John's gaze sharpens a little when the man says he knows Finnick and agrees with him--but that sharpness is bright and alive and warm.

...and turns right to blushing when he comments on just how far gone John is on him. Yeah, he's a pathetic mess, but the way this guy talks? That might not be the worst thing in the world. When he risks a peek at his face, he kind of sees it there, too.

The question gives him pause. The knee jerk is to insist he can get home on his own, he'll be fine...that Finnick won't want to bother with him and he shouldn't have to. However, at this point his head is clear enough to be aware that...that there's something wrong with that.

The moon. It's got to be the moon.

He tries to agree, but it won't come out. Brow furrowing as he tries to shake off the last of that grim and painful certainty that he's alone, he tries again with something else.

"I...you could let him know I'm coming, and I maybe can get home myself, if you can help me?"

He hesitates, then reaches up slowly to cover one of the man's hands with his own.

"...head's clearing, pain's fading. Think the touching helps--I dunno, beat back this moon bullshit."