He can't stay. He can't stay. He wants to, but... but he still wants to be the hero in his own life story. That's more important to him and he can see far enough into the future to know that following his impulses to stay now isn't going to work out for people counting on him.

"We don't need-... all this," John insists. He has no conception of how much money he'd actually need to get a place like this. How inconsequential a place like this would be if his band really takes off. Would he need a million quid? What's a million quid even look like? If he had a million pounds would it even make sense to buy a house on a beach or should he just try and split it all up so they wouldn't have to work to get by?

"We just need- some space to ourselves. Where nobody's going to hurt us." He wipes his nose with the back of his hand and curls his fingers around his fork like he's about to stab his steak. Which he does. He grips the steak knife uncertainly and turns his wrist a bit before getting it at a good enough angle to cut a strip off. God it smells amazing.

He might have even made an approving noise when he put the first piece in his mouth. Blissful silence during meals is usually a good sign.