John watches as Martin slowly sinks to the ground, his face slack, only his eyes betraying bewilderment, concern, and resignation in quick progression. He wants to just get out of here, but he doesn't want to snap at Martin anymore, and he isn't entirely sure he has the strength to help him get to his feet. And just sitting in the alleyway, absurd as it is, also feels about right.
He sighs quietly, then lowers himself to sit beside Martin, the motions so stiff and weary that he's surprised not to hear himself creak like a piece of old furniture. He settles on the pavement with a bump, only a few inches between them. Close enough that he could give Martin a light jostle with his leg or a nudge with his shoulder, if he had the inclination, or the nerve. Instead, he just sits, and breathes.
"Not your finest hour," he allows, but there's no venom in it. After a moment, he adds, "But I suppose this was... inevitable. He would have realized I was still alive sooner or later." John still would have much preferred an accidentally shared nightmare than Martin shoehorning himself into the mix, but there's no use belaboring the point. It happened, and now they'll just have to deal with it.
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He sighs quietly, then lowers himself to sit beside Martin, the motions so stiff and weary that he's surprised not to hear himself creak like a piece of old furniture. He settles on the pavement with a bump, only a few inches between them. Close enough that he could give Martin a light jostle with his leg or a nudge with his shoulder, if he had the inclination, or the nerve. Instead, he just sits, and breathes.
"Not your finest hour," he allows, but there's no venom in it. After a moment, he adds, "But I suppose this was... inevitable. He would have realized I was still alive sooner or later." John still would have much preferred an accidentally shared nightmare than Martin shoehorning himself into the mix, but there's no use belaboring the point. It happened, and now they'll just have to deal with it.