Jonathan Sims

John stays close for a minute, wanting to make sure Martin's steady on his feet before he steps away. But once Martin reemerges from toweling off his hair, John sneaks a quick little kiss to his forehead, murmuring a low, "Don't go anywhere," before retreating to the bedroom. He fetches some pants and loose joggers — much like what Martin had been wearing before, but clean, at least — and then, on impulse, grabs his own bathrobe off its hook. Martin isn't really in the habit of borrowing it, running warmer than John ever does, but he has turned to it for its combined powers of comfort and self-indulgence once or twice before, and now seems as good a time for that as any.

John returns to the bathroom, setting Martin's clothes on the counter and then holding out the bathrobe in much the same way as he might help Martin don his coat. "I think the situation calls for it," he says.