John continued to stand at the window, posture somewhat stiff. Harry watched him, thinking. He didn't want to leave was the thing. He knew he had some weird issues; he either shut himself away like a hermit or he refused to be alone. Right now, he wasn't feeling the need to be isolated, so he was extremely reluctant to go. Not when he felt so ensconced. John was perhaps the only person who could make you feel welcome while telling you to get out.

"So," Harry asked, loudly cutting through the silence. "How often does someone give you permission?"

John turned very slowly to Harry, face pulled into a confused grimace. "Come again?"

"You said you don't snack without permission. How often do you get permission?"

John stared at him for a long moment. "Less often than I'd like," he answered carefully.

"And you can bite someone and not turn them?" Informed consent was a good thing. Harry read about it in a magazine once.

John took one step forward, then seemed to change his mind and backed away again. "It takes concerted effort to turn someone. It's not something down lightly or by accident."

Harry nodded, mulling that over. "Okay. Cool." He shifted on the sofa, laying his head back down and pulling the comforter more snugly around himself. "I might doze off for a bit."

"I... all right." He sounded very uncertain.

"I'm just saying. I know the risks and I'm okay with them." He shut his eyes pointedly and relaxed into the couch, into that electric feeling of being safe in a monster's den.