It takes Martin long enough to really answer that John almost prompts him again, his anxiety building the longer he waits. And then Martin finally looks at him, and then he says that, and John shrinks in on himself a little, dropping his gaze to the table, unable to form a response beyond a quiet, flat, "Oh."
He lets the rest of Martin's explanation spill across the table, hitting him with the same cold shock as an upended pitcher of water. It certainly casts Martin's behavior in that other place in a new light, doesn't it? It wasn't the Lonely he was afraid of, or struggling against, it was him. And whether he was manipulated into it or not, it wasn't wrong, either. John hadn't meant him any harm, but that doesn't make what he did less terrifying. Christ only knows what it looked like -- or felt like -- from Martin's perspective, whether John's attempted reassurances even made it through (well, clearly they didn't). If all he perceived was John's gaze crawling all over him, without understanding the purpose behind it... of course he would have been frightened.
And, of course, let's not forget the things he's capable of when he gets hungry enough. He scares himself; he can hardly blame anyone else for feeling the same way.
The sake arrives before he can even begin to come up with a response, and he blinks as Martin pours him a glass, the subject changing so swiftly that it takes him several dragging seconds to catch up. His hands are clenched together in his lap, and he pries them apart so he can pour Martin's glass. Then he folds back in on himself, making no attempt to drink.
"I'm... I'm sorry," he finally says. That's all there really is to say; he can guess how something like 'well, it's probably for the best' would go over. But after a beat of silence, he hesitantly adds, "It... I don't know if it's worth much, but... I wasn't, erm. Looking. I mean, I was, I had to just to find you, but I wasn't prying, I didn't... I didn't see inside your head or anything." He huffs once, without humor. "I suppose if I had, I would've known what was going on, but..." He lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug.
no subject
He lets the rest of Martin's explanation spill across the table, hitting him with the same cold shock as an upended pitcher of water. It certainly casts Martin's behavior in that other place in a new light, doesn't it? It wasn't the Lonely he was afraid of, or struggling against, it was him. And whether he was manipulated into it or not, it wasn't wrong, either. John hadn't meant him any harm, but that doesn't make what he did less terrifying. Christ only knows what it looked like -- or felt like -- from Martin's perspective, whether John's attempted reassurances even made it through (well, clearly they didn't). If all he perceived was John's gaze crawling all over him, without understanding the purpose behind it... of course he would have been frightened.
And, of course, let's not forget the things he's capable of when he gets hungry enough. He scares himself; he can hardly blame anyone else for feeling the same way.
The sake arrives before he can even begin to come up with a response, and he blinks as Martin pours him a glass, the subject changing so swiftly that it takes him several dragging seconds to catch up. His hands are clenched together in his lap, and he pries them apart so he can pour Martin's glass. Then he folds back in on himself, making no attempt to drink.
"I'm... I'm sorry," he finally says. That's all there really is to say; he can guess how something like 'well, it's probably for the best' would go over. But after a beat of silence, he hesitantly adds, "It... I don't know if it's worth much, but... I wasn't, erm. Looking. I mean, I was, I had to just to find you, but I wasn't prying, I didn't... I didn't see inside your head or anything." He huffs once, without humor. "I suppose if I had, I would've known what was going on, but..." He lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug.