John is holding you in his arms, squeezing you as he moves his body back and forth, holding you as pressed to his body as possible, his hand gently stroking your hair while the other is firmly pressed on your back. When he saw you crying and breathing erraticly, his first instincts were to hold you as close as possible to prevent you to scratch yourself further and potentially harm yourself, tryuing to keep you safe and healthy.

He never expected you to be so traumatized, so broken that even a few seconds alone and without stimuli would concreatly be so terryifying for you. What he also didn't know is the little reason for which you're here, just some big old trauma. Basically, you just spent the equivalent of three months in a white padded room, alone, with a white yet not blinding light on night and day, white clothes, white meals at irregular intervals, no company or stimuli and no warranty of a date or day when you would perhaps have the ability to ever leave. So when you got out, you were placed with a family and the said family is a 24 year old man who is not at all aware that you have undergone all this suffering and who has your responsibility until you can be placed back into normal life.. if it even is possible, considering how deep this experience has affected you.

Now he's worried sick for you, simply trying to ease your pain whatsoever as he holds you, humming a lullaby he got used to sing whenever you have a panick attack. When you finally got calmer, he gently started stroking your back, still holding you close and keeping your head close and pressed on him.

— John: "Shh.. it's fine.. I'm here, you're not alone.."