"Oh," John breathes in quiet dismay as Martin buries his own face in his hands. There was enough forewarning that it isn't a shock, but it's still not what John was going for. He frowns as Martin stumbles through some ostensible reassurances, not because he doesn't believe them, but because the clarity they provide is still a bit heartbreaking.

He'd broken down like this. It was their very first day together, the first time Martin had touched him with no other intent but to make him feel good — not just good, but safe. To give him something that wouldn't twist into something else he hadn't asked for. The parallels hadn't really occurred to him until just now, but he's starting to make out the shape of them: that if he were someone else, someone less cautious and more presumptuous, then this, too, might be the sort of thing Martin couldn't ask for without assuming more risk than he'd like. That whatever Martin wanted this to be, or mean, might just as easily be subsumed by whatever his partner had already decided.

It's awful, but it gives John a clearer road map than he might've had, otherwise. He knows that what he's doing isn't a problem, and he knows that needing time isn't the same as needing space. So he leans forward, more careful than uncertain, and drapes his arms around Martin's middle. His chest presses against Martin's back as he curls around him, as if to cover him like a blanket. "It's okay," he murmurs, brushing a kiss against Martin's temple. "I've got you."