Things lapse into a companionable silence, both of them drinking their tea, John considering when to start nudging Martin into taking something properly medicinal as opposed to just comforting. In the end, Martin decides it for him: shivering visibly despite the blanket and nearly upsetting his drink, and then dropping his head into his hands and making a miserable self-diagnosis.

John tsks quietly, rubbing Martin's back through the blanket. "You should take something," he says, setting down his own cup and giving Martin his full attention. "And then..." he frowns, considering. Beyond medicine, he isn't certain what would be of most use — not to the point of trying to nudge him in any particular direction, anyway. "What would help?" he asks instead, his tone gentle.