John is distantly aware of the time, but he's not about to protest that it's too early to turn in — not when Martin is nestled so comfortably against him, the both of them settled after that unexpectedly fraught interlude. It may be some time before John dozes off, but if Martin wants to, John certainly won't stop him.

But Martin, it seems, has other ideas. He shifts subtly, then draws back enough to peer at the bedside clock before exclaiming over the time and doggedly propping himself back up a bit. John rolls onto his back and turns his head to look up at him, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

"I think I could manage that," he says after giving it a moment of theatrical deliberation. "What with this being a special occasion and all." He levers himself upright with a soft grunt and sweeps a hand through his hair, as if to physically dislodge any remaining traces of melancholy. There's been enough of that. "Wine, or something stronger?"