All that hard-earned emotional stability he'd just found in the kitchen is already in danger of evaporating, and he has only himself to blame. It would have been so bloody simple to let them have a beat of shared silence, or at least to find something innocuous to dither about. The only thing that stops him feeling properly mortified — not to mention angry at his own lapse in reason — is the certainty John's about to offer him a way out with a change in subject rather than indulge more of his nonsense.

When John instead needles him further, it's a bit of a rude surprise, even if it's arguably deserved. Martin blinks, his shoulders tightening into an automatic defensive posture, and he stammers, "Wh- N-no, that's not what I — Don't be ridiculous." He feels himself blushing and realizes there's nowhere to hide, nestled here beside John on the couch. He stares down at his tea, half-wondering if he should attempt to spill it as some sort of diversion and not quite having the nerve. "Look, just forget it."