At this, John's expression opens to something breathless and tender. Something very like awe.

It has been a long time since anyone offered him kindness. And back then, he'd been bound to an unconscious body: he could not speak his thanks aloud. It's... a bit overwhelming.

"No, I... I am unharmed." The more he says, the more apparent it becomes: there is something wrong about his voice. It's pitched uncannily deep and resonant, distorted as though heard from the bottom of a well. The effect would be creepier if he weren't plainly floundering for something useful to say, holding his bag of pretzels like a lifeline. "But I appreciate your generosity."

Human socialization! He's doing great. He's so convincingly normal right now.