Fake (Hetalia: FrUkUs)

.40.

**One year later**

It has been a long year of change.

Many things are different bow, and yet, it feels like just another year.

Just another year. There's no such thing.

In the past year, Alfred has learned to never take the time there is for granted.

A year.

A year, and Alfred couldn't name all the things that have changed in his life. All the things that have changed in the world.

For starters, his mother. 

No, he was sad to say, she had not turned back into the caring woman she used to be. He wanted to say they had made up. He wanted to say they had spoken through these past few years and had come to understand one another.

But, he couldn't.

His mother had grown, if possible, colder towards him. He hadn't recieved a single message from her since New Years, and it was already the third of December. In truth, he missed her very much, but he understood that things would never be as they once were.

And sometimes, that fact hurt just a bit more than normal, and Alfred didn't know what to do. But, lucky for him, he never had to decide alone.

A positive change he found, was in his Father. His father, who had made strides in the last year to once again become a part of his sons life.

Around the middle of June, he had shown up at Arthur's house, asking for Alfred. Joanne had phoned Alfred, telling him the situation, and he had booked it over immediately determined to deal with whatever drunken mess his father had decided to unleash among the Kirkland's. When he arrived though, he was met with something he hadn't seen in years.

It was his dad.

Well, maybe not exactly, but Alfred had to pause when he first saw the man. The very first thing he noticed, was his father was clean shaven. A sign he had been sober enough to hold a razor, so maybe he wouldn't cause a scene. Second, his clothes were stainless, and ironed. Holy shit. His hair was washed and cut, and Alfred was able to pick out gray that had begun to pepper his hair. His eyes, for the first time in a very long time, were clear and focused.

Alfred's father was one hundred percent sober.

"Alfred."

Joanne had let him in, but he had been uncomfortable in the offered seat and had instead been standing awkwardly in her living room. 

"D-Fa-" Alfred elected not to say anything.

"I went to-your moms place, but nobody was home," He tried explaining, "I couldn't reach your number-"

"I changed it two years ago."

An awkward pause.

"I-Well, I just wanted to give you something." He reached into his pocket, of a pair of real slacks and not torn jeans or sweatpants, and whatever he retrieved was small enough that it was hidden in his fist. He held out his hand, waiting for Alfred to approach.

Joanne was watching the exchange, fully prepared to intervene should she deem it necessary.

Alfred didn't look away and waked forward, holding out his hand to receive whatever it is his Father held.

His father swallowed hard, Alfred could see the nervousness of his eyes, and the way his hair was slightly damp with sweat. He was worried, and it made Alfred suspicious. 

His fingers slowly opened, and a small red chip, almost like a casino chip, fell into Alfred's hand.

They both stood still for a moment longer before Alfred slowly pulled his hand back and looked at the circular piece of plastic.