John presses his lips together at once, as if he needs to visually demonstrate that no compelling questions are forthcoming, and waits patiently for Martin to parcel out his explanation.
When it comes, it's... sort of heartbreaking, actually. It might technically qualify as childish, he supposes, if one wanted to be unkind about it. But to whatever extent that John doesn't want Martin shouldering full responsibility for his well-being, it has far more to do with not wanting Martin to feel miserably frustrated than it does with some lofty, logical awareness that obviously Martin can't be everything to him. Not least of all because... well, he very often is. They've always been a bit more codependent than average. Perhaps it's no surprise that he's having trouble gracefully accepting his ability to sit this one out.
"Oh," John says, tone and expression both softening as he takes a careful step towards him. Now that Martin's laid it all out, John feels a bit stupid for not guessing at it sooner. He'd been so busy being grateful for their elegant solution that he hadn't really considered the implications of its source. "I-I didn't know you felt that way. Though I suppose if I'd really thought about it, I..." he cuts himself off with a faint wince and a shake of his head. This isn't the time for mutual self-recrimination, and besides, he's not sure how comforting a notion it really is that perhaps he could've guessed at something that Martin clearly finds a bit humiliating.
Given said humiliation, he's wary of indulging his own desire to simply throw his arms around him. Maybe that would feel condescending. Instead, he adds, "But you've never been useless, Martin. I just..." he scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish exhale. "I guess I thought it was sort of nice that it didn't have to be your problem, or— or something you felt like you had to manage."
Which is its own kind of childish, really. Like they might more easily cosplay a normal couple if John could safely satisfy his darker appetites without Martin having to involve himself at all. Christ.
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When it comes, it's... sort of heartbreaking, actually. It might technically qualify as childish, he supposes, if one wanted to be unkind about it. But to whatever extent that John doesn't want Martin shouldering full responsibility for his well-being, it has far more to do with not wanting Martin to feel miserably frustrated than it does with some lofty, logical awareness that obviously Martin can't be everything to him. Not least of all because... well, he very often is. They've always been a bit more codependent than average. Perhaps it's no surprise that he's having trouble gracefully accepting his ability to sit this one out.
"Oh," John says, tone and expression both softening as he takes a careful step towards him. Now that Martin's laid it all out, John feels a bit stupid for not guessing at it sooner. He'd been so busy being grateful for their elegant solution that he hadn't really considered the implications of its source. "I-I didn't know you felt that way. Though I suppose if I'd really thought about it, I..." he cuts himself off with a faint wince and a shake of his head. This isn't the time for mutual self-recrimination, and besides, he's not sure how comforting a notion it really is that perhaps he could've guessed at something that Martin clearly finds a bit humiliating.
Given said humiliation, he's wary of indulging his own desire to simply throw his arms around him. Maybe that would feel condescending. Instead, he adds, "But you've never been useless, Martin. I just..." he scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish exhale. "I guess I thought it was sort of nice that it didn't have to be your problem, or— or something you felt like you had to manage."
Which is its own kind of childish, really. Like they might more easily cosplay a normal couple if John could safely satisfy his darker appetites without Martin having to involve himself at all. Christ.