"Touch me."
Two words. Two simple words spoken in a shaken soft whisper had as much force behind it as a fist to the jaw. He stared dumbfounded at him, uncertain how to even respond. The other mans eyes were red and puffy the green brightened by the slick excess of tears building up, daring to start to slip from the corners.
Five beats. That's how long it took for Alfred to roughly grab his sometimes fathers arms and pull him, crush him to his chest.
He didn't know what else to do as he felt Arthur's body give out with a shudder his arms the only thing keeping him up. It isn't until he sobs that Alfred feels his chest pang horribly as his heart clogs in his throat. It's loud for a moment then breaks off jaggedly as the other man tries to hold it back. Panic grips hold of Alfred as he feels weak arms clinging desperately around his waist. He wants to say something, something that will make it all go away, something that will make his father snap at him, tell him how stupid he is, how foolish, how naive. Anything. Anything but this.
Arthur doesn't tell him what's wrong.
And Alfred doesn't have the heart to ask.
When he finally gets control of himself the brit takes out his handkerchief and wipes his face and stands silently, visibly embarrassed and ashamed.
"...thank you."
"You're welcome" the words come out fast and strained. Akwardly the American rests his hand on Arthur's shoulder, pats once. Twice. Then hurriedly leaves the room. His sleeve is still wet from the tears.