For a long, awful, aching moment, John says nothing, and Martin just stands there shaking, trying desperately to muffle himself, wanting to be shouted at, wanting John to be angry. But when John finally speaks, he apologizes, and Martin twitches and whimpers, "No—!", so soft and miserable that it's barely a word at all. John reaches toward him and he flinches again, far more out of miserable reflex than an actual desire to pull away. But he stays put, trembling, holding onto himself tightly as if to make sure he can't escape.

"D-don't apologize," he pleads, his voice strained and pathetic. "Y-you've nothing to apologize for, that's not—I never should've—th-that was a horrible thing to say, John, I'm so sorry."

The second apology just feels like he's trying to clean the wound with saltwater. What does it matter? He already said it, the damage done. Christ, John doesn't deserve any of this, and yet he's still pleading with him to stay. John doesn't deserve this, and Martin doesn't deserve John, but he's not going to leave now. He can no longer even imagine wanting to.

"I—" he whispers and takes another strangled breath, letting it out in an effort to steady himself. "I, I'll stay. If you want me here. Of course I'll stay."