Alin- Romania

Tsvetan- Bulgaria

Andrei- Moldova

Miss Peeters- Belgium

Franz- Kugelmugel

Elise- Liechtenstein

Note: Anton is a human oc who is the adopted child of Romania/Alin and Tsvetan/Bulgaria. The story is mostly told from his point of view (And Moldova's).

…

For ShowMeTheStarsIn221B

...

Tată- Father in Romanian

Tatko- Father in Bulgarian

...

Anton smiled sorrowfully as he finished his picture, glancing around at his classmates. It was late summer, and their art teacher had let the large group of seven year olds have an easy class for one of the last lessons of term: family portraits. He remembered the teacher, Miss Peeters, mentioning how the little project was to celebrate the different family structures people had, no matter how many people were in them, or not in them, and how it didn't matter who made up the most important thing of all: family. She also told the class that the pictures were being displayed on the wall, so he tried his hardest to keep in the lines when colouring, and added as much detail to the faces and clothes as he could. It was an enjoyable lesson and a calming, easy start to a Monday.

A few of his class mates were already finished with theirs, and talking amongst themselves, or staring out of the window. His best friend, Franz Edelstein, was still scribbling away furiously, tongue between his teeth as his eyes burned into the paper he was working on. Then again, with two fathers, an older step-sister and several uncles, Anton wouldn't be surprised if he didn't finish it within the lesson. But Franz would probably continue into break time if he needed to. He was serious about art.

Anton and Franz had bonded over how they were the only kids in the school with two fathers, apart from Elise, Franz's step-sister in one of the older year groups. Well, Anton always said he had two parents, even if only one was around now.

"Anton…" began Miss Peeters, sitting at the empty chair next to him and staring forlornly at his picture, "why did you draw a bat next to you?"

"Because that's my Tată!" Anton exclaimed as if it were obvious.

"Not this again," Miss Peeters sighed almost inaudibly, "of course dear," she added, louder, "I forgot."

…

"When's Tată coming home?" Anton asked for what felt like the millionth time that week, staring up expectantly at the dark-haired man in front of him. His Tatko sighed, shaking slightly as he put the cup he was wiping back in the sink and turned around, picking up his five year old son and carrying him over to the sofa.

"You see, baby," he chose his words carefully, stroking Anton's hair, "Tată's not coming home. He… he has to go away."

"For how long?"

"For… well, forever."

"But why?" Anton's face crumpled and tears spilled down his face as he began to cry. He didn't understand! Why did his father have to go? It was bad enough he was staying in a strange place away from them, but at least they could visit him there, "I want Tată back!" he shook his head furiously and kicked his legs out. Did he not love them any more?

"I do too," Tatko seemed to be trying not to cry. He did that a lot now. He cried the last time they'd visited the strange grey building with the long corridors and rows of beds where the kept his Tată. Uncle Andrei had been there too, and he'd also cried. Anton sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling over the side and holding his Tată's hand. He'd turned away for just a moment to look out of the window, and broke into a grin as he saw the shimmering colours of a rainbow, peeking through the clouds. He had to let his father know; maybe he'd stop looking so sad.

"Hey Tată! Look, a rai-"

He was fast asleep.

"Shh," he wheeled round to his Tatko, "Tată's sleeping now."

He got no response, except for being picked up and carried out of the room, Andrei following close behind.

Tatko had set Anton down on the floor of the car park outside and screamed and cried for ages. He punched the red brick wall and kicked a railing whilst Uncle Andrei just held the child's hand, tears silently streaming down his face. Anton had been frightened; Tatko scared him then.

"Doesn't he want to be around us any more?" the child asked.

"Don't say that! Of course he does, but he can't. He doesn't have… a choice."

"Why can't we bring him back?" asked Anton, "you could lift him up and take him from the bad place when no one's looking! I can be a lookout and tell you if those blue people show up!"

"Because…" his Tatko sighed, "let me tell you a story, child. There was once a man, who had red eyes and sharp pointy teeth. He wore weird clothes and said weird things and wore strange little hats with ribbons. That man was a fierce vampire, living with his clan in secret, hiding their true selves. But something happened to him that changed his life completely: he fell in love. He fell in love with a human, you see, a young man, and gave his old life and family up to become a human and start a new family of his own. They had a little boy, and the three of them were very happy. But the vampire became sick. He wasn't suited to life among humans, and living without blood and darkness made him very ill."

"Tată's the vampire, right?"

"Of course child. Now, he needed to leave his husband and baby and return to the other vampires, who could make him better. He turned into a little bat and flew away in the dead of night. He can't come back, but he'll always be nearby, watching over you."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope… cross my heart."

…

Anton always believed it. He missed his father dearly, but knew he was there for him, even if the boy couldn't see him.

That was why, on the first day of his new school, he stood up in front of the class and told everyone about his dad who was a vampire and turned into a bat, watching over him and his other dad. The other children burst out laughing and hadn't stopped teasing him since.

They were sniggering at him now, and snatches of hushed insults reached his ears.

Miss Peeters was wearing that same sad smile she wore the first time he told her the story. She shot the others a harsh glare, hissing that she'd deal with them later before turning back to Anton.

"Keep the bat. We're meant to be displaying different family types anyway."

"Thank you, Miss."

"Maybe," she continued, slowly, "you could draw what your daddy looked like before he became a bat."

"Okay!" Anton grinned before his lips were pulled into a frown. What did his father look like? He'd been so little when the man left…

…

Anton sat on his Tatko's lap in a nearly deserted hospital ward gazing at the sleepy figure in the bed next to him. His beloved Tată smiled at him with thin, yellowing lips, brushing a lock of light brown hair out of his discoloured face. He looked so thin and frail, but at the same time, his face, ankles and legs had swollen; weeks of fatigue and vomiting had left him too tired to even sit up. So different from the cheerful, healthy, smiling figure who was a blurred memory to him now.

"Hey, salut," he gasped, "you came to visit, Andrei?"

"No, this is your son Anton, Al," explained his Tatko, "Andrei's your brother, remember?'

"Oh… da, I remember now…" he took a shallow, ragged breath before continuing, "it's nice of you to visit; I feel better around my family. I know work gets in the way, so it's nice of you to come here when you can."

"Alin," Tsvetan spoke slowly, cautiously, "we visited yesterday. Surely you can remember that. We've visited nearly every day since you were diagnosed."

"Of course I remember!" Alin scoffed, "who do you take me for?"

"Your memory's going, isn't it?"

Alin glanced down at Anton, eyes betraying his panic, before looking back up at his husband and replying.

"No. Course not. I'm just a little tired and confused."

"Don't-"

"Sing for me," Alin interrupted, "please."

"I know you don't want to talk abou-"

"Annie wants you to sing too, right Annie?"

"Da!" Anton loved it when Tatko sang. He adored the man's deep, calming voice as he sung lullabies in Bulgarian, or cheerful tunes as he danced around the house, swinging the child high in the air.

He hadn't done the latter in a long time now.

"Fine," Tsvetan sighed, defeated.

Alin rested his head on his pillow, one eye open and watching Tsvetan as he sang , a small smile etched onto his face. Pretty soon, he was fast asleep, chest rising and falling slowly.

"Come, child," Tsvetan stood up, still carrying Anton, "Tată's tired now; we'll visit him tomorrow."

"Right! Night night Tată!"

…

Anton paused before he started his drawing; they had photographs of him, small and blurred, but there all the same. His Bashta would describe the man he married, how he looked, dressed, walked, talked.

Yes, he had a general idea of what Alin Radacanu looked like.

…

Andrei sighed as he twiddled his thumbs, sitting in an armchair whilst the receptionist talked on the phone, probably to a parent. He stared down at his shoes, old and scuffed and contrasting sharply with the clean, washed floor.

He knew Tsvetan wouldn't approve of this, and he'd probably get in trouble with the school, but he wanted to help his nephew. And he'd only be pulling the kid out for a day; it's not like a seven year old would miss much. What do children that age even do at school, apart from pick their noses and get into fights?

He'd said he'd take care of the boy, and Tsvetan, and this was one of the few ways he knew how to. Anton had mentioned to him time and time again how unhappy he was at school, apart from his friendship with the little Austrian boy, and Andrei had sat down with him and listened as the child recounted all the horrible things his classmates had said to him about how 'weird' he was, and about his family.

Andrei's family.

He once more found himself regretting letting his life, and his relationship with Alin, spiral downhill. He used to adore his brother, back when they were children, looking at him the same way Anton looked at the adults in his life. But when they grew up, Andrei changed. For some reason, he could no longer enjoy his brother's company and if Alin hadn't constantly called and visited, he'd have allowed them to become estranged. Then the man's health went and he found himself desperately trying to make up for lost time.

Andrei was sure he'd spent more time with Alin when the man was in hospital than during the rest of their adult lives.

…

"I'm going to die," Alin said simply in Romanian, looking straight ahead. Andrei shook his head, sitting up in the chair next to the hospital bed. There were few people about, and in their curtained off little space, the brothers could talk in peace.

"Don't be silly; you'll be fine," he said it more to reassure himself than the other man, "it should be a simple procedure. You can get organ transplants easily nowadays, right?"

"They refused," Alin closed his eyes briefly, "because it was caused by my own actions, the insurance refused to pay for the operation. The doctors… they say I'm too far gone to try removing the damaged parts of my liver. It's pretty much all failing now. You'll look after them, Tsvet and Annie, when I'm gone, right?"

"Of course," Andrei fought back tears. Now was not the time; he could cry when he got home. He could cry even more during the funeral. Oh God, he'd be attending his brother's funeral in a matter of months! He struggled to push down the feelings of regret, disbelief and anger brewing inside of him.

"I hurt so much," Alin whispered, closing his eyes briefly, "and my memory. I keep mistaking Anton for you. Tsvet's beginning to notice. I don't… I can't keep lying to him like that. Trying to tell him everything's fine."

"He's a smart man," Andrei commented, "you don't need to tell him anything. He knows. Just don't, you know, deny stuff. You do that with him a lot."

"I know… Talking's confusing for me too, now. I'm struggling to speak English!"

"You always struggled…"

"Thanks." Alin glared up at his brother, who just stuck his tongue out giving a brief grin that exposed his pointed teeth, before his smile fell and he looked like he was about to cry.

"There must be something they can do, right? You're only twenty-six for Christ's sake!"

"It's my time," Alin replied, "and it's not ideal, but I have to live with it. Or not, as it appears to be the case."

Andrei shook his head. He couldn't process these last few weeks, it was happening too fast for him to take, yet it felt like a lifetime ago that he'd gotten the frantic phone call from Tsvetan, begging him to watch Anton for a few hours whilst he drove Alin to the hospital after a simple knock on the shoulder refused to stop bleeding. Those few hours had turned into an evening, then a whole day, then a week.

And now this.

"You have to promise me something," Alin began again.

"Don't talk like this!" cried Andrei, pushing his chair backwards, away from his brother, and the crushing reality of their situation, "we'll figure something out!"

"Just listen to me," Alin hissed, "I want you to get your life together. Get a stable job, stop getting into trouble, and most importantly, stop drinking and smoking. I don't want any excuses, okay? I just… I just don't want you dying in your twenties like me. They way you're going will spell a premature death, trust me. I know. I need you to look after them. Can you do that? Help Tsvet out with Anton as much as you can, find a nice girl, or boy, or whatever, and don't… don't forget about your ol' brother."

He placed a frail, yellow-stained hand on his little brother's, glancing at the man with watery eyes.

"I could never forget you," Andre let out a humourless chuckle, "you'd probably come back and haunt me if I did."

"I might do that anyway," Alin grinned, "just to make sure you're behaving yourself."

"Don't you dare," Andre stuck his tongue out again, "knowing you, you'd probably appear when I'm showering or have a date over!"

"Probably," Alin laughed, then his smile fell, "I don't want to die, Andre. I'm scared of what I'll find on the other side. I've always been a colossal shit. Who knows what punishment they have stored for me there?"

"There, there," Andre said awkwardly as he lightly squeezed Alin's hand. Why couldn't he find the words to comfort him? Then again, what could he even say? That Alin might live? That was impossible, it appeared. That Alin shouldn't be scared? What good would that do?

Alin was shaking slightly now, tears silently streaming down his face.

"Of course you are," he tried, "what human wouldn't be terrified in your situation? Look, me and Tsvet and Annie, we'll stick with you until the end. I promise. You won't be dying alone."

"Thanks, baby bro," Alin muttered before letting out a yawn.

"I'll go now," Andre placed Alin's hand by his side before standing up, "you get some rest."

…

Andrei's nostril's flared. Why couldn't Alin have stuck around long enough to see him get his life together? He had a job in a little greengrocer's now, was in a relationship, and hadn't touched a drop of alcohol for two whole years. He exercised regularly too, because he knew Alin would want him to be healthy. Which was also why he was cutting down on smoking too, but he couldn't quite bring himself to give up completely just yet. There was too much stress and grief in his life, and he needed the cigarettes to keep him reasonably calm.

He wanted to tell Alin all of this. He wanted Alin to tell him how proud he was, like he did when Andrei was a child. He could almost see the young man now, kneeling in front of him and grinning, back to his healthy self with red cheeks and shining hair. He'd ruffle Andrei's hair and thump him on the back.

"What took you so long?" he joked.

"I guess I needed something to scare me into change," he mumbled, blushing slightly, taking off his own matching hat to scratch his head awkwardly.

Then the image was gone and Andre was alone in the room once again.

He felt silly, and once more full of regret.

It was just so unfair…

"Can I help you sir?" asked the receptionist, smiling kindly.

"Yes," Andre stood up and walked over to the desk, "I'm here to pick up my son, Anton; he's in class 7AP."

"You don't look like Mr Borisov," the young lady commented.

"No, I'm his other father, Mr Radacanu."

"Right, I'll send a message now."

…

Anton barely paid attention as one of the monitors strode in a handed a slip of paper to Miss Peeters. He just continued his drawing. What did Tată look like again? He had a little hat, Anton remembered that much. It always sat at an angle and had ribbons that he had liked to grab at as a toddler.

"Anton Radacanu-Borisov," Miss Peeters called, "your father's here to pick you up. You have a dentist appointment, sweetie."

"Okay Miss," Anton stood up and packed his things away. He'd finish the drawing at home. Maybe Tatko could help him then.

Wandering down the school corridor, a thought struck him. Tatko would be at work now, right? He rarely took days off, and surely would've told Anton if he'd be pulled out of school for the day.

Then it slowly dawned on him.

"Tată!"

It must be! His dad had come back! Maybe he wanted to talk to him, tell him something important, or even just be with him for a while. What if he'd come back for good? And was planning on taking Anton home so they could surprise Tatko together?

Anton tore down the corridor before bursting into the reception.

"Ta-"

The words died on his lips.

That man was not his Tată.

"Un-?"

Andrei pressed a finger to his lips, "thank you ma'am," he told the receptionist before taking Anton's hand. When they were walking through the gates, Anton spoke up.

"Why did you say you were my daddy?"

Andrei sighed, "they wouldn't have let me take you if I hadn't." Andrei wasn't going to lie; that look of disappointment on Anton's face when he burst in hurt, but he understood it perfectly.

The kid still believed Alin was alive.

"Take me where?"

"Well, remember how you said you wanted to go to the funfair?"

"Yes."

"And remember how your Tatko said you couldn't go because it was during school time?"

"Yes…"

"Well, I'm taking you anyway!" he chuckled, "we can have a fun day out and forget about all those mean kids!"

"Yay!" Anton jumped into the air and hugged his uncle, "oh thanks!"

"So," began Andre awkwardly, "what did you do today?" he started walking again, his nephew close beside him.

"Art. We did family portraits."

"I see."

Anton pulled the rolled up paper from his bag and handed it to Andrei, who took it and studied the scribbles closely. "It's not finished yet."

"It's lovely, squirt!"

"Sorry I haven't added you yet," he mumbled, "I'll do it when I get home. And I'll draw Tatko's brothers and sisters too!"

"Good luck with that." They walked in silence for a few minutes.

"Uncle Andrei, what did Tată look like? I know Tatko has shown me photos, but they're kinda small. And how did he act?"

"Well," Andrei took a deep breath, "I'm sure you know about his hair and red eyes. He always wrapped up warmly, cause he felt the cold easily, and wore the weirdest combinations of clothes. He walked confidently too, arms swinging all over the place, and he always had something to say. He tried hard to look mysterious, but just ended up making an idiot of himself. He was smart though, and had the sharpest wit ever, but sometimes his jokes could go far. And you could always tell when he was truly angry, because his face would go ugly and twisted. But he could never stay angry at you, or me, or Tsvet."

"Was he funny?" asked Anton, taking everything in.

"Absolutely hilarious! He and Tsvet, they have a weird sense of humour. They found things funny that no normal people would. They were really suited, in that sense…"

"Do you think Tată will come back sometime? Even for a little visit. I know he had to leave for good, but i still want him to come back."

Andrei gulped. He was well aware of the story Tsvetan had fabricated for Anton and, although he understood why his brother-in-law would want to protect the child from the truth, he disagreed with the man's actions. One day they would have to tell the kid the bitter truth, and it would hurt them all. Again. The idea of old wounds opening, and not knowing how Anton will react to it, had caused a few quarrels between the two, but Andrei just let Tsvetan get on with it.

Anton was Tsvet's kid, after all.

Lord knows he didn't want to ruin the child's tiny shred of hope.

There was another problem with Tsvetan's story: if Anton believed Alin was a vampire, then he believed Andrei was too. It wasn't hard for him to, since Andrei shared his brother's odd-coloured eyes and fangs, and odd dress sense. It meant that Anton constantly worried about him. What if Andrei got ill too? What if he had to join his brother one day? Andrei knew Alin's condition had not been genetic, but brought on by lifestyle choices, to there was no need to worry, as long as he stayed healthy. But how to explain this to the child without revealing the truth? Tsvetan hadn't appreciated it when Andrei pointed out that little flaw in his plan.

"I don't know," Andrei sighed, "he was very ill, after all." Anton's face fell and the man quickly added, "but don't worry, he's always looking out for you and won't ever forget you. Maybe one day when you're old, you'll meet him and you can tell him all the wonderful things you did in your life."

"Right! I'll make sure to do lots of cool stuff! And become successful and look after you and Tatko."

"Have fun with that kiddo," Andrei chuckled, "now come on or the funfair will be closed."

…

"It was very irresponsible of you," Tsvetan commented, leaning against the frame of the flat's front door, glancing back at Anton as the child disappeared into his room.

"I know," Andrei sighed, standing awkwardly in the hall, "but he needed a break, and a bit of fun," Tsvetan flinched, "oh, sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, I understand. I haven't really been there lately…" Tsvetan groaned, running a hand through his hair, "it's been two years but I still feel so… well, you know."

"Of course," replied Andrei, "but you've been through a lot-"

"We all have."

"And you're getting better each day. You've still been there for him! You just have to put more emotion into it; don't try and distance yourself from Anton. You won't be helping anyone."

"When did you get so smart?"

"I've always been smart," Andrei sniffed, "just no one notices."

Tsvetan chuckled, "of course. Goodnight then. Safe journey."

"Bye." Andrei began walking down the corridor whilst Tsvetan closed the door. He rested his back against the wall and stared around at his and Anton's tiny flat. He'd not been able to stand living in the big empty house without Alin for more than a few months, so he'd moved them both here. Sure, it was crowded and they were surrounded by noisy neighbours, but he liked it that way. The constant din helped to keep the crushing silence at bay.

He wandered into Anton's room and found the child in his pyjamas, kneeling on his bed looking out of the window.

"Look Tatko," he whispered, pointing at the tree outside, "it's Tată!"

Tsvetan crossed the room, squinting slightly as he peered outside. A little bat stared back at him from amongst the leaves of an old pine tree.

"So it is," he murmured, sitting next to his son.

"Say hi!"

"Evening, Alin," he smiled slightly. The bat looked at them blankly.

"I was telling him about how Uncle took me to the funfair and the picture I drew," Anton jabbered.

"That's nice, baby," Tsvetan chuckled.

"Tell him about your day!"

"Oh?" Tsvetan paused for a moment, gazing down at Anton's expectant face, "of course," he turned back to the window, "well, Al, today I went to work, argued with Hera over who's turn it was to make the coffee, missed the bus. The usual."

The bat stared at him for a few moments before flapping off.

"Bye-bye Tată," mumbled Anton, crawling over to his pillow and wiggling under the duvet.

"See ya, Alin," Tsvetan muttered, "so, baby, want a story tonight?"

"Yes please!" Anton grinned, "oh, tell me about the time you and Tată went camping and it rained and you got lost!"

"Again? Well, okay then…"

…

Anton sat cross-legged on his sitting room floor, old photo albums strewn everywhere. He had one of the old albums on his lap, and was gently running his fingers over one photo in particular.

He was a baby in the picture, being held gently by his proud, new fathers. His petite features were pulled into a small smile, and Alin and Tsvetan were grinning widely. There was a tiny tuft of hair peeking out of the blanket he was wrapped in and he looked so snug in Alin's arms. Tsvetan was much younger then; his hair didn't contain any flecks of grey and his face wasn't lined, with bags under his eyes from the long hours of labour he did each day to support his son. Alin had his arm around Tsvetan's shoulders. Anton wondered if the young brunet in the photograph holding a patchwork giraffe had any idea that he only had five years left to live.

Course not; how could anyone even contemplate that?

Anton knew now. At seventeen, he was no longer an innocent child. One day when he was twelve, it dawned on him that Tsvetan had made the whole story of vampires and bats up, but he'd never brought it up.

It was not a subject he wished to talk about then.

Surely Tsvetan must've figured it out, judging by his reaction. He'd come home that day and gone straight to his room, blaring his music through the flat to drown out the sound of him crying into his pillow. He'd not even come out for dinner and must've fallen asleep at some point because he woke up covered in a knitted blanket. He'd been in a gloomy mood for a whole week after that.

But now?

They couldn't avoid it any longer. Anton needed to know the whole story, and Tsvetan needed to tell the truth.

He heard his Tatko close the front door behind him, and the tired man entered the sitting room, plopping down onto the sofa. Tsvetan regarded his son with interest.

"What do you have there then?"

"Photo album," he mumbled in reply, placing the photograph inside its plastic wallet and picking up the albums before replacing them on the shelf.

"I see. Good day at school?"

"Yes," Anton replied quickly, still standing awkwardly next to the bookshelf, "I'm almost done with my art course. Just need to do studies on two more artists then I'll be ready for my exam."

"That's fantastic baby!"

"I also need to go to an art gallery and get postcards," Anton added, "so I can prove that I've done extra research."

"Of course! We'll go this weekend."

"Thank you." Anton played with his jumper sleeve.

"Is there anything else?"

"Yeah," Anton sighed, sitting down next to Tsvetan, "but, it's kinda personal, and I'm not sure if it's a good idea to talk about it…"

"You can ask me anything; I thought you knew that."

"Right, I know… err, Tatko…" Anton heaved a sigh, "how did Tată die?"

Tsvetan's smile fell.

"Look, I've known for a while, but I want to know how it happened, and why. I know it's not something you'd want to talk about but-"

"I understand," Tsvetan began, sitting up straight, "it was liver failure. You have to understand, Alin didn't have a happy life. He'd had problems as a child, and then there was his relationship with his brother and… I'll tell you more another time. But the important thing is that he was a heavy drinker. He was not a nasty or violent drunk- if he was we would not have stayed together- and I liked a drink too, so I never really gave it much thought. I never considered the damage it would do to his body."

"What happened?"

"He got sick. The problem was he wouldn't admit it. He just hid his symptoms, brushed it off as trivial things. I think he was scared to admit it to himself; bastard was always so stubborn. He barely ate and was always tired, but it was only when he started swelling up and bleeding easily that I did something. Maybe if I'd paid attention more, I could've saved him…"

"Don't be like that! You didn't know!" cried Anton.

"Thanks baby," Tsvetan gave a small smile, but it fell quickly, "he didn't leave the hospital again. He got worse and worse and before long he was nearly unrecognisable. The doctors tried everything, but his condition was too serious. He was gone within weeks."

"I see…"

"The worst part was the memory loss," Tsvetan choked back a sob, "he was such a sharp-witted man- very intelligent- and… he became so confused. The disease tore his brain apart. He struggled to remember the simplest of things. He kept calling you Andrei, and eventually stopped recognising you. I'll never forget the first time he just sat there with you on his lap, staring blankly and feeling no connection to this little infant he'd loved and adored for five years. I constantly had to explain you were our child. Then he no longer recognised me. At least once every few days I'd have to sit next to him with and explain that we were married, how we met, our life together, and he'd just fall in love with me all over again the more he heard. The first time it happened broke my heart though. I thought we meant the world to him, but all recognition was gone, just like that. His memory came back that time, and he just looked at me in horror and whispered 'I'm so sorry'. I pulled him into a hug and promised to never let go. But all too soon, I had to."

"Was it hard? Living without him? Raising me alone?"

"The hardest thing I ever had to do. It was like one huge nightmare I couldn't escape from. Sometimes I'd wake up at night crying and terrified and reach out for him, only to find his side of the bed empty. The whole house felt flat and empty without his personality taking up so much space and I didn't have the motivation to do the simplest of chores."

"Sorry, if I was a difficult kid," Anton began, "I bet the last thing you needed was me…"

"Don't ever say that child!" Tsvetan lunged forward and took his son's face in his hands, stroking his hair, "you kept me going! I'd only wake up in the morning to take you to school, and I'd force myself to go to the shops to make sure you stayed fed and clothed, and I had to smile for you and laugh for you and read you stories! I think… well, I think you may have saved my life. I have no idea how I would've carried on without you."

"Oh, you wouldn't have… well… would you?"

Tsvetan shook his head, "I promised Alin not to do anything stupid. I guess, over time, I found more things worth carrying on for. Like Andrei."

"Uncle Andrei?"

"Yes. The kid lost his brother! I had to help him. The three of us kinda stuck together. He was always assisting us too. I think he just needed something to do to keep his mind off things. I'd come home and find he'd picked you up from school and was making the dinner and he'd just shrug and mumble something about helping his family."

"That's lovely," Anton lay back on the sofa, hugging a cushion, "um, do you know if I have any other family on Tată's side, apart from Uncle Andrei?"

"There are Alin's parents in Romania, your grandparents," Tsvetan considered, "but we haven't spoken since he died."

"Do you… do you think they'd like to meet me?"

"Possibly…"

"I'd like to meet them. Maybe they can tell me about what Tată was like as a kid."

Tsvetan didn't answer.

"If I saved up my money, and learnt Romanian, could I fly there and visit them?"

"I don't see why not," Tsvetan shrugged, "you're nearly an adult, and a holiday would be the perfect way to relax after your exams. Go for it!"

"It'll only be for a few weeks," Anton quickly added, "if they even let me stay. But I'd come back Tatko, I promise."

"I don't doubt it for a second."

…

This is eleven pages on word. I thought I'd just end up going on forever.

Anyway, this was written with the sole purpose of pissing off ShowMeTheStarsIn221B, and I hope I succeeded in that. It was pretty damn emotional to write, and I hope it turned out okay.