Well, that's... something. He's not sure how to feel about it, actually. It seems like it should be a relief, but he has no frame of reference, nothing to miss, only wild imaginings and a sort of resentful feeling, like he's been cut out of his own life. It's good that these sorts of things aren't permanent, he supposes. Makes it... manageable. He wonders if anything like this has happened to them before.
John's carrying on before he can ask, and Martin blinks at him, momentarily stymied by the stammering as much as the content of it. It's... considerate, but also fairly absurd under the circumstances.
"Wh- no, that's ridiculous," he protests. "Technically I'm the one who doesn't belong here, I'm not going to put you out. I—I'm fine with the couch. Honestly, it's all the same to me."
He feels himself flushing faintly, embarrassed, though he's not sure why. Is he being childish? Is it reasonable to expect John to hold him at arm's length, any more than it would be fair to expect him to roll with all this? None of this is particularly fair to either of them, but he's not sure what he can do about it. He feels like he doesn't know this John — truth be told, he really doesn't know his John, either. Clearly. He thinks he'd like to. If only he had any idea how to start.
Not by standing here and fumbling all over himself, that's for certain. He needs more time to think, on his own. Ironic that after what feels like weeks of forced isolation, he just wants more of it.
He clears his throat. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep any more tonight, though," he says, faintly apologetic. "Though, erm... I could maybe do with a shower? Just..." He shrugs, not really sure he can put into words how unclean he feels right now, his memory still itching with crawling, wriggling worms. "I didn't really feel... safe doing that in my flat. I know it was a while ago, but..." He shrugs again, looking at the floor. "Would it be okay if I...?"
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John's carrying on before he can ask, and Martin blinks at him, momentarily stymied by the stammering as much as the content of it. It's... considerate, but also fairly absurd under the circumstances.
"Wh- no, that's ridiculous," he protests. "Technically I'm the one who doesn't belong here, I'm not going to put you out. I—I'm fine with the couch. Honestly, it's all the same to me."
He feels himself flushing faintly, embarrassed, though he's not sure why. Is he being childish? Is it reasonable to expect John to hold him at arm's length, any more than it would be fair to expect him to roll with all this? None of this is particularly fair to either of them, but he's not sure what he can do about it. He feels like he doesn't know this John — truth be told, he really doesn't know his John, either. Clearly. He thinks he'd like to. If only he had any idea how to start.
Not by standing here and fumbling all over himself, that's for certain. He needs more time to think, on his own. Ironic that after what feels like weeks of forced isolation, he just wants more of it.
He clears his throat. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep any more tonight, though," he says, faintly apologetic. "Though, erm... I could maybe do with a shower? Just..." He shrugs, not really sure he can put into words how unclean he feels right now, his memory still itching with crawling, wriggling worms. "I didn't really feel... safe doing that in my flat. I know it was a while ago, but..." He shrugs again, looking at the floor. "Would it be okay if I...?"