Martin K(nife) Blackwood

[if he's honest, Martin doesn't know what to do with that. it just means any company, an icy voice whispers in his head. it doesn't matter that it's you. he'd probably prefer if it wasn't you.

his arm aches because of this mental poison. so Martin just lowers his head, absorbing it and letting an awkward silence fall for just a moment too long.

he swallows painfully, and tries smiling for Jon.]

I'm. Ah, I'm sorry that I didn't bring anything. No food or anything... Tim called and I sort of...panicked? At the news?

[he grins nervously, loosely clenching his hands.]

Because h-he made it sound - not that it wasn't, I'm sure it was absolutely awful - he made it sound practically apocalyptic. Like I'd find you both in pieces. So... [his voice drops, embarrassed.] Yeah. Panicked.

[quick, change tack!]

But I can bring you anything you need! That you can't get here, obviously. I could bring you books from your flat, o-or I could cook something for you? I found some video essays on YouTube recently that you might like--