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He'd been angling for a laugh, but it's still a pleasant surprise when he actually gets one. John chuckles softly, low and relieved. "Just an observation," he insists. "I'm certainly not suggesting we swap." He is, in fact, pointedly not suggesting anything, given that the only possibility he might still voice is that they continue sharing the bed. That is sufficiently presumptuous as to be off the proverbial table. He is happy to be here now — to be able to comfort Martin after a nightmare the way he usually would — but this is a special case. There's no reason to believe Martin would welcome company under less fraught circumstances.

He does seem to be enjoying the company now, though. John can feel him relaxing, his breathing not so much slowing as shifting from something deliberate to something more thoughtless. When Martin eventually, drowsily pronounces this nice — as if 'niceness' is such a foreign concept that it ought to be remarked upon — John feels as if his heart might burst. Christ, what can he say to that? Besides a deluge of words about the kindness Martin has always deserved, and how the one arguably good thing about this whole situation is that for once, he doesn't feel as if he's making up for lost time?

Martin saves him from all that with his follow-up comment, and John huffs softly, as near to a laugh as he can get without disrupting the peace that's settling over them. He hadn't fully realized what he was doing, petting Martin's hair on bloody autopilot... but if Martin's enjoying it, like hell is he going to stop. "So I've been told," he murmurs, his fingers curling gently into the soft weft of Martin's hair. "By you. On multiple occasions."