Gellert let Albus draw his hand away--he had already seen (and heard) all that he needed, anyway. Albus's eyes really were the most engaging blue, he observed. And they were locked on his own. But then Albus was speaking, making his best attempt to clarify the terms of their new arrangement, or at the very least trying to buy himself some time.
It was practically painful, the desire to simply press himself up against Albus (god damn that luggage), but somehow Gellert managed to resist. There would be time for that soon enough, he told himself. Never rush anything important. And Albus seemed to be far more important than Gellert had initially bargained.
But a part of Gellert did not want Albus to be important. Albus was being awfully cryptic about the nature of their relationship--or whatever it was that there had been between them--and it was frustrating Gellert beyond the usual limits of his patience. And Albus was not so impenetrable as he might like to try to make himself.
"It's really unfair, you know," Gellert said, refusing to move away. "The way you are handling this entire situation--keeping all of your cards up your sleeve, keeping me ignorant of our entire lives together. And apart. You act like we had something incredible one moment, and the next you can barely look at me." He let his voice grow harsh, edged, as if he was hurt but trying hard not to show it. "You are toying with my emotions, and I want you to stop."