Charlie takes, like, eight years to answer, because every time he opens his mouth he's using it to make words instead of to hang out down there with the tentacles and that's just not what it's trying to do right now. For him this has come out of fucking nowhere; he didn't even know that John thought about that kind of thing, but he's awake now and this is pretty clearly flirting. Charlie nearly dismisses the question three separate times out of various levels of maladaptive self-defence, but stops himself in time.

No. No, he's not going to blow this. Wait, he means he's not going to blow the chance to blow this. Wait, he means--

"I'm still lookin', ain't I?"

That, composed and deliberate, with a crooked smile that makes it pretty damn clear he likes what he sees. Because he is still looking. He sure as hell is looking. The landscape is fucking bizarre but you know what, he supposes that's just what's doing it for him these days.