Martin supposes he ought to be grateful that John isn't angry about this, or hurt, or any entirely rational response that would require a more serious conversation. There is some bewilderment, some slight hint that he is, distantly, aghast — but mostly he just seems delighted. Martin could count himself lucky that John is getting some kind of pleasure out of this, that this isn't turning into a row. Instead, he just feels a growing sense of flustered indignation. John isn't exactly trying to tease him — and on some level he knows he deserves the incredulity — but the delight is just too much to bear.

He can't even get his next question out before he's already answered it himself, and Christ, it was over two years ago that he met Norah the first time, her unexpected arrival at The Archive. He barely remembers it, except that she'd called him out for his nosiness and his over-protectiveness, and he'd expected John to confront him about it then but it hadn't happened. Only for it to come out now?

"Wh — Look, listen," Martin says a bit desperately, "She's just — You're always — You get on so well and I just—"