It is grounding, for all that John hadn't dared to anticipate it, and he feels himself settling by degrees as Martin leans against him. However fraught this might still be — and he's under no illusions about them being out of the proverbial woods — at least it feels like something they're facing together and not an obstacle between them.

Perhaps it's for the best that, when Martin speaks again, John is still a bit too strung out to summon up any strong (and potentially upsetting) reactions. He isn't sure if nearly forgetting is a personal indictment or a bullet not quite dodged (or, perhaps most likely, an uncomfortable combination of both). But Martin's question is easily answered.

"Yeah," John breathes, lifting a hand to brush his fingers through Martin's hair, just once. "Of course." He briefly considers the prospect of tea before dismissing it; he isn't sure Martin has the wherewithal to make it himself, or if there would be any real benefit to sitting and waiting for John to do it if not. Instead, he guides Martin back to the couch, one hand resting gently on his back.

Once they've both sat, John wants little more than to just pull Martin back into his arms again. But he isn't sure that would be conducive to... to whatever comes next, and after an uncertain beat of hesitation, he instead offers his hand, palm up.