"Well. I like some things in silk," Ganymede teases gently, though he will leave exactly what he prefers wearing in silk to Armand's imagination. He knows the man will pick it out of his brain or the ether sooner or later. In his defense, he doesn't like underwear at the best of times, and if he wears it he wants the fabric soft. "You'd look lovely in lace, you know. We should go get you some. Black lace, maybe gold against your skin," he murmurs, picking up on the need to move on and offering a hand to Armand, listening to him describe their mutual friend. Somewhere, he just knows, Daniel's ears are burning and he doesn't know why, but the amusement of hearing Armand describe their sometimes-caustic friend and lover wins out.

"I am a romantic," he admits readily, when he's told however gently what he is. He knows already that he loves love, he loves the quick flare of emotion and the flash of affection that blooms afterward. He's had more than his share of being burned by it, too, but then...he loves being wanted, if only for a while. "And you have it bad for him. And I'm glad you've got someone you enjoy so much," Ganymede says lightly. He knows he is not the love of anyone's life--least of all either of the two men in question who so thoroughly belong to each other. He's just glad he gets to borrow them occasionally. "I like being a romantic. It keeps me sane, largely." Beyond the drudgery of the day-to-day, it really does.

And when Armand guesses, he just smiles. "No one's ever really guessed it, you know. And I never told anyone it as me. The face looks a bit different, and the hair. And some other things. It's been years since I've seen it in person."