"Yeah." Martin fiddles with his chopsticks, avoiding John's gaze for as long as he can before it feels pointed, and then he looks up. "The Lonely... it wants me to be afraid of you," he says. Better to just come out with it. "I think that was its plan all along. That's why it took me there. I thought it was desperate, or being petty, but it's never been like that. Peter, he - he was never like that. Even when he knew I was scared of him, he never-"
He swallows thickly. It's hard, talking about this. It feels wrong, like he shouldn't, like he'll be punished for it, or far, far worse - John will.
"He never did anything to make me scared. Or to hurt me. He wanted me to want to be alone, and now it can't have that, and I think it - it knew you'd... you know. Use your powers, or whatever, to get me back. It wanted me to see that, to feel what it felt like, to be... looked at, like that. It wanted me afraid. Of you."
He curls his hand into a fist, just resting on the table, tension with no outlet. "And the worst part is, for just a second, it worked. I know it - it manipulated me into feeling that way, it's not me, it's not what I feel. I'm not afraid of you, I'd never be - but it's still there, in me, and that makes me so angry, I could just-"
He shuts up quickly, pressing his still closed hand to his mouth, looking stiffly away as the server brings them their bottle of sake and two small cups.
Martin closes his eyes, taking two short breaths to steady himself, then reaches out and pours John's cup for him. "You always pour sake for your companions, not yourself," he explains in an unnecessary burst of casual pedantry. He just needs something, anything else to say. He sets the bottle down and sits back. "It's polite."
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He swallows thickly. It's hard, talking about this. It feels wrong, like he shouldn't, like he'll be punished for it, or far, far worse - John will.
"He never did anything to make me scared. Or to hurt me. He wanted me to want to be alone, and now it can't have that, and I think it - it knew you'd... you know. Use your powers, or whatever, to get me back. It wanted me to see that, to feel what it felt like, to be... looked at, like that. It wanted me afraid. Of you."
He curls his hand into a fist, just resting on the table, tension with no outlet. "And the worst part is, for just a second, it worked. I know it - it manipulated me into feeling that way, it's not me, it's not what I feel. I'm not afraid of you, I'd never be - but it's still there, in me, and that makes me so angry, I could just-"
He shuts up quickly, pressing his still closed hand to his mouth, looking stiffly away as the server brings them their bottle of sake and two small cups.
Martin closes his eyes, taking two short breaths to steady himself, then reaches out and pours John's cup for him. "You always pour sake for your companions, not yourself," he explains in an unnecessary burst of casual pedantry. He just needs something, anything else to say. He sets the bottle down and sits back. "It's polite."