Even doesn't quite go so far as to bury his face in Aeleus's chest (not yet), but he does cling to his arms, like Aeleus is holding him up.

He feels, unromantically, like a cat with a hairball, like there's some obstruction buried in his chest that he's trying and failing to shake loose. But he can't; there's so much...

"I hate this," he chokes between sobs, and the hating doesn't help, doesn't make it easier to breathe, to speak. "I'm not a child - "