It takes Martin a few minutes to start looking for him, and even longer to actually find him, which is... a mixed blessing. John does not want to be found, for all that he knows it's probably unrealistic to expect Martin to just return to bed and leave him to be appalled with himself in peace. Huddling here in the cramped gloom feels like nothing less than what he deserves: the longer, the better. But the note of worry in Martin's voice is hard to discount, and John bitterly reflects that of course, of course Martin would find a way to still worry about him, even when he's... like this. Just taking what he needs from people.

When the cabinet door eventually opens, he can't help but flinch, giving himself away in an instant. Fucking fantastic. He really hates this little body sometimes, not least of all because of how prone it is to twitching and shaking, broadcasting his anxiety for all to see. He shivers, partly due to the draft Martin lets in, but largely due to how ridiculously wretched he feels, listening to Martin's reassurances without truly believing them. It's not that Martin's lying -- he thinks he would know, if he was -- more that he just... he just can't believe that even remotely qualifies as fine. Maybe it's overwrought to think of his own actions as 'taking advantage of Martin while he was in a vulnerable state,' but that is also precisely what he did, and he can't accept forgiveness as easily as Martin offers it.

A few of the containers he's sharing the space with clunk together as John shifts, subtle as it is, to cram himself more decisively into the corner.