Everything is going the way it always does, in his experience. He uses his powers -- the intention, the motivation doesn't matter, only that he did something unsettling, inhuman -- and it upsets whoever was on the receiving end (and maybe the Lonely helped with that, but how much help would have really been required?), and he apologizes.
And then the apology gets brushed off. That, too, is typical, and it's what he initially assumes is happening when Martin offers a bewildered 'I know' -- that the particulars, as ever, are immaterial. But then Martin goes on, insisting that it wouldn't have mattered even if he had been doing something worse than what he did, and that's enough to pull John's gaze from the table and back to Martin. He just stares at him, wide-eyed, struggling a little to process the turn things have taken.
You saved me, John. That's worth everything.
Christ, he wants to bury his face in his hands and laugh, except he isn't sure it's laughter that would come out of him. He wants to ask Martin if he's sure about that, about trusting him, because it's been so long since anyone has that he hardly knows what to do with it but ruin it, somehow, sooner or later. (And won't he? Martin hasn't seen everything he can do.)
He wants to be worthy of it. It's so hard to believe he could be.
Martin knocks back his sake conclusively, and John swallows past the inconvenient lump in his throat before reaching over to refill his glass with a slightly unsteady hand.
"O-okay," he finally manages, his voice a bit hoarse. "I..." Christ, what is he supposed to say? He wants to thank him, but that would sound a bit pathetic, surely. He takes his own glass, turning it between his fingers and staring into it for a moment before looking back up at Martin, meeting his eyes. "I trust you, too," he says. It hasn't always been easy; it's not a thing that comes naturally to him, anymore, but a conscious choice he kept forcing himself to make. But it's a choice he's made so often that it doesn't require as much thought, anymore, and that's... something. "I'm not... I'm not always good at it, just... generally speaking, but I... I do trust you."
For lack of anything else to do, he knocks back his own glass, and then looks at both it and Martin in some surprise. "... Christ, you're not really supposed to drink it like that, are you?" He coughs out a laugh, releasing some of the tension that had built up inside him, then sets his glass down with a quiet, dry, "How quickly you betray me."
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And then the apology gets brushed off. That, too, is typical, and it's what he initially assumes is happening when Martin offers a bewildered 'I know' -- that the particulars, as ever, are immaterial. But then Martin goes on, insisting that it wouldn't have mattered even if he had been doing something worse than what he did, and that's enough to pull John's gaze from the table and back to Martin. He just stares at him, wide-eyed, struggling a little to process the turn things have taken.
You saved me, John. That's worth everything.
Christ, he wants to bury his face in his hands and laugh, except he isn't sure it's laughter that would come out of him. He wants to ask Martin if he's sure about that, about trusting him, because it's been so long since anyone has that he hardly knows what to do with it but ruin it, somehow, sooner or later. (And won't he? Martin hasn't seen everything he can do.)
He wants to be worthy of it. It's so hard to believe he could be.
Martin knocks back his sake conclusively, and John swallows past the inconvenient lump in his throat before reaching over to refill his glass with a slightly unsteady hand.
"O-okay," he finally manages, his voice a bit hoarse. "I..." Christ, what is he supposed to say? He wants to thank him, but that would sound a bit pathetic, surely. He takes his own glass, turning it between his fingers and staring into it for a moment before looking back up at Martin, meeting his eyes. "I trust you, too," he says. It hasn't always been easy; it's not a thing that comes naturally to him, anymore, but a conscious choice he kept forcing himself to make. But it's a choice he's made so often that it doesn't require as much thought, anymore, and that's... something. "I'm not... I'm not always good at it, just... generally speaking, but I... I do trust you."
For lack of anything else to do, he knocks back his own glass, and then looks at both it and Martin in some surprise. "... Christ, you're not really supposed to drink it like that, are you?" He coughs out a laugh, releasing some of the tension that had built up inside him, then sets his glass down with a quiet, dry, "How quickly you betray me."