statement_ends | (Reply)

It takes John a while to answer, during which Martin has to stop himself several times from trying to take it back. He wants to know, and John doesn't seem put off by the question so much as surprised, as well as at something of a loss for how to answer it. Understandable. Martin is tempted to retract it both out of embarrassment and a nervous urge to let John off the hook, but John is clearly thinking, not coming empty. And Christ, Martin wants to know. He's desperate for it, this thing he didn't even know existed or ever could exist; now he knows and he can't look away from it.

The answer, when it finally comes, is so... simple, and broad, and despite its inevitable vagueness, there is also something wonderfully specific in it, in the feeling it describes, that — that it feels right, that it makes them happy, that they're... good together. That they fit. John shrugs, looking embarrassed or uncertain, so much soft vulnerability that Martin doesn't know how to read, and for a few moments Martin can only sit there in astonished silence.

"I..." he starts, then shakes his head slightly, not sure where to go. He thinks a moment longer and tries again: "That sounds... nice. Really nice." Which feels idiotic, and he smiles nervously to himself. "I-I guess... I feel like I always knew, or maybe just hoped? that there was m... more to you than you let on." He draws his arms back around himself, keeping his eyes averted. "I felt like I could see it sometimes. I thought maybe I was just making things up to daydream about, but... but I was right. And you—you really care about me."

He blinks, surprised as tears start to well up, and holds himself a little tighter, trying to hold them back as subtly as he can. "And I... I make you happy?"