Albus's intention was successful, to an extent--Gellert latched onto the Wilde quote almost immediately, his expression transforming into one of delight, a laugh swelling up in his throat, breaking into the air. "You read Wilde!" he exclaimed. It was easy to see, now, even if through the veil of time and Albus's deflections, how he might have come to desire this man's companionship. Any man who knew Wilde well enough to draw his words seamlessly into casual conversation was a worthy man, indeed.
Even so, that was not really an answer, was it? And was Wilde ever quoted with wholly innocent intention? Albus was making an enigma of himself, and of these months they'd spent together. Now Albus was trying to draw away, to put an end to a conversation that had perhaps carried too close to the truth of the matter. It only made Gellert want to know more. Yet he could not press the matter. Not now, anyway. He would find out sooner or later, but it was too early to plant seeds of resentment. He simply needed another opportunity alone with Albus, somewhere private where he could pick away at his defenses with a fine-toothed comb until he found a weakness.
"Of course," Gellert said, bowing his head in respect. "I must beg your forgiveness, then." And for a moment he was silent, as if he was content to let Albus leave on that note. But then he said, "I am to be the tailor here, by the way. If," his gaze dropped down the length of Albus's form once more, before quickly flickering back up to his face, "you would like me to make you a more comfortable set of clothes, you are more than welcome to set up an appointment."