Martin watches numbly as John pours for him, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for John's response to all that. The quiet is awful, and John seems so... subdued. Regret starts to build up within him; he shouldn't have said all that, or could have at least waited, found some better, less blunt way to...
John apologizes. Martin looks at him, blinking in surprise, and like a light being switched off, that remnant fear is gone. It's just John before him, the John he's always known, always cared about. Struggling to offer reassurance where it isn't needed. When he trails off, Martin can only sit there for a few bewildered seconds.
"I... I know," he says. "I know you weren't. And if you had, I - it wouldn't have mattered. You saved me, John. Again. That's worth everything, it - Christ, don't apologize." He pushes his hand up over his face and into his hair, lifting his glasses up along with it. He breathes for a moment, then resets his glasses and seeks out John's eyes again, this time without any lingering unease. "I didn't - I just wanted you to know what it was doing, why it chose there. And why I - why I was acting... like that."
He's not sure how much of his desperation to get away from John came through in the moment, but going by John's reaction, it was enough.
"John..." He leans forward a little, his hands resting on the table. An impulsive, pathetic part of him wants to reach out, reach for John's hand, and he tamps it down tightly. "I trust you. All right? I know what you can do, I've seen it, but it doesn't make a difference, because you're still you, and I - I trust you. The Lonely can try to tell me different all it wants, but it won't change a, a goddamn thing."
He grabs his glass and downs the sake like it's a shot, like some sort of... 'mic drop,' as they say. It burns his throat a little, very dry and just a little bit sweet, and it's most assuredly going to hit like a truck. Suddenly and acutely sheepish, he sets the glass back down with great care.
There's more he wants to say, so much more, too much; but all that comes out in the end is, "Th-That's all I meant to say."
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John apologizes. Martin looks at him, blinking in surprise, and like a light being switched off, that remnant fear is gone. It's just John before him, the John he's always known, always cared about. Struggling to offer reassurance where it isn't needed. When he trails off, Martin can only sit there for a few bewildered seconds.
"I... I know," he says. "I know you weren't. And if you had, I - it wouldn't have mattered. You saved me, John. Again. That's worth everything, it - Christ, don't apologize." He pushes his hand up over his face and into his hair, lifting his glasses up along with it. He breathes for a moment, then resets his glasses and seeks out John's eyes again, this time without any lingering unease. "I didn't - I just wanted you to know what it was doing, why it chose there. And why I - why I was acting... like that."
He's not sure how much of his desperation to get away from John came through in the moment, but going by John's reaction, it was enough.
"John..." He leans forward a little, his hands resting on the table. An impulsive, pathetic part of him wants to reach out, reach for John's hand, and he tamps it down tightly. "I trust you. All right? I know what you can do, I've seen it, but it doesn't make a difference, because you're still you, and I - I trust you. The Lonely can try to tell me different all it wants, but it won't change a, a goddamn thing."
He grabs his glass and downs the sake like it's a shot, like some sort of... 'mic drop,' as they say. It burns his throat a little, very dry and just a little bit sweet, and it's most assuredly going to hit like a truck. Suddenly and acutely sheepish, he sets the glass back down with great care.
There's more he wants to say, so much more, too much; but all that comes out in the end is, "Th-That's all I meant to say."