Ganymede chuckles at the notion of hunting for bedsheets for a coffin, and gently shakes his head as he blows out a breath of plumed smoke, lettng the tension bleed out of his shoulders as he does. "Why would I? You have survived the circumstances that have changed societies, cities, peoples themselves, the same as I have. No more and no less," he murmurs, turning and brushing the backs of his knuckles under the curve of Armand's jaw. He knows the other man is younger than he is: he's not sure how many years are between them, but however many it turns out to be, he is well aware Armand is a survivor of just as many horrible things.

It is the nature of being like them, of having a longer-than-human lifespan. One of the many exchanges neither of them were ever told about.

"You do that already, though you don't have to. You are my friend whether or not something pleases me. We are both adults--I am far and away too old to be playing such childish games as that." And he means it; his liking Armand isn't dependent on the vampire treading some sort of line to keep himself in check and ensure favor. Ganymede finds that sort of existence tedious at best, and mind-numbingly awful at worst. "I'd like taking a walk with you. Just a stroll?" he asks. "Two old men on a free evening?"