Martin feels like his heart could break when he watches John push further away from him, and after a moment's hesitation he pulls his hand back, settling it slowly in his lap. He just sits there, not sure what to do. The idea of bringing up his own suspicions about why John is behaving like this is too horrifying to consider; and he might be projecting all of that anyway. He just... he needs to make John feel better. That's all that matters.

"John," he says, and sighs softly. "Look. This is a weird situation, all right? I know it's... it's not fair and it's awful and, and Christ, I can't imagine how tiring it must be, being in the wrong... It's not fair and it's not your fault. And I don't want you feeling like you have to... Just because you're a cat doesn't mean you have to sleep like one, all right? I should have offered. You can sleep wherever you want, John, you don't need to.... Whatever you need. I just - I want you to be comfortable. If it doesn't bother you, sleeping there, then you're more than welcome. It's okay. I promise it's okay."

He feels so terrified, like somehow he's saying too much, letting too much show. He rubs a hand over his face and pushes it up through his mussed hair.

"You had me worried sick," he says, quiet and a little more plaintive than he'd like. "Just... please come out of there, John. Please."