Jonathan Sims

John bows his head a little, listing into Martin's hands. An instinctive part of him wants to balk at the idea of Martin equating taking care of him with normalcy, but... well, he would, wouldn't he? That's been 'normal' for far longer than the rest of this, since well before it ever occurred to John to appreciate it. It's just been upgraded from 'unsolicited cups of tea' to 'patiently comforting him through bloody breakdowns.' Apparently.

The kiss is a faint surprise — something he would have thought himself too wretched for — but the suggestion that follows is a relief. He can manage a lie-down. Christ, that's one of the only things he can manage right now.

"Okay," John breathes, his hands uncurling to smooth over Martin's back. "Okay." He takes Martin's hand, not wanting to stop touching him even for the short duration of the walk to their bedroom, keeping their fingers interlaced until he's actually climbing into bed. Even then, he only lets go because he expects Martin won't want to keep the bathrobe on. In the meantime, John settles himself beneath the covers and folds them back on Martin's side to make things a little easier, expediting the process by all of two seconds (though even those hypothetical two extra seconds are more than he wants to wait).