At first, Martin almost feels impatient with the attempted reassurance; he knows he's not actually useless, and so on. But impatience can't last. No matter how often he's told himself he's not useless and their relationship has never been about utility anyway, he never managed to actually take any comfort from it. Coming from John, it feels different; it finally is a little comforting.
Well, most of it. He can't help but wince a little at the idea that any of this was Martin's problem. The kettle starts to whine, and he switches the burner off with scarcely a glance, turning and finally looking at John, his whole demeanor relaxing at last.
"It's never felt like that to me," he says softly. "It's not a burden, it's... it's important to me. You're important. I'm so, so grateful you're okay, that matters more than anything, it was just... it was so hard watching you struggle and not being able to do anything to help. So I guess I started feeling like the relief wasn't mine, or... or something."
It had been agonizing, all those months watching John suffer, seeing the gradual uptick in hunger and stress that could not be alleviated. It would be insulting to imply it was in any way harder on Martin than it was on John, but nevertheless, that ache was something Martin hadn't quite allowed himself to feel until it was safe to feel it. And the solution was so... out of the blue, so far outside his expectations and wheelhouse, it was hard to find satisfaction in it. Suddenly having to let go of all that anxiety with no palpable resolution that he had any hand in took a greater toll than he'd realized.
Of course, he's not sure if he can articulate any of that better than his fumbling attempt so far. But he's also not sure he needs to. John probably understands just fine, and conversation now feels less important than the sudden, overwhelming desire for comfort. John had stepped closer, but hadn't made a move toward him beyond that, exercising a cautious respect for boundaries that now feels completely unnecessary. Martin closes the remaining distance, throwing his arms around John's middle and pulling him close with a soft huff.
no subject
Well, most of it. He can't help but wince a little at the idea that any of this was Martin's problem. The kettle starts to whine, and he switches the burner off with scarcely a glance, turning and finally looking at John, his whole demeanor relaxing at last.
"It's never felt like that to me," he says softly. "It's not a burden, it's... it's important to me. You're important. I'm so, so grateful you're okay, that matters more than anything, it was just... it was so hard watching you struggle and not being able to do anything to help. So I guess I started feeling like the relief wasn't mine, or... or something."
It had been agonizing, all those months watching John suffer, seeing the gradual uptick in hunger and stress that could not be alleviated. It would be insulting to imply it was in any way harder on Martin than it was on John, but nevertheless, that ache was something Martin hadn't quite allowed himself to feel until it was safe to feel it. And the solution was so... out of the blue, so far outside his expectations and wheelhouse, it was hard to find satisfaction in it. Suddenly having to let go of all that anxiety with no palpable resolution that he had any hand in took a greater toll than he'd realized.
Of course, he's not sure if he can articulate any of that better than his fumbling attempt so far. But he's also not sure he needs to. John probably understands just fine, and conversation now feels less important than the sudden, overwhelming desire for comfort. John had stepped closer, but hadn't made a move toward him beyond that, exercising a cautious respect for boundaries that now feels completely unnecessary. Martin closes the remaining distance, throwing his arms around John's middle and pulling him close with a soft huff.