John isn't anticipating the hug. He may not be working with a staggering sample size — they don't often row like this, thank Christ — but he knows that when Martin gets this upset, he doesn't always want to be touched. And while John has bridged those distances before to no ill effect, he can't justify it to himself this time: not when his own incessant pushing is what got them here. So he does the polite thing and steps aside, leaving it to Martin to initiate something when he's good and damn well ready, even if takes hours.

Instead, Martin pitches towards him at once, and John sucks in a startled breath before Martin's arms curl tight, squeezing a small, wounded noise out of him. He doesn't indulge his shock for more than a moment, though, his arms closing around Martin in turn, clinging to him as hard as he dares.

"I'm sorry," he says again, after taking a slow, shuddering breath. He squeezes his eyes shut against the renewed threat of tears, uncertain what he's even apologizing for anymore — the whole bloody situation, really — and presses his lips to Martin's crown. "I'm so sorry, Martin."