"Right," John says, setting down his tea and leveraging himself to his feet. "You sit tight, and I'll just be a few minutes." He gives Martin's hair a fond little brush with his fingers, then heads for the bathroom to get things situated.

The pleasure of having some clear direction is enough to offset the slight awkwardness of realizing he hasn't drawn a bath for anyone, himself included, in literal years. Well, it's not like it's difficult: he starts the water running, then moves the curtain out of the way and relocates their shampoo bottles to the floor, so Martin won't have to consciously avoid knocking them into the tub. He spends a minute fussing with the water temperature until he deems it satisfactory — just a little on this side of 'too hot,' as he imagines it'll have time to cool before Martin's able to get situated — then plugs the drain and lets the tub start to fill.

Watching it the whole time feels about on par with watching a kettle boil, so John returns to the living room, where Martin is still sat on the couch. "Your bath awaits," he says with a playful flourish, offering Martin a hand up.