Ah. Right. The trial. The context in which Albus viewed the details of Gellert's departure from school... Gellert had gone too far, of that much he was certain. Whereas before, years ago, it had seemed like the enthusiastic excess of young genius, driven to error by the mind-numbing shackles of an 'education' Gellert in no way required. And that was certainly part of it, some fraction of his mind insisted. But of course, there was so much more to it. Certainty of that hung on the rim of Albus's thoughts as he looked back to Gellert.
His jaw set firmly as Gellert went on. Flattering. It was possible, he supposed, that this was some sort of punishment. Some cosmic design to beat into him some measure of restraint, to teach him that his heart was a treacherous thing and was not to be trusted. It was something of which he was already entirely too aware. That Gellert knew of the depths of Albus's feelings was a horrible sort of permission, removing the necessity of concealing them entirely. As such, he was perfectly free to feel his gut wrench at the idea of someone else touching Gellert, to let his stomach bottom out over the idea of Gellert looking at someone else the way he'd looked at him.
A low little voice in the back of his mind offered a too-smug assurance that no-- no, for Albus, Gellert had created a masterpiece of deception.
Albus wanted it to stop. He wanted that feeling in his stomach to go away and that pleased voice in the back of his mind to be silent. So he finished off the rest of the drink in his glass. He set the empty container down on the table with less delicacy than Gellert had, neither knowing nor caring if that had been his intent.
Settling back, Albus intended to leave his glass as it was. Empty and ignored.
"Who was your first?" he asked, the tone a little sharper, an implied addendum of 'if you can recall' pinned to the tip of Albus's tongue. If Gellert was in a mood to speak candidly, then so be it. He would much rather have Gellert be the focus of their conversation than himself. And perhaps it was a vain hope, the idea that he might be able to bury the thrumming urge to feel the hot silk of Gellert's skin against his lips under a mountain of jealousy-induced resent.