Martin glances over at John, smiling as he clambers up onto the counter. Martin does like having him up higher; it feels more appropriate somehow.

"You miss being tall, don't you," he says, cracking two eggs rather deftly into a bowl and tossing the shells into the bin under the sink. He whisks them up with a fork, humming thoughtfully. "Bet you could get up to the fridge, if you wanted. I could set up some kind of... stepladder situation."

He's not sure if this is patronizing or not. He's trying to keep things light after that rough awakening, and to sympathize without being overly pitying. It's a delicate line to walk, especially when he can't read John's expressions at all.