AN: I have no idea why Drarry fanfic pours out of me by the thousands of words but I can never get more than a few hundred out a week of my book. Welp.

Chapter 2: The Offer

H—

You've caught my eye. I understand your need for discretion, and have more than the means necessary to provide it. I live alone in large house that needs much more work put into it to make a home, so perhaps we can test how hardworking you are. I can be the true Daddy you need. I can provide for you—structure, comfort, a sense of belonging and recognition. I can be Draconian, but I have a feeling you'll come to like that, too. You won't be slacking off under my watch. Your continued performance will reward you with anything you desire, and you'll learn to crave your punishments, too.

I would love to discuss terms, talk boundaries and hard no's. Do not be afraid to voice what you dislike. I take my role as a Dominant seriously, and focus on the pleasure of my subs above my own. I am a fit bloke at 182cm, and a natural blonde. Take as much time as you need with your reply, but remember—Daddy's waiting. -D

Draco levitated the shelf up, placing it carefully on the brackets he'd installed with great care and lots of measuring. Starting out in his bedroom Draco had learned the hard way how wrong construction magic could go, and how frustrating it was to put up something perfectly only to realize it was off-center. He wasn't exactly getting his hands dirty but the wandwork was tough, and needed absolute precision.

On a chair next to the shelving yet to be mounted was the ornate black scroll from Safeword. Draco was feeling rather pathetic keeping it near him but he wanted to know if there was a response at the first available moment. He could write back faster that way, maybe secure the man's affection with his quick attention.

It was approaching the day mark since Draco had sent his reply, but sometimes these things took time. This man sounded new to the scene, and a little bit terrified from how blunt he was in his ad. Perhaps Draco was reading too much into it. He had been staring at the magazine ever since he'd sent the reply, even fallen asleep with it next to him in bed as if he would wake up to see it transform into the man himself.

When no such thing happened Draco supposed it was time to tackle the guest bedroom considering he might have a guest soon that wasn't just Pansy or Theo crashing in his bed. Draco selected the one closest to his own room but still a ways down the hall, to keep his sub close but not invade his privacy. The submissive having his own room was important. He needed a space to decorate, to fill, and to retreat to if he needed it. His independence wasn't going to be forfeit to Draco, not entirely, that wouldn't be any fun at all.

Draco wondered if this 'H' might want in his room to begin with. It didn't have to specifically be 'H', for if he rejected him Draco would brood but not forever. Writing to this man felt like a catalyst for change. Even if it wasn't 'H' in this room he would find someone to cherish. Pansy was a floozy and a drunk but a wonderful motivational speaker. Her words got to Draco as they always did, the support he needed but didn't know he wanted.

He did have a sparkling personality, didn't he? The pendulum between self-hatred and narcissism swung in massive strokes with Draco and he was on an upswing. He was hot, and rich, and fucking hilarious when he wanted to be, nevermind that whole 'Death Eater' business! He frowned at himself just for thinking that and so the pendulum swung back to self-loathing.

There would be a few more swings as Draco decorated the room but such was typical of an evening alone in the Manor. At least the construction gave him something to do. Even better than construction was decorating the rooms. He'd purchased a great deal of furniture and used the shrinking charm on it so he could store it all in a closet, and need only reverse the spell to get the items back to their full size.

For this room he had chosen a muted cream paint, something neutral that could easily be painted over with whatever its inhabitant wished for. The bedframe was a beech wood and so were the shelves beside it. Draco picked a soft mattress out, a damn expensive one too, and would ask later if 'H' or some other man preferred it firmer. All of this was subject to change, he knew, so he kept decorating sparse with a vase of flowers on the bedside table. The curtains were a light blue, draped elegantly across both windows in the room. The sheets were white with a darker blue comforter, the same quality of linens he'd gotten for his own room. His boy would be pampered, and want for nothing.

After placing a light wood desk, a laundry bin, and a trashbin all with flicks of his wand, Draco tried to think of what he used most often. The closet was fully stocked, a walk-in with seemingly endless drawers on either side. "Ah," Draco said when he realized what was missing. He expanded a decorative mirror to hang on the wall adjacent from the bed.

The bathroom had a full-length mirror as well as one above the sink, but one could never have too many in Draco's not-so-humble opinion. The guest bathroom was about half the size of Draco's but still triple the size of any normal bathroom, as were all the future planned guest rooms. It also had a giant bathtub with jets, as well as a bench to recline on and towel storage above it. Draco stocked the linens, bath mats, and even a toothbrush in an ornate white holder for someone's future use.

Next came the stocking of the mountain of products Draco would require his sub to use. Lotions, hand creams, soaps by the dozen, shampoo and conditioner more expensive than most folks' rent, facemasks and more—Draco wasn't kidding about not letting him slack. Personal hygiene was paramount, and he liked to manage how his sub smelled. One bottle of his favorite cologne and one of his favorite perfume were lined up on the sink counter as well, unsure which might be preferred. Better safe than sorry.

Draco was filling the cabinet beneath the sink with bathroom cleaning supplies and extra toilet tissue when he heard a metallic hum from the bedroom. He sprang up embarrassingly fast and ran to the scroll casing to see parchment eek out of it inch by inch, a reply to his message. His heart leapt, and he had to remind himself to take a minute to let the whole thing unfurl before reading.

He took a lap around the room shaking out the excess energy in his hands. Still printing. He took another lap, and the buzzing stopped.

Wide-eyed, he reached forward to clutch the parchment for dear life and read.

D—

I'm very interested in what you're offering. If I'm being honest I've always fancied blondes. If I'm being honest I also should say I haven't done anything like this before. I had to make a change in my life, though, and this was always something I fantasized about. As for hard limits I can't say I've got too many. Just no small spaces, no toilet stuff, and I don't think I'd like being choked.

My bigger concern isn't what you're into. I have an unfortunately public image, and if anyone found out I was doing anything like this I'd be laughed out of the wizarding world, possibly the entire world. I want to explore with you, but only when I know I'm safe. I also reserve the right to walk out on this whenever I want knowing you won't reveal it after I'm gone. I need to be able to trust you. What does the 'D' stand for? Daddy, or your name? I'd like to call you by both, if that's okay with you. I'd like to hear more about what you look like, too, and the house you live in, if that's also okay. Hope to hear from you soon.

-H

Draco's stomach fluttered. Without hesitation he took up his quill to reply.

Merlin, that was the stupidest thing Harry had ever written. He put his head in his hands and shook it, letting out a beleaguered sigh all the way. What if this 'D' thought he was vain for asking about his appearance? Offending him in the first message was a great way to go, excellent job, Potter.

Harry grabbed his hair and tugged on it until a few strands came out. He looked down to see what he'd done and gritted his teeth. Dammit. He wasn't supposed to be doing that anymore. "Fucking…" Harry grumbled, standing up from his desk and leaning on the chair, unsure of what to do now that he'd likely made a fool of himself.

His stomach growled, an unfortunate reminder that he often forgot to eat. He wasn't trying to get any thinner, but for some reason it always slipped his mind that he had a body he needed to take care of. After the war Harry tried to gain the weight back from before the Camping Trip From Hell, but it never seemed to stick around long. It seemed he was doomed to be spindly and short at the same time. He forced himself towards the kitchen.

'D' was a solid twelve centimeters taller than him, and Harry was definitely interested in that. Most men were taller than him so it wasn't hard, but still. He hoped he wasn't too much older, but he likely would be given the situation. Harry didn't mind that much, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't hoping they were close in age.

Harry opened his fridge to reveal quite the sad display. He was hardly wanting for coin or muggle money, but it was getting out of the house that was the problem. The remnants of his last trip a week ago included ice cream, leftover spaghetti, a whole lot of carrots for some reason, and one last frozen pizza from what had once been a mighty stack. He opted for the pizza.

"Need to go shopping," Harry told himself as if that would help get him out the door. He'd spent all day reading messages from men who wanted him, of which there were quite a few. A lot of their messages were short, some just inquiries about his length and girth and how much pain he could take. Harry really didn't know how to answer the latter question. He'd hooked up with men and his first time had hurt in a surprisingly pleasant way, and he'd gladly let some rough him up and spank him, but Harry had no idea what a practicing Dominant's pain scale looked like. He wasn't even really a practicing submissive yet, either.

Some of the replies were just bank statements from Gringotts, indicating those applicants hadn't really read his ad. Discretion over means, always. If that meant using some of the Potter fortune to help finance this then he was hardly opposed to it, even if that was a bit backwards for most Daddies. Money meant nothing sitting in a vault.

Still, the use of his family's money made Harry twinge with guilt inside for what he might use it for. Even if James and Lily approved of him being gay—a big 'if', for things were different when it was one's own child—they would likely never approve of what Harry wanted out of being gay.

He wanted to give up control. Harry Potter was so sick to death of being in charge, being the one people looked to. When he'd led the resistance people died in horrible ways, all to protect him. Then even he himself died. Sometimes he wondered if he was ever meant to come back from the Forbidden Forest.

It would have been enough to end the war—Neville or Hermione or Ron could have landed the final killing curse after the Horcrux within him was destroyed.

But instead Harry had lived, and Harry had killed, and what was left of Tom Riddle was no more.

Absurdly, Harry's brain wondered what Riddle would make of all this. He couldn't love, not after being conceived under the effects of a love potion, but he had been in Harry's head for a long, long time—longer than he hadn't been at this point still.

Harry remembered how hard he'd tried to keep Riddle out of his mind for the resistance. He wondered if anything non-battle-related ever slipped through to him. Harry used to be able to feel his emotions, especially when he was angry, and in these long hours alone his curiosity got the better of him, compelling him to wonder—did Riddle know he was gay? Did he know how Harry had craved for an arrangement like this even as a schoolboy?

He shook his head and tried to think about the living men who'd sent him interested inquiries, not the man he'd killed.

In the end Harry wound up feeling too anxious about a lot of them, erasing them from his record. He told himself he'd need to message at least one, though, and it wasn't a hard choice. His one was 'D', whoever he was. It was almost suspicious how too good to be true he was, honestly.

Harry put his frozen pizza in the oven without taking it off of the cardboard that came in the packaging.

Once the timer was set there was nothing to do but think again, which was never good for him. Harry looked towards the bedroom to see if there was any reply but the parchment remained still.

Should he have replied to more men? Maybe more messages would come in later from other Dominants, but the first crop really only had the one gem in it.

Harry walked back to the couch and turned the television on to some sitcom he didn't recognize and turned down the volume so he could hear the buzz but not understand the jokes. The screen in front of him seemed to be showing a wacky day at the science fair for some hapless-but-loving family, something he couldn't really relate to but that was for the best, anyway.

His eyelids grew heavy and he was reminded of the weariness that came from his rotation of sleeping on the bed, the couch, and in the bathtub. The more he slept the more tired he was, but he couldn't bring himself to stay awake for long, either.

Stuck in a sort of comatose limbo Harry's eyes were content to focus on the coffee table for the next twenty minutes as it reflected light from the television. His eyes were droopy, as if the bags beneath them were physically weighing him down.

When he heard the knock at his door Harry nearly shot out of his skin. There was no way, could that be-?

"It's me, Harry!" Ron called, knocking again.

Harry was both relieved and oddly disappointed. That wouldn't make any sense at all, 'D' knowing where he lived, but for a moment he'd almost hoped he did. He rose to answer the door.

"Ron," Harry greeted him and put on a smile. He was happy to see his best mate, but smiles just didn't come that easily anymore. They embraced with a tight hug, Ron giving Harry a few pats on the back.

"Good to see you, mate. Really," Ron told him, trying not to look too disappointed that Harry's place was still a mess and his clothes likely hadn't been changed in a few days. He wasn't exactly a cleanfreak himself but he was learning to be one from living with Hermione. Worse though than Harry being a little ripe was that he was this way because of a lack of motivation to be anything else.

Harry nodded, unaware of the war waging inside Ron's skull of whether or not he should deliver some tough love to his friend clearly in need. "Good to see you to. Come in, I'm just making a pizza." Harry waved him in, quickly grabbing the blankets off of the couch and tossing them onto the armchair so they'd have room to sit.

"Whatcha watchin'?" Ron asked of the television. What funny devices.

"Nothing," Harry shrugged, and turned it off.

Ron grimaced slightly at how apathetic Harry sounded. "So," he tried. "How are things?"

"Things are… things. I dunno. I've been really tired lately." If 'lately' counted as the last couple of years, anyway.

Dammit. Harry always said that. "Might want to see a Healer about that," Ron suggested.

"There's nothing actually wrong with me," Harry dismissed. "It's all in my head."

"Yeah, mate, and that's what worries me," Ron came out and said flatly.

Harry ignored the implications there and pushed ahead with conversational niceties. "How are you doing? How's Hermione?" Harry rubbed the sleepiness from one eyes behind his glasses with the edge of his palm.

"She's good, we're good," Ron nodded, trying not to speak much about himself. He could tell it depressed Harry when he went on about his Auror duties. "How are you?"

"You already asked that."

"Yeah, and you didn't really answer," Ron pointed out.

Harry sighed.

"Is it the nightmares again?"

"It's always the nightmares," Harry grumbled, a bit too short in his response for his own liking. Ron was only trying to help. Harry tried again. "I've just been resting, trying to heal." As he had been for a decade now.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, unsure of what else to say to that. "Mum's been asking about you, about when you'll visit again next." The last time had been Christmas, and it was nearly May now.

"Give her my best," Harry said noncommittally. He loved Molly, but he wasn't going to get anyone's hopes up with false promises he'd be over there soon. Fred's absence was palpable there even if it had been softened by the years. "How's everyone?"

"Percy's Percy, always working and stuff. Charlie's Charlie, happiest when he's with the dragons. Bill and Fleur are saddled with the kids but it's a good break for them, I think. George is running the shop with Angelina and they're thinking of expanding to add a third location in Wizarding America," he reported. Harry smiled at that, more than glad his seed money he'd put into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had done some good in the world. "And Ginny's team is doing great if you're keeping up with the Quidditch scores."

Harry was not keeping up with the Quidditch scores. Flying on a broomstick had been one of his favorite things upon first learning he was a wizard, but nothing hit like the first times did anymore. Being on a broom made Harry think of the Dementors and Death Eaters who'd chased him, the bastards who'd killed his beloved Hedwig. Fuck, did Harry ever miss her. "That's good," Harry offered weakly. Even if he did have the motivation to fly again there was nowhere to do it in this urban metropolis without being spotted.

Ron frowned. "Harry," he said.

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time you went out?"

"Probably… last weekend, for groceries," Harry recalled with a bit of shame. He didn't like admitting these things to Ron; it made him feel small. The Great Harry Potter didn't even like going outside anymore.

"Harry…"

"I know," Harry replied sharply, too sharply. He gave Ron an apologetic look that seemed to be accepted. Harry let out a huff of air. "I just… I don't know, really."

Ron scooted closer on the couch. "Hey, it's okay. I just want to help. There's a pub right down the street from here, you know. Maybe we could grab chips there sometime after you… er, shower."

"That bad?" Harry asked of himself, lifting an arm and finding that unfortunately true. "Ugh, sorry, I haven't had much time…"

"I thought all you had was time," Ron replied with a frown. "I don't say that to be cruel, you know. I give a shit about you, several shits, even. If you needed to come stay with me and Hermione, even if it's just to have somebody around to remind you about stuff like that…"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Harry answered quickly, moving away from Ron. Could there be anything more mortifying than being offered a spot in their home out of pity? "And I've got a pizza in the oven, so no chips."

Ron nodded. "Okay, no chips." He fell silent for a moment before speaking again, trying stretch that emotional range of a teaspoon to a tablespoon for his best friend's sake. "You know, I looked up magic gay bars around here."

"You what?"

"Not for me, obviously! For you, Harry. There's one just a few blocks away called the 'Velvet Lounge' that serves wizards and muggles. Drinks, music, blokes—I think they even have drag shows," Ron offered. It was hard to gauge what kind of nightlife activities might interest Harry when nothing seemed to interest him anymore, so he was throwing out as many ideas as he could.

Harry, slightly bewildered to hear Ron Weasley talking about drag, looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. "I—that's nice, I guess. I've never been. Look, I get what you're trying to do and that's really nice and all, but—"

"But what?" Ron interjected because he knew Harry wouldn't have a good answer to that.

"But…" Harry looked around his flat. It had been much nicer when he'd moved in, much cleaner. It wasn't the biggest he could have rented but he didn't need large spaces when he's live in a cupboard for most of his childhood. "I don't know," he gave in lamely. The oven timer went off. "Saved by the bell," he joked darkly, getting up to go retrieve his food. "Want a slice?"

"I'm good, thanks." Ron stood and followed Harry to the kitchen, leaning on his countertop as Harry sliced the pizza. "Harry."

"Yes?"

"Please, just talk to me. You know I'm always here for you, you have to know that after we went through a war together," Ron pleaded. The desperation was evident, and made Harry twinge away. Ron was trying really hard, and it made Harry feel all the guiltier.

Harry was the reason Fred was dead, after all. He was the reason Arthur got hurt, and Sirius died, and Remus died, and Tonks died leaving her baby an orphan—Harry caught himself spiraling. At least Teddy was with his Auntie Andromeda now that he'd given her Grimmauld Place. Harry couldn't stand to be there without his godfathers.

"Harry…?" Ron practically begged at his silence.

"Sorry," Harry said again. "My mind, it just… wanders. I can't keep it in one place. I'm exhausted when I want to be awake and alert when I want to be asleep. You… you're right about the shower thing. I'll eat and go wash up," he promised.

That just made Ron's frown deepen. "I'm not here to nag you, Harry."

"I know."

"I want to help you."

"I know—and you do. You and Hermione visiting, it's good for me."

"Maybe if you lived with—" Before Ron could pitch round two of his idea that Harry live in their guestroom his wand lit up red in his pocket. "Ah, fuck."

"Duty calls," Harry responded flatly, glad for Ron's presence but also glad that his boss sending for him spelt the end to this awkward conversation. Ron was an Auror now, and had responsibilities beyond his depressed, shut-in friend. Harry didn't resent him for needing to run off, but the jealousy must have been clear on his face because Ron put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry fretted at his eyebrows, wanting to pull the thin hairs there out but fighting the urge so Ron wouldn't see.

"Hey," he said. "This conversation isn't over. If being an Auror isn't for you then something else has to be."

"Yeah, something else," Harry nodded mutedly. What if he never found what he wanted to do? What if all he wanted was to be some rich man's pet, because at least that would be some fun and excitement in his life compared to the dull reality he was in now? The only time he'd felt anything this week beyond the void of his usual emotions was writing to 'D'. "Thanks for stopping by."

"I'll be back," Ron reminded him.

"And I'll be here."

Ron shook his head slightly, and the flashing of his wand tip grew brighter. "I've really go to—"

"I know. It's okay," Harry nodded. "Be safe."

"Yeah, well… You too."

Smell and all, Ron gave his best mate another hug before giving a final nod and apparating away.

Once he was gone Harry let out a heavy rush of air. Goddammit. What kind of incompetent was he, forgetting to even shower? He needed to brush his teeth, too—after the pizza.

Harry ate in silence at the counter, wolfing down each slice faster and faster because holy shit, he was hungry and he hadn't even known it.

The walk to the shower felt like a walk to the gallows as it always did. Harry loved the hot water once he was under it, but there was something so trying about the walk there that spiked his anxiety. Getting a towel, a fresh change of clothes, it all made him so nervous. Harry Potter, who had faced death willingly, given a stomachache by picking out underwear. What a joke.

What Harry thought would be a quick wash took longer than expected because yeah, he'd really needed to do this. He was going to anyway if he would be meeting with a man, preferably this 'D', but a more regularly cleaning schedule would benefit everyone involved. He'd tried alarms and schedules before, but in a few weeks they always fell to the wayside of Harry's all-consuming urge to lay down and do absolutely nothing. It felt like being busy, doing all that nothing.

Once clean Harry did feel better, as he always did, but it was hard for him to envision the results of an arduous process anymore. If relief wasn't immediate then Harry's interest was hard to pique. He toweled off, shaving his face clean again when he heard a strange noise from the other room.

His heart leapt—the scroll case!

With shaving cream still covering half of his chin Harry sprinted naked to his room, the fastest he'd moved to do anything in ages. "Yes!" Harry exclaimed to see the black device printing away. It sort of looked like a muggle printer, really.

He ran up to the charmed scroll and lifted it, green eyes scanning each line with care once the message finished. 'D' had such fancy handwriting.

H—

I would love to tell you more. I will be twenty-eight in June, though people say I look a bit older. I have pale skin from my work taking place indoors, and silver eyes. I have scars across my chest from an injury in childhood. I work out, keep fit but don't obsess over it. My health is important to me, as will be yours.

As for my home, it is a large Manor with five floors. I am rebuilding it from scratch, having demolished most of the original building. It will have a three-story library, many parlors, and a basement to play in once I'm done. At the moment only the entrance hall, first parlor, kitchen, bathrooms, master bedroom, and a guest room are furnished. I would like to offer you that room, and allow you to do with it as you please. If you aren't fond of the furniture I have in there now we can always go shopping for a change of style.

It seems we share something in our high-profile images as well. I fear that giving you my first name will give away the rest of me, as I'm sure you do. I understand your need for trust, and discretion. I know it may not seem like much for how little you know me, but you have my word I will never betray you to the public. Having my name out there too would be a scandal I'm simply not interested in weathering.

Rather than have you describe yourself further in return, I would like to request to meet you. It will be somewhere public, anywhere of your choosing. I will arrive first, and then you can see if you wish to continue this correspondence face-to-face. I'm afraid my identity will be given away by my face, so if you see me and are repulsed… I would understand. My reputation unfortunately precedes me everywhere I go.

I would like for both of us to escape these social pressures together, if this sounds agreeable to you. My schedule is clear tomorrow, and I await your response with a location.

-D

Harry's jaw hung open. He could meet 'D' as soon as tomorrow? And what exactly did he mean by his reputation preceding him? That was certainly the case with Harry, but who was this strange man who apparently also held fame? Was it a bad reputation? The message seemed to imply that.

He had to sit down; this was too much to think about standing.

It was a gamble to trust the word of a man he'd only exchanged a few paragraphs with, but 'D' had promised him discretion. Feeling all the more exposed from having read the letter naked, Harry went back to the bathroom so he could dress and return to stare at the message some more.

This man's voice in his writing seemed honest. Or maybe Harry was just hoping he was, projecting his desires onto the nearest blank slate of a man he could find. He was pale and blonde apparently, so it might be very easy to do that. 'Repulsed' didn't sound right at all, either, why would he say that? The scars couldn't be that bad. Harry did have one of his own to show off, proof of his identity. Fuck, this was scary.

At least he had been thorough about how he also wanted the utmost privacy. Revealing his identity first—this 'D' really was doing Harry a favor.

Harry swallowed. He had a choice to make. Even if Ron never understood his reasoning behind why Harry wanted to be a kept man, an owned submissive, Ron had to approve of him following this train of thought, right? Just about any train seemed like it would do for Auror Weasley, who had apparently been looking at ways to jumpstart Harry's love life anyway.

The Velvet Lounge, Ron had said. That was as good a place as any to start. With newfound determination Harry picked up his quill and began his reply.

D—

So it seems we're of similar ages, then. That's a good thing to me. Your offer is even better, almost too good to be true, but then you followed it up with an offer to meet. Tomorrow... Wow. I suppose I'm envious of how quickly you go after what you want. I was too nervous to ask, but perhaps that's why we're in these roles in the first place. I would love to meet you, and I appreciate you taking the first step. I think you'll be surprised by who seeks you out, too. That's all I'll say for now, and hold you to that promise of secrecy.

Meet me at the Velvet Lounge, downtown London, five o'clock. Sit at the bar, and I'll come find you at five fifteen. I like fruity drinks, anything sweet. Let's talk face-to-face. I want to see if you're this suave in person, too. I have to admit I'll be nervous and likely not my most articulate. Still, I look forward to seeing you, I really do.

-H

Harry sent the message. For a moment his mind was blank with panic.

"I need to have an outfit for this!" Harry realized out loud, horrified. He ran to his closet to begin sorting through his limited stock. So what if he had the same blue shirt in three different sleeve lengths? That usually worked because he usually wasn't asking Daddies for drinks in bars.

Harry had to pull himself together. This was his first mission in a long time—gussy up like he'd actually been taking care of himself in his twenties. It wasn't saving the world, and maybe that was the good thing about it. Harry nodded, got his sleekest pair of black pants, and set to work building himself up to go in public again.

H—

Five o'clock sharp at the Velvet Lounge it is. I assure you my offer is in complete sincerity and honesty should we find each other's terms agreeable. I do want you, which is why I went after you. I am pleased you can meet me at my speed; it bodes well for you. I will have drinks waiting for us, and consider anything else on the menu yours. Ask and you shall receive, H.

You have my word on your safety both physically and publicly. I am greatly looking forward to seeing you. I feel a bit like a kid on Christmas Eve; I cannot wait to see my present.

-D