[Briefly, Daan glances over his shoulder after the tote bag has been shoved into his arms. It's less hesitating and more musing over the high amount of changes he's gone through in the past week and not-quite-half. Was it all too fast, or has Daan simply waited long enough to finally gently take what he's yearned for into his own hands? Hard to say, he admits. He always fears he's too selfish with love.

But maybe that's just after years of bitterness talking.]

Uh. I had toast with marmalade. [god please don't dunk on his toast making he swears he can use the toaster] I haven't told you to do a damned thing about whatever mortadella is. Sounds Vatican-- Italian? Whatever your world's equivalent is.