Astonishingly, ridiculously, a shiver runs up Martin's spine as John snaps at him through the door. It could almost be funny if he weren't so fixated on maintaining his character. He can't risk thinking about it anymore than he already has, unless he wants to get properly bogged down when there are much interesting things to be thinking about.

Like whether or not he should take this as an invitation in. His hand hovers over the doorknob, driven by instinct to open the door, just enough to poke his head in. But it wasn't an invitation, really, and as tantalizing as it might be to earn some sort of reprisal for being too forward, forward is not what he's going for.

So he lowers his hand and clears his throat, raising his voice to reply: "I, erm... W-was there anything else?"