Martin hadn't really been watching the weather, instead busying himself with some tidying about the flat and then curling up with The Bishop to make some progress in his current book while John was out. It's only when a rumble of thunder startles the cat that he comes out of his reading-induced stupor and realizes it's raining, and raining hard.
"Oh shit," he mutters, sitting up and checking his phone. No messages from John except the earlier one to indicate he was heading home, which means he probably just committed to walking in this. He ought to be back soon, but in the meantime he'll have become properly drenched, considering the apparent angle of the wind. No one enjoys getting soaked in such conditions, but poor John will be especially miserable.
Well, he'll just have to make ready for it. He immediately sets about putting the kettle on and fetching a couple towels. He'll no doubt want to get out of his clothes immediately.
Sure enough, John comes inside looking like a drowned rat, rain actively dripping from his hair onto his face. Martin can see the damp has bled through every layer he had, his outer shirt soaked to the point of near-transparency, and he hurries over to help. He takes the umbrella from him first, popping it open to dry in the entryway.
"You poor thing," he says as he takes in the whole bedraggled mess of him. He doesn't even bother handing the first towel off, just stands up on his toes to drape it over John's head. "Christ, it sounds awful out there. I've got tea in the works. Here, let me just—" He holds out the other towel, offering his other hand for an exchange. "Let's get you out of these clothes, and I can get your robe."
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"Oh shit," he mutters, sitting up and checking his phone. No messages from John except the earlier one to indicate he was heading home, which means he probably just committed to walking in this. He ought to be back soon, but in the meantime he'll have become properly drenched, considering the apparent angle of the wind. No one enjoys getting soaked in such conditions, but poor John will be especially miserable.
Well, he'll just have to make ready for it. He immediately sets about putting the kettle on and fetching a couple towels. He'll no doubt want to get out of his clothes immediately.
Sure enough, John comes inside looking like a drowned rat, rain actively dripping from his hair onto his face. Martin can see the damp has bled through every layer he had, his outer shirt soaked to the point of near-transparency, and he hurries over to help. He takes the umbrella from him first, popping it open to dry in the entryway.
"You poor thing," he says as he takes in the whole bedraggled mess of him. He doesn't even bother handing the first towel off, just stands up on his toes to drape it over John's head. "Christ, it sounds awful out there. I've got tea in the works. Here, let me just—" He holds out the other towel, offering his other hand for an exchange. "Let's get you out of these clothes, and I can get your robe."