[For a moment, as Phil talks, Alfred places his face in one hand, shoulders taut with shame, with confusion, with frustration...but then the conversation shifts. Phil's tone shifts. The squeeze of his shoulder makes him look up, brushing tears out of his own eyes as he watches the man talk.

He's quiet, for a moment, turning it all over in his head. He feels...understood, and the hollow cast to his expression shifts a little more towards sympathy.

His hand moves up to rest over Phil's. Gentle, as is his voice.]

...I did meet him. He was very nice, but...you are...also nicer than you think you are.

You didn't have to come to see me. But here you are. You are...a good friend, Phil. I'm not angry with you, for what you did. I just...it's hard to know what to think, yet.

And...I like you better, as you are.

[His brows knit a little bit together, and he sputters a weak little laugh, looking away.]

For what that is worth. I know I'm - I'm embarrassing, I'm sorry.