Martin doesn't quite flinch as John touches him, but he does jump a little, looking at him with open bewilderment that probably isn't fair. John might well be used to this. Especially considering how much they've been through. But even so, Martin would never presume to expect comfort for this sort of thing. It's all so bloody embarrassing.

Still, he sits up a little straighter, back against the headboard, accepting the light touch even if it feels... not wrong, but weird. Unearned.

"Sorry," he murmurs again, not sure what else to say or what to do. "You don't—you don't have to..."

It's too much effort. He's tired, and he'd rather have the company than not, all things considered. He ends up just sighing heavily, dropping his down into on hand, struggling to push the remnants of his dreams out.