Martin starts as if he's been physically prodded, turning on his heel with a slightly pitchy "Right," and shutting the door as gently as he can manage.
Christ, why is this is working so well?
He has no desire to get bogged down by a question like that, though, and he keeps moving as though he'll forget his mission. He swipes the first file within reach and then forces himself to wait a moment, both to pull himself together and to create some illusion that he's actually putting effort in rather than just rushing right back to have more.
He breathes for a good ten count, then knocks once again, a little more firmly than before. The uncertainty of what will happen when he puts this file in John's hand seems like it ought to be anxiety-inducing, but instead it's exciting. His heart is pounding and he knows his face must be visibly flushed. Why doesn't matter; it's working.
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Christ, why is this is working so well?
He has no desire to get bogged down by a question like that, though, and he keeps moving as though he'll forget his mission. He swipes the first file within reach and then forces himself to wait a moment, both to pull himself together and to create some illusion that he's actually putting effort in rather than just rushing right back to have more.
He breathes for a good ten count, then knocks once again, a little more firmly than before. The uncertainty of what will happen when he puts this file in John's hand seems like it ought to be anxiety-inducing, but instead it's exciting. His heart is pounding and he knows his face must be visibly flushed. Why doesn't matter; it's working.