Jonathan Sims

John has finished washing up after his own late breakfast and is nursing his second cup of tea when he hears the coughing jag from the bedroom. He gets to his feet at once, and has made it to the bedroom door by the time Martin pronounces himself awake. He pauses there for a beat, trying to gauge whether Martin sounded annoyed with him or just generally discontent, and tentatively banks on the latter before stepping into the room.

"Seems you needed the lie-in," he says, settling himself on the edge of the bed and reaching over to brush his fingers through Martin's hair. He lets the back of his palm linger on Martin's forehead for an assessing beat. Warmer than usual. John tsks softly, his fingers drifting down to Martin's cheek. "How are you feeling?"