Jonathan Sims

Martin whimpers softly at John's reassurance, the tacit permission to not be okay, and he clings on a little tighter, the residual tension making him shiver a bit. For a while he just lets himself be like that, as if it has to drain out of him and all he needs is to wait it out. And it does help, a bit, enough that before too long he can breathe quietly again, slower and deeper.

"I was so scared," he whispers finally, and the admission almost surprises him, like it was some sort of secret, or a bad thing to own. But there is something freeing in it, instead, which unfortunately translates to the release of a little sob. "Christ, it was so ridiculous, but I was so bloody scared."

His fingers curl slowly against John's back, a small concession to his own nervousness. He doesn't want John feeling responsible, or guilty, but the inevitable trade-off is forcing himself to confront the reality that something awful may happen to him someday, and there will be nothing anyone can do. And all he can think about right now is how badly he doesn't want that.