John welcomes him with so much tenderness and grace that it's almost overwhelming, that Martin almost gets lost wondering how he could possibly deserve this, how he could ever have gotten so lucky. He whimpers as John's fingers curl gently into his hair; his chest aches and he feels as though he might start trembling again from the sheer weight of his own gratitude. But he allows himself to relax instead, to melt into John's arms, and when he draws back for breath it is only by mere inches, watery eyes seeking John's once again.

"I love you," he whispers, with such reverence as if he's never said it before. He lets his eyes slip shut, a few tears escaping, but only a few. He leans in to kiss him again, but only briefly this time, exhaustion finally starting to overtake him. This time he doesn't draw back so much as sink down, curling up and letting his head come back to rest on John's shoulder. "I love you so much," he says, his voice still terribly soft but his tone absolute.

There's more he wants to say, or at least he feels as though there should be — more apologies, maybe, or more direct acknowledgment of the things John has said, something. But it all feels very far away at the moment, or he does, like he's drifting out to sea. But not in the sense of being lost. It isn't a lonely feeling. There's a warm, comforting lull to it. He's safe here. Cared for.

He thinks several times about saying more, saying anything, without quite managing; he doesn't even realize that he's starting to fall asleep.