Few things had ever possessed the ability to incline Albus to act impulsively, but if Gellert could be any one thing, it would be exceptional. Which was precisely how Albus came to be standing beside him with little actual understanding of his own expectations. Some cheeky slice of a smile across Gellert's lips perhaps, an expression that ranged from impish to self-satisfied. The faint frost was familiar in altogether worse way.
Perhaps, however, he ought to have expected this sort of feigned unfamiliarity. For years now, they'd both seemed to have mastered quietly pretending that the other did not exist. At least publicly. If Albus took a particular interest in the politics of the continent, it was easily dismissed. If his attention strayed to Germany with a heightened sort of frequency, it was excusable; there was, after all, very interesting research going on in that part of the world. There was, of course, a practical element to keep himself abreast of Gellert's activities-- especially given his recent ascent in German politics.
What Albus wanted to do was to take hold of Gellert's arm, to pull him someplace obscured from view and discover and vent his every single turbulent feeling upon Gellert's form. Apart from the absurdity of that desire, it held little temptation when Albus's magic felt abominably out of reach. It was wholly unnatural, and much as some part of him still wanted to believe that even Gellert wouldn't attempt to impose such sanctions on him, too much of his mind told him was more than simply possible.
"My patience is not what it once was," Albus said with a thread of warning in his tone. "Is this your doing?" At that, he was expecting something teasing, perhaps. If it was Gellert's aim to amuse himself with this particular design, Albus hardly expected that he'd be able to too long conceal some trappings of satisfaction. But something was starting to snag on the corners of his mind, that distinct impression of something not quite fitting into place.