Christ, this is appalling. Martin flushes hot and looks away as Eliot starts offering his counterpoint. This isn't evidence, he wants to argue. Eliot isn't attracted to him; he wanted to—to show him a good time or something, it has nothing to do with looks. Stunningly handsome men have told him he's cute before, a word that means a lot of things, a word that suits him, that doesn't actually help. He isn't vain; he can't afford to be vain. This sort of thing never helps like people imagine it will.

But then, Eliot isn't 'people.' He's not like any of those other men; Eliot isn't like anyone he's ever tried to date, and there's a bitter irony there that Martin could really sink his teeth into if he weren't already full up on feeling sorry for himself. Instead, Eliot catches him off guard by the suggestion that were things different, this might, in fact, be a different conversation. That's unexpected enough that it actually draws Martin to look at him, his expression rather startled. That is different from his aesthetic appeal or his so-called charm. And it's not the sort of thing Eliot would just say for the sake of it.

So he's caught up staring when Eliot cuts right to the center of it and offers that John isn't one of those people. Martin's astonishment dulls some and he lets out a soft sigh.

"It's not just... that," he says. "I mean it's not that. I don't—" He breaks off, a bit frustrated, feeling as though they've wandered a bit off topic. "I know John is a good person. I know he doesn't care about that sort of thing, I know he—that he cares about me. But I—" His breath hitches and his shoulders draw back up into a hunch as he curls over a few degrees, clutching his drink. "None of that means he can actually reciprocate, and if he can't, if I, if I put that to him and he has to turn it down, then... then what happens?"

He looks at Eliot, feeling desperately pathetic as he realizes the question is genuine, that he needs an answer. "I can't do that to him, and I'm scared that it'll—it'll hurt too much."