Martin can't quite keep a sullen little frown from flickering across his lips as Eliot replies, gentle but honest, that yes, this really is quite the predicament, isn't it? But it's a brief sort of resentment; it's true, and Eliot isn't saying it to rub anything in. The comfort he's offering, sitting closer and rubbing his shoulder, is considerably more meaningful.

He isn't quite expecting the pointed direction this takes, and he falters for a moment, not sure how to answer. He's not even sure what he meant when he said it, if he meant anything specific at all. He feels like Eliot is getting around to something, and he's not sure he wants him to get there.

"I... I don't know," he says, stalling. "I mean..." He looks down at his hands as the answer starts to settle in, so obvious he doesn't normally have to think about it, so obvious it feels cruel that Eliot, so confident and fit, should ask him to spell it out.

"I'm just not the kind of person people want," he says quietly.