Martin giggles along with Greta in spite of her embarrassment. There's no need for embarrassment, really; it's just as likely he'd have spoiled himself more properly sooner or later.

He sobers slightly as she goes on, then laughs sheepishly at her hasty addition. "I can't even imagine," he says. "It sounds overwhelming. Even if I'm sure the fuss was deserved."

He takes his phone back and slips it into his pocket, considering what that must've been like. It sounds a bit nice, really, to be recognized and admired on such a broad scale, even knowing it must also be overwhelming. It's a bit disconcerting, actually, how much a part of him manages to experience a yearning for anything like that. Back when he'd been so invisible and so lacking in any kind of intimacy, platonic or otherwise, the idea of fame might've been tantalizing. Old, immature thoughts. He imagines it is just as lonely, if not moreso.

This certainly isn't energy he needs to indulge, much less bring into this conversation. He clears his throat and takes a quick sip of tea before looking back at her. "Well," he says. "I'm looking forward to seeing how it goes, even if I know the ending. I'm sure I'll still manage to get caught up in the, you know. The drama."

He laughs sheepishly. "I'll try not to send you all my thoughts. For someone who really can't bake at all, I tend to get very opinionated."