"Mmn," is all Martin can manage in reply, muffled against John's chest. He has no energy left to deny John his own apologies, if it's even worth it. They don't even feel specific this time, just... a general expression, the kind of thing you say when there's nothing else to be said. And maybe that's fair; maybe it's necessary. There's too much mess in Martin's head for him to deny it.

In the end he's the one to pull back, eventually and not entirely, letting his head come to rest against John's chest a little while longer. His own words still ring loudly in his ears, still feeling more important and damning than anything else, but... this did start for a reason. And John hasn't pushed, apart from by accident. And Martin no longer wants to be alone with it, or to bury it where it'll just eat him from the inside out. He wants to talk; he just has no idea how.

The funny thing, the horrible thing, is he can't even remember himself what he said to John two approximate years ago. Mostly he remembers John lying in bed, ashen and still. He's retained very little of his own nattering.

"I almost forgot it was today," he says finally, his voice still very small and tired. "I almost..."

He goes quiet for a few moments, then says, "C-can we sit back down?"