Jonathan Sims

Martin starts to shift his weight back when he perceives John pulling away; only he doesn't pull away, he only draws back enough to look Martin in the eye, his hands still planted on Martin's back, his thumbs drifting, attentive and soothing, over his shoulder blades. He speaks, his voice impossibly gentle, his face so close that Martin can barely process what he's saying. Martin struggles to maintain eye contact despite the mortifying intimacy of it, not to let his eyes dart about in a panic, particularly not to land on John's lips. He keeps his own lips tightly pressed together as though it will help him concentrate. He should really say something; anything to stop himself pursuing this increasingly problematic line of thinking.

"Er—" He looks down, partly to grant himself some relief from the intensity of all that closeness, partly to hide an embarrassed smile. "To be fair, I... don't think this is quantifiably harder or easier for either one of us."

Yes, he's taken the brunt of the disorientation here, but John is the one who's lost something, whatever he says. Though it is nice of him to say it.

"But thank you," he amends, and looks back up, nervously meeting John's eyes again. "I'm..."

What? Happy to know it works out? Glad John actually came around to his efforts, that they weren't all in vain? Jealous of some future version of himself?

He gives up, sighing softly as he pulls John back in for a hug. It seems like something they can both handle, and it feels good, and he wants it, and as long as John wants it, maybe it's okay.

"S'pose we ought to try and sleep," he murmurs in spite of himself, slightly muffled against John's shoulder.