John knew you were upset.

He had been debating a way to approach you, one that didn't seem too invasive or unwarranted. He could still hear you softly crying from behind the door, and neglected his decision to knock, finding it probably wasn't the best time. John could have easily invaded your mind, found out what was bothering you, but he refrained from doing so.

He wanted to make you feel better, but he also wanted to find out what it was you were so upset over himself. Seeing your tears made him feel a soft tickle of sadness himself. When the time is right, he gently pops your door open. He resists the instinct to prod through the barriers of your mind, clearing his throat softly.

"I came to see if everything was alright," John spoke, trying to keep his voice soft, but clear. He stood by the edge of the bed, looking down on you. "May I ask what's wrong?"