Martin shuts his eyes as John answers his embrace in kind, the scent and weight and closeness of him offering a familiar stability that finally has Martin settling back into himself. Then John speaks, and Martin focuses on listening, on letting it sink in, on believing it. It doesn't feel like enough — it never feels like enough — but a deeper part of him knows that enough doesn't exist, that it's a lie he clings to that only serves the vestiges of his own self-loathing. John's right; he has helped, and their relationship is more grounding than any single solution can be. He just has to keep reminding himself of that.

He smiles faintly at John's last remark, and answers with a slight nod against his chest. "Okay," he says eventually, and breathes out, slow and audible. "Yeah."

He lets his hands pass slowly up and down John's back in a mirror of John's hands on him; he holds him a little closer as if reassuring himself that he's here, he's all right, he'll be all right. When he finally lets go, he pulls back, but not far, a little embarrassed but much more relaxed.

"I'm glad I... that I've been able to help," he says, slightly awkward but sincere. "And that you're okay." He meets John's eyes briefly before glancing back at the stove. Tea does sound good now, the subsequent sit-down even moreso. "H-how about that tea?"