me, darn british-ist website... probably just spelling wrong actually)

krasavista! first of all, I had to make this in England point of view, right? I mean, it would have made sense to do it in Alfreds but... [sweats nervously]

Also, thank you for sticking around with this fanfiction!

Amelia F Im glad you didnt hate the e-mail chapter (because I did hahaha) and the dorkyness is my favourite part of Usuk! :D

Roxypratt "thank you a million times over for not making me wait a thousand years for a new update!"

... ahahahaha. In my defence, it was only two (+?) months, not quite a thousand years...

I did intend my naritive to be different, (but this hasn't been evident in the last two chapters) so I'm glad you mentioned it! I hope its different in a good way? As for your messy thoughts, THIS IS WHAT MAKES A GOOD WRITER FRIEND! you get those messy thoughts AND YOU THROW THEM INTO THE COMPUTER AND BE LIKE 'THIS TOOK ME TWO MONTHS'

(im afraid there wont be any kissing for a whiiiillleeee)

AND IM DONE. I SHALL RETURN IN ANOTHER TWO MONTHS (Im joking. Probably.)