Author's Note: I won't tell you to watch the video this is loosely based off of (but you should definitely watch it if you haven't already, it's completely worth it.) It just made me really sad, and I wanted to express that somehow, so this was born. Hurray for platonic England/America relationships!

The video is called My Beautiful Woman. There are three different stories that are told, but this oneshot is based off the last story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or My Beautiful Woman and I most likely never will.

"… How old were you?"

It was raining that day.

"Dad?"

Arthur would never forget it; and he didn't want to, not for anyone or anything.

"Eighteen. I'd… just begun my first year of college."

He'd been an arrogant child then, a spoiled boy born into a rich family that believed the world owed him every favor. Back then, he expected only the best and received just that, only knew how to take and take and take. At eighteen, Arthur was still just a kid, barely able to take care of himself, let alone another human being.

Figures that the one thing he never actually wanted, that he never once asked for, was what Arthur had needed all along.

"And you were just walking down the street?"

"Yes. It was a little after ten."

Arthur had been skipping class that morning, and while he looked back on his youthful negligence with more than a little regret, he also couldn't bring himself to wish that things had worked out differently.

He'd been walking down the street when he heard it, a tiny, furious cry that somehow managed to penetrate through the roar of rain pounding on his umbrella. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pausing in his journey back to his parents' house in favor of listening, something he'd never been particularly good at before that morning.

Everyone skirted around him, some going about their business and others glaring at him for his audacity. On any other day, Arthur would have glared right back, perhaps even picked a fight if the mood suited him, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to keep moving until he either heard the sound again or lost interest completely.

But there it was again, louder now that Arthur was paying attention, and the teenager spun in a circle, trying to figure out just where it was coming from. The sound led him to an alley, and while it was emitting from a dumpster, the cry itself belonged to a baby, just lying amongst the trash wearing nothing but a soiled diaper.

For a moment, Arthur couldn't believe what he was seeing, and he stood quietly, subconsciously shifting his umbrella so the rain was no longer pelting the screeching baby. There was no telling how long it had been there, its sex, or just how old it was, but Arthur guessed the baby was only a few weeks old, a month at most.

Every now and then there would be a story in the news about an infant abandoned by its parents, but until that moment in the alley, Arthur never felt personally invested. Humans were selfish and cruel, so of course he wouldn't be surprised upon hearing stories such as that. It was easier to remain ignorant in front of a television screen, where the volume could be adjusted and Arthur didn't have to face what was happening if he didn't want to.

But this was real. There was no remote, no glossy screen to hide behind, and there was an unsettling feeling in the pit of Arthur's stomach as he maneuvered his umbrella in his arms to lean into the dumpster and scoop the baby up and out. The reaction wasn't instantaneous, but as Arthur zipped the wet and shivering baby into his jacket, the desperate crying from before gradually faded away into silence.

Perhaps a little irrationally, Arthur thought at first that the child had died, but when he looked down, he found watery blue eyes staring back at him, pupils blown impossibly wide, as if shocked that someone had actually come to save the day.

"Did you ever try to look for my parents?"

"No. I told myself that if they were the ones who left you there in the first place, they wouldn't respond even if I did reach out in some way. You would have been put into foster care or some orphanage, Alfred. After everything, I – I couldn't bring myself to do it."

" … "

Arthur didn't go to any of his classes that day, choosing instead to sit in his room and watch as the child he found slept, wrapped up in one of Arthur's brother's old baby blankets, excavated from a bin in the cellar.

He wasn't sure what to do. It wasn't as if there was a Lost and Found box for babies, after all, and his conscience wouldn't allow him to put the kid back where he found him; but then, it wasn't his kid and therefore was not his problem. His parents would be back in a few hours, and Arthur could easily hand the baby off to them, forget about what happened, and move on with his life.

"Ridiculous." Arthur huffed, and the child slept on, unperturbed. "Even if you are an annoying brat, your parents should have taken you to someone who wanted you. It's the least they could do for bringing you into this miserable world only to abandon you."

Silence greeted his words, and as the clock hanging on Arthur's wall continued to tick away, the teen turned his own words over in his head, again and again, until he couldn't even bear to look at the baby, his chest hurt so badly.

Arthur didn't believe in fate or destiny, karma or things of the like, but what had the infant done to deserve something such as this? When Arthur looked at it, he saw something fragile and weak; and that was what humans were. The baby's parents… what had they seen when they looked at their child? A burden? Something unwanted, that constituted being thrown away like garbage?

The teen couldn't say he knew what it was like to be unwanted or unloved, but he did recall being insufficient, his life observed under a magnifying glass as his parents compared Arthur's actions to those of his older brother and sister. Nothing he did ever held a flame to Owen's doctorate in neurology or Bridget's success at Yale. So, he stopped trying to impress and instead stood back and watched his siblings succeed in life, content to do so because he cared for them too much to spoil their happiness.

The child he'd found didn't even get the chance to be great. It survived – which was all it would ever need to do in this life to receive Arthur's approval – but even that wasn't good enough for whoever decided to leave their baby in a dumpster, in the middle of a storm no less. This child had no dignity, sleeping in a soiled diaper because Arthur hadn't a clue how to change one, and Arthur pitied it.

It began to whimper, fidgeting restlessly in the cocoon of fabric Arthur had carelessly created, and through his tears and overwhelming grief, Arthur managed to unwrap the baby and lift it up from its apparent misery, guiding the child's uselessly lolling head to his shoulder and trying to soothe it as best he could.

Arthur bit back a frustrated sob as the child quieted almost immediately. "If you're this easy to please, then what the fuck went wrong?"

The baby whimpered once more, as if offering its own feelings of confusion.

Arthur's mother returned home four hours later, and when she walked through the front door, talking furiously into her Bluetooth, it was to find her misfit son sitting on the carpeted floor in the living room, cooing apologies to a squalling infant while one of the maids tried to teach him how to properly change a diaper.

"… Grandma must've been shocked."

"Not too terribly. They always expected great things from your aunt and uncle, but I was the one they all assumed would end up with dozens of illegitimate children."

Despite being an eighteen-year-old virgin, Arthur was able to convince his family that the child was undoubtedly his. They all thought he had mindless sex with countless women on the weekends anyway, so they never once questioned him or demanded a paternity test when he refused to disclose the identity of his son's mother.

Of course, the sudden appearance of a baby threw them all for a loop. Arthur himself found it difficult to make the transition from carefree bachelor to stressed single parent, but he'd promised himself that he would give it his all, no matter what it took.

His sister flew home from school when his mother delivered the news, and she was all too open about her dislike of Arthur's decisions, though she never once directed that anger toward the baby. "See, this is why you always wear a condom." She'd sniff as she brought a bottle forth from the kitchen and handed it to Arthur, who would settle back against the couch with a sigh and hold the rubber nipple to the infant's awaiting mouth. "What happened to his mom?"

"She wasn't ready to be a mother, still a child herself." He replied with more than a little anger, because it was partly true, or at least in his eyes. "I took him off her hands."

"Pfft. Like you're any more ready to be a parent than she is. So, what's his name?"

"Alfred." After confirming the baby's gender, Arthur had stayed up that first night just thinking it over, patting the infant's back as he slept against his chest. Considering the life he'd lived thus far, the baby deserved a good name, something with meaning, and in his last moments of coherency, Arthur had decided on Alfred, after Alfred the Great.

Arthur could only hope the boy would grow and live up to a title Arthur had bestowed upon him while the teenager was half asleep.

"Okay… Any middle name? Last name? Is it hers or ours?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "If you must know, his full name is Alfred Foster Kirkland. Lower your voice, I think he's falling asleep."

"Wow." Bridget said, sitting in the chair across from Arthur as she observed the baby in his arms. Arthur grew accustomed to being watched in the first few weeks after Alfred entered his life, by the servants and his family alike. He never quite figured out if they assumed he would mess up and accidentally kill the child, or if they just couldn't believe he had actually ended up a teenage father. "Never thought I'd see the day. Don't you hate kids?"

"Under any normal circumstances, yes."

Arthur started attending classes regularly, leaving Alfred in the care of the maids for the few hours he spent away from home. Returning felt akin to being born all over again, and despite the agitation and exhaustion Arthur felt over having to sit through math and sciences classes that he had no interest in, it was somehow worth it when Alfred seemed to recognize him every time he came back, smiling his toothless smile as he squirmed about in his bouncer.

It was a wonder Arthur ever got anything accomplished. Determined to teach him a lesson, his parents refused to help babysit and barely gave Alfred the time of day, though sometimes Arthur would come home to find Alfred wearing something that Arthur was certain he hadn't gotten for him. Some nights Arthur would be up until the morning hours, alternating between finishing his coursework and caring to Alfred's needs, and it wasn't uncommon for one of the maids to come wake him up for school only to find Arthur passed out over his textbooks while Alfred played quietly at his side.

The nights when Alfred cried for hours were the worst, because either one or both of Arthur's parents would stalk down to his room and yell at him over the baby's cries, which would in turn make Alfred cry harder and ultimately accomplish nothing. It frustrated Arthur to no end, because while he could take his parents' disappointment in stride, when their anger turned to Alfred, that was when he got annoyed.

"Huh. I always thought Grandma and Grandpa kinda sorta liked me."

"They never hated you. I was the one they were upset with! They didn't want to admit it to me, but they loved you then and still do now."

"And if they knew I was just some kid you found in a dumpster when you were supposed to be at school? What then, Dad?"

"Al… "

After a few months, it became clear to Arthur that continuing to live with his parents wasn't going to work. Tensions were running high, Alfred just kept growing, and despite the size of the Kirkland estate, Arthur couldn't continue to hide the way he had all his life.

His parents were suspiciously helpful when he announced his decision, and his mother and sister went along with him to pick out an apartment while his father stayed behind with Alfred. It only took a day of searching – Arthur wasn't particularly picky and could tell his mother wanted to find something quickly – so he settled on the first place they visited, one close to his university and a reasonable distance from his parents' mansion.

Everything happened almost in a blur, moving furniture and filling out paperwork, but on a Friday night after his last class, Arthur found himself standing alone in his small kitchen, bathing Alfred in the sink. It was a surreal moment.

Arthur wasn't stupid enough to believe that he could survive on his own without help from his parents, and thankfully, they didn't try to make him right away. Arthur switched to online classes so he could stay home with Alfred most days, but when he started working part time at a local book store, he was shocked when his mother decided to work from home so she could take Alfred while Arthur was gone.

Alfred becoming the highlight of Arthur's day was a gradual thing. It didn't happen overnight, and honestly there were times in the beginning when Arthur found himself wondering why he was taking care of someone else's kid. Of course he wanted what was best for Alfred in any scenario, but at that point, Arthur really only felt a sense of obligation to the baby, a want to never see him be hurt again.

Seven months after that day in the rain, Arthur drove to his parents' house to pick up Alfred. Upon walking through the front door, shoulders slumped and steps sluggish, prepared to head home and sleep for however long he could, he heard a voice from the kitchen in response to his tired, "Mum? I'm here for Alfred!"

"Alfie!" It was Bridget, and Arthur had to roll his eyes, hoping that the ridiculous nickname wouldn't stick. "Who is that?"

"Da!" Was the answering shriek, and Arthur stopped dead in his tracks.

"Back then, I often wondered what I would tell you when you were old enough to understand, if I'd tell you to call me 'Dad' or 'Arthur.' Being a father was still terrifying, but back when you couldn't speak, it was easy to ignore. But… you made the decision for me. You called me Daddy, and I realized that even if we weren't related, I was the one that took you home that day. I changed your diapers, fed you… wished for your happiness more than I did my own. You made me your father, so I made you my son."

Alfred became the center of Arthur's world. He hurried home from work at the end of the day and scooped Alfred out of his mother's or sister's arms before they even noticed that he'd arrived; and Alfred was always so happy to see him, his reactions increasing in intensity the older he became.

Arthur grew up as Alfred did, remembered how it felt to be genuinely happy and smile without restraint with each milestone he and Alfred reached together. Alfred learned to walk and talk in that cramped apartment of theirs, and he took so much pride in everything he did, blue eyes alight with childish excitement whenever Arthur congratulated him in a way only a parent could.

And Arthur was so terribly proud. The child of very successful individuals, Arthur was forced to attend his fair share of galas, and he never failed to bring Alfred along, mostly because he wanted to show him off – the kid was impossibly adorable even though he could be a downright brat if the mood suited him – but also because Arthur needed someone to talk to during those events, and Alfred's attention never strayed too far from his father for very long back when he was younger.

And at every event, without fail, while Alfred was scarfing down whatever food Arthur or his siblings set in front of him, someone would ask Arthur's mother or father, "Who is that young boy?" to which they would reply, "That's Arthur's son, Alfred."

To be honest, Arthur had never known such happiness, and it was all because of someone's selfish decision to give up their son before they even got to know him. Their loss was Arthur's gain, but as years wore on, the fact that Alfred had been abandoned as a baby became increasingly difficult to comprehend.

There wasn't a mean or vicious bone in the boy's body, unlike Arthur who had always been easy to set off. He'd even snapped at Alfred on a few occasions when he was a child, and while he would cry and run off to his bedroom to hide, he was always quick to dive into Arthur's arms when Arthur went looking for him.

Even when he started school, Arthur would hear word from Alfred's teachers that the other kids poked fun at Alfred for not having a mother, but Al never took the bait and never said a word when he came home at the end of the day. He never once asked why it was just he and Arthur, content with the way things were.

"I never said anything because Kiku's mom wasn't around either. I thought not having a mom was just as normal as actually having one. But when I started high school, I just figured you didn't want me to bring it up. I guess now I know why."

Alfred was so full of love and life, bold and intuitive and eager to please. Arthur would take him to the park and watch while he ran around with kids that he'd never met before, leading them in game after game until he was tired and came scampering back to Arthur's side, going on and on about the new friends he'd made. It both saddened and enraged Arthur to no end that a person so trusting as his son had been dealt such a terrible hand, but the fact that Alfred couldn't remember it made it somewhat easier to cope with. Sometimes Arthur wondered, though.

Until he was about twelve, Alfred would come running whenever a thunderstorm hit, barreling into Arthur's legs and holding him in a vice grip as he trembled with every stroke of lightning. Arthur wondered if being alone during that storm as an infant had made a lasting impression on the boy, and while the terror slowly dissipated as Alfred grew, Arthur always noticed how Alfred would fidget anxiously whenever rain was forecast on the news.

"How come you don't hate me for stealing your youth?"

"Don't be daft, it wasn't like that."

"Uh, it's pretty much like that. You said earlier that having me around forced you to grow up. You're thirty-six with an eighteen-year-old son about to go off to college."

"Do you honestly think I give a damn? Have you even been listening?"

Alfred never had much of a rebellious teenager phase, thank God. Arthur wanted to credit that to his parenting, but in reality, he'd had absolutely no idea what he was doing where Alfred was concerned. All he ever did was encourage and support him, something Arthur's own parents had struggled with when Arthur and his siblings were growing up, and Alfred did all the rest.

Begrudgingly, Arthur had to thank Alfred's biological parents, for his temperament must have come from one of them. Al was just easygoing, even as a teenager growing into his skin, and he only ever put up a fuss if Arthur was being irrationally overprotective, or just irrational in general.

"Where exactly am I taking you?"

"Over to Feliciano's."

"Feliciano Vargas? Please tell me his brother will be miles away from the house."

"Dad. Lovino is a cool guy, I swear. He's tried to apologize for what he said about your eyebrows that one time, you just don't want to hear it."

"It's not about that. He's been suspended from school so many times I've lost count. And remember how he cheated off your math test when you both were in fifth grade and got you into trouble? I don't know how I feel about you being around him, Al. He's a bad influence."

"Oh, you're really preaching to the choir on that one."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Aunt Bridget's told me what you were like when you were a teenager. You're being a hypocrite!"

They would part on bad terms, Alfred slamming the car door when Arthur dropped him off and Arthur silently fuming as he drove back to the apartment, but not even an hour would go by before Alfred either called or texted with a nervous apology that Arthur didn't think he deserved.

They were content. By then, Arthur had settled into his chosen career as a nurse – it wasn't exactly a title of grandeur that his parents had anticipated, but he'd stopped trying to please them years ago – and no longer depended on his parents for support. Alfred spent more time alone at the apartment than ever before during his final years of high school, but he never once complained and always called out a greeting on nights when Arthur didn't get home until after dinner.

The time they did spend together was precious, and Arthur was almost embarrassingly proud of the young man his son had grown up to be. He attended every possible function, usually with his parents and sometimes his siblings in tow, and he never made it much of a secret that he doted on Al and probably spoiled him more than was necessary.

Alfred didn't ask for much, usually woke up on Christmas or his birthday – Arthur had guessed the boy's birthday to be sometime in July, a few weeks before Arthur found him in August – to find presents that he hadn't asked for. There wasn't anything Arthur wouldn't have done for his son –

"Yeah, right. You couldn't even give me the truth."

- but even that wasn't enough to keep everything from falling apart.

"I'm so sorry, Al."

They went to the store. They were having dinner with Arthur's parents and siblings and his mother had called Alfred asking them if they could bring over honey, that they were all out.

"The day Owen eats a damn scone without honey will be the day the world ends." Arthur grumbled as he searched every isle, Alfred laughing rather loudly as he trailed behind him. "Honestly, he expects everyone to cater to his needs."

"You're the one that can't go a day without your tea." Alfred commented. "Remember when I went on that date with… with… "

"Angelique?"

"Yeah, her! We went out, and you called me five times just to tell me that we were out of Earl Grey and to get more on my way home."

"You can't expect me to get through each day with my sanity still intact without it." Arthur replied, shifting items on the shelves as he searched for the brand his mother had mentioned. "Dammit. Al, call Grandma back and ask her what she wanted again."

"What, can you not remember in your old – "

He didn't finish his sentence, and when Arthur turned around, Alfred was staring toward the end of the isle, blue eyes wide behind the frames of his glasses and mouth slightly open. Arthur furrowed his brow and turned to see what had Alfred so shocked, though he immediately wished he hadn't.

For Alfred, it must've been like looking into a mirror; the same dirty-blond hair, fair skin, blue eyes perhaps a few shades darker in Alfred's case, but the similarity was there, and Alfred seemed to know it.

There was no doubt in Arthur's mind the boy standing at the mouth of the isle was related to Alfred in some way, perhaps a brother or cousin, though Arthur was leaning toward brother; and it was absolutely infuriating. To even consider the fact that Alfred's biological parents had conceived another child after abandoning their first was unfathomable. Had they kept him for their own, raised him in the way they'd refused to do for Alfred?

"Hey, Mom!" The boy called, oblivious to his audience. "This what you're looking for?"

And Arthur panicked. "Al, we're leaving." He said briskly, honey forgotten, though Alfred wasn't moving, still staring at his look-alike in disbelief. "Alfred!"

The teenager jumped, fixing Arthur with an accusing look that he couldn't quite hide in time. "Huh? Oh, yeah… okay."

They left the store in a hurry, and on the drive back to the apartment, Arthur sent his mother a message saying that they wouldn't be coming to dinner, silencing his phone after in case his mother did something crazy like call him. Alfred was disturbingly quiet for a while, but once they were home, the questions didn't stop.

"That boy we saw… who was he, Dad?"

Alfred grew increasingly agitated the longer Arthur stayed silent, until finally Arthur couldn't take listening to his son any longer. He caved and told him everything, from start to finish; but he never imagined…

"They left me to die, but they kept him."

"Alfred… there might have been… circumstances that you and I can't imagine – "

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit. Go on, say it. Not even my own parents wanted me."

"Al – "

"You didn't want me either. If you hadn't been so desperate for someone to love you, you would've ditched me, just like they did!"

"Alfred!"

It happened almost two weeks ago, and Arthur hasn't seen or heard from Alfred since. Alfred stormed out without opposition, mostly because Arthur was too stunned by what Alfred had said and the look on his face when he said it to even think about stopping him from going.

Never had they had a fight of that magnitude before, though it seemed appropriate that the first real fight they had as father and son was over the fact that Arthur wasn't really Alfred's father to begin with. Arthur had officially adopted Alfred in secret when the boy was about a year old, so for all intents and purposes they were family, but would Alfred see it that way, if he even came back for Arthur to tell him?

It was the longest they'd been apart in all the years since Arthur found Alfred, and peace and quiet was a foreign concept to the man now. Arthur had called his son's cell phone at least two dozen times and left message after message, but it was anyone's guess as to if Alfred had even listened to them; but unable to go about his day peacefully until he at least knew Alfred was okay, Arthur had called around until Kiku's father confessed that Alfred was staying with them.

He hadn't asked for details about why Arthur and his son were fighting, and Arthur hadn't demanded to speak to Alfred, only thanked the man for taking Alfred in and hung up the phone.

With Alfred suddenly out of the picture, Arthur was a miserable wreck in the face of his family; and too tired to do much else, he was forced to tell his parents and siblings the truth. They were positively livid, but only because Arthur had kept it a secret for so long.

"Jesus, Arthur, you really fucked this up."

"Don't worry, Al will come back. I mean, I wouldn't, but he will."

"Did you ever once think about Alfred and how he would feel about this, Arthur? Oh, I am so disappointed in you!"

It got to a point where Arthur cut himself off from them as well. Of course he'd considered Alfred's feelings over the years, and he'd opted not to tell him until he was older, if at all. For all Alfred liked to pretend he was impenetrable, he was actually pretty damned sensitive. Arthur had known Alfred wouldn't react well, but he'd never expected him to run off.

Arthur would've been an empty nester soon enough anyway what with Alfred going to school out of state to study engineering. The eighteen years he'd spent raising the boy had passed almost in a blur, and now that it was over, all Arthur really wanted was to turn back the clock and relive each moment over again.

At the end of the second week, Arthur was once more settling into the life of a bachelor. Alcohol, which he'd kept out of the house in case Alfred got any ideas, became commonplace again, though Arthur didn't find being drunk as fun as he once had and drank sparingly. He still had to get up early and work, after all.

It was a Saturday afternoon when the storm hit, a super cell the likes of which Arthur hadn't seen in years. He'd just gotten home from the hospital, still dressed in his scrubs when he noticed that the light on his answering machine was flickering on and off. When he went to listen, the first two were from his mother, asking if he'd heard from Alfred and if he was doing okay.

Arthur threw his keys down on the counter top as the messages kept rolling, the third from his sister, asking pretty much the same questions and then inquiring about Arthur's well being, too. The fourth and last message was from Owen, asking Arthur if he wanted to join him for a drink later that night, but Arthur had enough liquor at his disposal that he didn't plan on drinking anyway, so that was a definite no, not that he would call his brother back and grace him with an answer.

The lights flickered as a particularly loud clap of thunder roared from the heavens, and Arthur couldn't help but think of Alfred. Six years ago, Alfred would have come running from any corner of the apartment seeking comfort, but now he was gone, and some part of Arthur had a nagging suspicion that he wouldn't be coming back.

Exhausted, he flopped down on the couch with no intention of getting up for quite some time, staring at his dull, popcorn ceiling as the rain pelted his windows. The sound took him back to that day eighteen years ago, how the cold, unforgiving downpour had battered his umbrella relentlessly as he hustled through the busy streets to get Alfred home before he became any sicker than he probably already was.

Arthur sighed heavily, throwing an arm over his eyes and kicking his legs up on the coffee table. Perhaps their ordeal had ruined rain for Alfred, but it did the same to Arthur.

He must've fallen asleep, because when he woke up, it was considerably darker in the apartment and the front door was creaking quietly. Arthur blinked himself into coherency and sat up only to find Alfred staring nervously at him, rainwater dripping off the ends of his hair.

The two of them just stared at one another for quite some time until Alfred finally spoke up. "Hi."

"Hey." Arthur replied, rubbing at the back of his neck and making a mental note to never fall asleep on the couch ever again. "What are you doing here? Did you forget something?"

"Well, I kinda live here." Alfred said, his expression almost sheepish as he joined Arthur in the small living room, shaking rainwater out of his hair. "I mean… "

"You're always welcome." Arthur said, trying to be the adult he was although he really wanted to throttle the boy for making him worry and having the audacity to walk back in like nothing had happened. "You needed some time to figure things out. I understand."

Alfred laughed slightly under his breath, throwing his keys on the counter beside Arthur's and sitting down on the couch as well. Arthur wasn't sure where to go from there. He honestly hadn't expected Alfred to come back, and if he did, it would've been many years down the road. No, Alfred was going to have to say his piece first. He'd returned for a reason, after all.

"Kiku and I… we found that kid we saw at the store."

"Did you?"

Alfred nodded. "Kiku's good with computers, but it took a few days. His name is Matthew Jones, and he's fifteen years old. We looked up his Facebook page, and his parents' names are Caroline and Robert Jones. I… kinda look like the mom."

"And? Does it change anything?"

Arthur's barely suppressed anger came through in his tone, and Alfred flinched slightly but still refused to look at him. "You're still mad at me?"

"I haven't heard from you in two weeks. How do you expect me to feel, you had me worried sick! The least you could have done was respond to the dozens of messages I sent."

"If it makes you feel any better, I forgot my phone when I left and didn't want to come back for it. It's probably still in my room."

"Typical." Arthur said, still fairly annoyed and completely aware that Alfred was fidgeting nervously as the wind picked up outside.

"I'm sorry." Alfred said, sounding so miserable that Arthur couldn't help but feel concerned. Al didn't get sad often, nor did he dwell on whatever bad things happened in their lives; but when he did get upset, practically everyone knew, and it took the boy a while to bounce back. "I was really pissed that you kept this from me for so long, but I shouldn't have left like I did. I thought if I found out for sure who my parents were, I wouldn't be so upset, but even after Kiku managed to track down my… brother, I guess, I didn't feel any better.

"So, to answer your question, no, finding out didn't change anything." Alfred sighed, and Arthur glanced to the digital clock out of habit, realizing for the first time since Alfred arrived that the power had indeed gone down.

There in that apartment, in the dark where nothing was working, it felt like they had all the time in the world to sort things out. It was similar to how it had been the afternoon Arthur found Alfred, when he felt as if he didn't have to make a decision so long as the baby was sleeping peacefully; but sooner or later, the lights would come back, and time would have to move forward again.

"And I'm mad at myself for thinking that finding my birth parents would change anything anyway. Even when I did see their pictures, all I could think about was our stupid fucking fight." Alfred didn't normally curse in front of Arthur, not that he would have scolded the teen even if he did, so if Alfred was throwing caution to the wind now, he must've been upset. "I was only listening to about half of what you said. I only focused on the fact that you lied to me."

"When you were growing up," Arthur started hesitantly, unsure if Alfred was finished but unable to stay silent any longer, "my biggest fear was that you'd find out about what happened and assume that you were… an undesirable, something no one wanted. And I did everything I could to ensure that even if you did find out one day, you'd be able to look back on your childhood and understand that at least someone considered you a blessing."

Alfred was quiet after the admission, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees and clasp his hands together between them. "I always thought I had the best dad, but no one ever seemed to agree with me. Actually, the only thing they'd give me was that you had a really cool accent. But you really were the best, even if you did screw up sometimes. I'm really sorry about what I said before I left. I was mad, but I'd never want to demean anything you had to do – "

"It's okay, Alfred. Really." Maybe some part of Arthur had looked at Alfred and seen a source of unconditional love and acceptance, but if that part did ever exist, it died off pretty quickly. It was and always would be about what was best for Alfred. If he'd wanted to go back to his real parents, Arthur would have let him, no matter how much it hurt; but of course, he would have insisted on punching Robert Jones in the face at least once. "I know how you are when you get upset."

"Ha. Yeah, you do." And Alfred was suddenly laughing, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders as he reacted to some joke that Arthur didn't understand; but as time wore on, it became increasingly apparent to Arthur that Alfred didn't find any of this the least bit funny. His shoulders were trembling with sadness, not humor, and the sounds he was choking out weren't chuckles, but barely suppressed sobs. "Thank you, Dad. For finding me, for – for everything."

The boy's voice cracked for the first time since he was fifteen, and Arthur uncrossed his arms, standing up briefly before settling down at his son's side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Alfred whipped off his glasses, tossed them carelessly, and proceeded to cry rather shamelessly into his hands, releasing all the pent up emotion that he probably hadn't been able to express while living with the Honda's.

All Arthur could do was sit quietly and let the storm run its course in more ways than one, rubbing Alfred's back and watching the clock sullenly until the glowing red numbers flared to life once more.