It wasn’t the first time he’d cried after purging, but it was the first time he’d cried so hard. He was so upset that he barely noticed his nose running, leaking clear mucous down his face, over his lips.
He felt a pair of thin arms wrap around him from behind and cried harder. Arthur didn’t say anything. He just swayed gently, swaying Alfred with him, and whispered softly in his ear. It was like being a child again, when he had nightmares and Arthur would talk him gently back to sleep again, inviting him to hush, now, calm down…
Slowly, the sobs trailed off. Alfred’s eyes felt raw and his nose was blocked. Arthur stroked his hair. “Alfred, I don’t understand where this has come from, but we’ll get it sorted out.” Arthur’s confidence - arrogance, even - was what made a lot of other nations hate him, but Alfred had never heard anything so reassuring in his life. He nodded, snuffling, and opened his eyes to find the insides of his glasses lenses spattered with tears.
“Come on now, up you get and I’ll find you a toothbrush, and then I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and we can have a talk about things.” Arthur was so authoritative, such a parent. He was good at giving orders. He took control. Alfred valued his independence more than anything but he realised suddenly that he badly wanted Arthur to control him, at least for now, until he could control himself again.
He let himself be helped to his feet. Arthur fussed and pushed a bottle of mouthwash into his hands, giving orders and making redundant claims about how Francis’ bathroom fixtures were inferior to his own.
It was only when Arthur left the room briefly, to give him ‘a moment to get himself together’ while he made the tea that Alfred realised that the chatter helped. It was far better than listening to his own thoughts.
He flushed the toilet and washed his face with cold water, patting it dry on one of Arthur’s old tartan towels.
He felt a pair of thin arms wrap around him from behind and cried harder. Arthur didn’t say anything. He just swayed gently, swaying Alfred with him, and whispered softly in his ear. It was like being a child again, when he had nightmares and Arthur would talk him gently back to sleep again, inviting him to hush, now, calm down…
Slowly, the sobs trailed off. Alfred’s eyes felt raw and his nose was blocked. Arthur stroked his hair. “Alfred, I don’t understand where this has come from, but we’ll get it sorted out.” Arthur’s confidence - arrogance, even - was what made a lot of other nations hate him, but Alfred had never heard anything so reassuring in his life. He nodded, snuffling, and opened his eyes to find the insides of his glasses lenses spattered with tears.
“Come on now, up you get and I’ll find you a toothbrush, and then I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and we can have a talk about things.” Arthur was so authoritative, such a parent. He was good at giving orders. He took control. Alfred valued his independence more than anything but he realised suddenly that he badly wanted Arthur to control him, at least for now, until he could control himself again.
He let himself be helped to his feet. Arthur fussed and pushed a bottle of mouthwash into his hands, giving orders and making redundant claims about how Francis’ bathroom fixtures were inferior to his own.
It was only when Arthur left the room briefly, to give him ‘a moment to get himself together’ while he made the tea that Alfred realised that the chatter helped. It was far better than listening to his own thoughts.
He flushed the toilet and washed his face with cold water, patting it dry on one of Arthur’s old tartan towels.
And then he followed Arthur downstairs.
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That's wonderful, anon. I ended it in silence, and you brought help in for him.
I'm glad you did.
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Gold star for you.
Not OP.
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Maybe I request a sequel? :DD ... Then again, this was wrapped up so lovely, I don't think it'd be possible to write a sequel, orz;;;.
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OH THANK GOD THANK YOU ANON.
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