The door shuts, and John immediately glances towards the cot, where he's stashed the spare pants. It feels a bit premature to be thinking about them already. But he's also beginning to think that they'll need them sooner rather than later, and it would make for a less ungainly picture if he had them in his desk or something, rather than having to get down on his knees and rummage.

But he also doesn't know how long Martin will be (not very, he'd imagine), and he doesn't want to feel caught out when the next knock comes. Best to wait, he thinks.

It's the right call; the knock arrives in well under a minute. Martin must have grabbed the first thing to hand. "Yes, yes," John grouses by way of invitation, as if the situation he engineered is a towering inconvenience.