On a quiet Friday afternoon, long after kisses are exchanged, Alfred lays with his face pressed against the nice cold table in Arthur's kitchen. It's the first time they've seen each other for a wile, meetings and various business affairs keeping them apart, it's not something new. Arthur is sitting across from him flipping disinterestedly through the paper, as he has been for at least an two hours. How does someone read a paper for that long?
While he's peeking at him Arthur looks down at him and he gives him this /smile/. It's small and gentle and it makes Alfred feel like hes eaten hummingbirds. It occurs to him, as Arthur looks away from him and back to his paper, that he would die for him. Because Alfred was never one to hold a thought back, he says it.
"I would die for you."
The paper rustles as Arthur sets the paper down in his lap, still holding it open with one hand as the free one goes for the tea sitting on the table.
"Don't be stupid, you can't die."
Alfred knows he can't die. It's not a new thought, he's America, of course he can't die. But, if he could, he would for Arthur. He thinks maybe he would do anything for Arthur. He also thinks maybe that's a bit pathetic, and maybe worrisome. If there were anything that could kill a country, he would go through that too, for Arthur.
"I know. But I would still die for you."
He shifts so that his forehead is pressed against the table, staring maybe slightly sadly down at the wood. He doesn't see how tight Arthur is gripping his tea now, or the look he's giving him, and he certainly doesn't hear Arthur questioning himself, silently, asking himself if he would do the same for Alfred.
The answer is yes, no matter what, yes.