"Wh—" John starts, flinching back and blinking as if Martin had just used the bloody plant mister on him. It's a surprisingly similar sensation, at least from an emotional standpoint: Martin's abrupt withdrawal leaves him feeling thrown and indignant, certain that he's done nothing to deserve such a snub. The only thing missing is the quelling absurdity of it all, and John rises to his own feet as Martin makes a beeline for the door.

"I wasn't," he starts to object, before Martin announces that he's going for a walk — that he needs to be alone and that John won't miss him — and all at once, the memory of the plant mister seems horribly apropos. John had picked a fight like this, and it wasn't because he just needed some fresh air. And if he'd actually left the flat in that state...

John's eyes widen, and he takes a few loping steps towards the door. "Hang on, just..." Christ, he can't just let Martin leave, not until he knows what—

And then he does.

He isn't trying, but it doesn't matter; he wants too much, and if Martin won't oblige him, the Eye will. John's hand, extended in a half-reach, drops back to his side, and his shoulders slump.

"Oh," he breathes. "Oh, Martin, I-I'm so—"