Martin had started to approach the moment he saw the man there, fairly certain he hadn't been a moment ago, recognizing too easily the lost look of him that followed. He's clearly a newcomer, and even if he wasn't, Martin would be hard-pressed to simply ignore him. There are tears visible on his face, a slight shuddering that comes from unevenly drawn breath. He looks desolate, so much that Martin's heart could break just looking at him.

It's familiar, in a horrible way. And no matter how hard it is to do this, to be the welcome party, he has to try. He can't let anyone go it alone.

He opens his mouth to speak but the man speaks first, his voice timid and tremulous, the words Korean. Christ. Martin knows the language by sound, but he never learned. It was just a couple weeks ago he met Ahn, whose mere accent was enough to bring all sorts of unwanted, unconfronted memories flooding back from a very distant part of childhood. Before dad left and mum cut him off from all of that. When there was still a chance for any of it to mean something, to matter. It isn't something he thinks about much, until now, twice in one bloody month.

Which isn't productive. He needs to get his head out of his arse, as usual. He clears his throat and says a bit awkwardly, "Er, s-sorry, I'm not... Do you speak English?" Oh, please let him speak English.