Martin shakes his head, desperate to stop John's insistence that he should've been there, what, when he was literally in a fucking coma? When he should have been dead? Why can't he just be angry at Martin for saying something so cruel and stupid?

But he doesn't want John to shout at him, not really. He wants forgiveness. He wants a reprieve from his own misery and guilt. He wants it to be okay, to be told he's okay, and John... John seems to want to give him that. Even if he hasn't earned it. Doesn't deserve it.

His tears are already starting to subside, leaving him almost numb as he watches John from his periphery. John's hand drops and he shuffles aside as if to give Martin the wide berth he's made it so clear he needs.

And now that it's so clearly offered, Martin suddenly doesn't want it anymore, doesn't know how he can possibly make it back across the room without anything holding him up. Can't stand the thought of keeping John at a distance when all John wants to do is reach out.

"Oh, John—" he says in a small, broken voice, taking a stumbling step forward and throwing his arms around him. He wants to apologize more, again and again until it feels like enough, but he isn't sure it ever will. For now he just holds on tight, even as a part of him half-expects John to push him away.