Martin does his best to wait patiently for what he assumes will be a dismissal. It's too easy to imagine at this point. He tries not to feel preemptively stung by it, even though he knows that might be unavoidable. He'd wanted to help, or at least not do any further harm by coming here, and it'll be hard not feel like he's failed if he's sent away now.

But instead Gwenny distractedly tells him to stay, almost like it's an afterthought, and then—

"W—" he starts, blinking at her in open shock as he's momentarily caught between impulses to burst out laughing or raise his hackles. It's just so... absurd, so surprising, that for a moment he's completely frozen.

It would be even more absurd to feel defensive. She has a right to her incredulity, after all, for more reasons than one. And she's just a kid. Except somehow this kind of thing always feels worse coming from kids. He'd told himself he wasn't afraid of being judged, but that wasn't entirely true. Not when it's about something as insignificant as taste. It's hard not to fall back into the mindset of a bullied, insecure kid himself. It's one of the reasons he's never considered himself very good at talking to children.

He hears himself protesting as if at a distance, too late to stop himself: "Y-yes, really," he blurts, feeling his cheeks flush. "I-I happen to think he's very handsome."

Oh, god. He tips his head down immediately, his mouth snapping shut. Mortifying. Stupid thing to say.

"He's kind," he adds, sheepish, and then shuts his eyes tight, lifting one hand to press against his brow as he struggles to get himself back on track. "He's— W-well, it doesn't matter. That's who he is to me. I care about him, and I try to help him remember himself, just like he's done for me. Sometimes it's... it's just not enough."

Feeling slightly more pulled together — if only slightly — he lifts his head and levels a wry, apologetic look at her. "And I'm sorry for that."