Jonathan Sims

Martin raises an eyebrow, surprised and intrigued by that last remark. He would never have thought of this as something he wanted outside these circumstances — the idea would have been prohibitively mortifying had he not been so exhausted and pitiful. And it had been wonderful, but he still hadn't expected it was going to become a standing offer.

But that's... It's really nice, he thinks. He smiles to himself, sheepish and warm, as he turns it over in his mind. He's still smiling as he takes John's hand, grunting softly as he picks himself up, wrapping himself in his towel. He's a little shaky, and moving even slower than before, contentment on top of illness.

"Yeah," he says belatedly, and peeks up at John before moving to gingerly dry his hair. He's so lucky to have this, to have John, to have the time and energy between them to find things like this. An ever-increasing wealth of ways in which to share space, to care for each other. Right now, sleepy and warm and clumsy, he feels nearly overcome with it. "Th-that'd be really nice."