Martin flinches, and John stills, his hand hovering between them. He's desperate for that grounding contact — or maybe he just assumes that it will fix this, settle things in a way that words can't quite manage — but this all feels too tenuous to support the weight of his presumptions, and he doesn't dare complete the motion.

"I do," he insists. "I-I shouldn't have pried, and I should've—I should've been there for you when you needed me, I wish I'd—" he cuts himself off, realizing a little too late that this isn't conducive to keeping his own composure. He scrubs his hands over his face, pushes an exhalation between his palms, then lets his hand drop and steps aside, giving Martin room to come back out of the entryway.

"Of course I want you here," he says softly. "Always."