You are always a show, Mr. Dresden, [John purs, lips curved in a smile. A pyrotechnics display of Navy Pier for the Fourth of July, or the sort of vibrant display of rockets and sparks and lights that shimmers in the River every year at the Lights Festival. About as noisy, too. Harry is a miracle of fire and uproar, and his fearlessness in the face of John's mildly possessive nature is a marvel in of itself. By now, Harry must know the worst of it; that John has plans to kill him, that he would if he had to, that part of him has always wanted Harry and not always in an okay way.

This though. Might be enough to appease that.

John takes Harry's hand in both of his own, grip firm. He'll always want to push the wizard into corners to see his reaction, to shield his eyes from the blaze that ensues. But tonight, he does owe a favor.] A night of it? I had no idea you were that kind of boy. [His smile goes toothy, like something that might bite if you're not careful. But all he does is play the gentleman, running his thumb over Harry's hand before bending to kiss it regally.]

I can see what I have. [John reluctantly separates to search the kitchen again, now with something more sweet on his mind. The fridge has a full bag of mixed berries, meant his post-gym yogurt-and-granola breakfast. There's honey in the cabinets, but he's seen Harry's skin under his shirt; viscous stickiness doesn't go well with hair. The dipping chocolate, though, could work.]

Bed? Or is that too formal? [John asks once he has a few things.]