"Yeah," Martin agrees, frowning briefly at the rapidly worsening mess of it before noting John's posture, hugging himself like he's caught up imagining the hunched, miserable walk home. Martin moves in close and slips his arms around him, drawing his attention gently. It's a rather tentative preamble to a proper embrace, as though he's not quite sure of his footing; this is a fairly foreign gesture at work, after all, even when it's just the two of them. But the pull to offer comfort to even a passing, imagined misery is far stronger than even the most instinctual propriety.

"I'll put the kettle on," he says with a reassuring smile, though he makes no move to pull away just yet. He reaches up with one hand, chasing a rather romantic whim, and cups his fingers around the back of John's neck, his thumb brushing through the edges of his hair. "Why don't you get the blanket from the cot, and we'll have a nice sit-in. I'm sure it'll pass in no time."

He isn't sure of that at all, both because he's not sure that's how snow works, and because he's quite sure that's now how Darrow works, but that isn't really the point. Time will pass quicker when they're just free to enjoy each other's company in relative comfort, and that's all he's presently interested in.