[ It's another difference between them, he thinks but doesn't say. That Ganymede has things he feels so passionately about. Pride and simple joy in his unabashed happiness. It's so warm. ]

More often, children trust their parents and siblings without question. Their word is reality. Or... so I believed.

[ Perhaps it's different, with praise. Can any artist objectively assess themselves? Michel shifts just a little, adjusting his arm around Ganymede's waist. He's in no danger of going numb yet, but he wonders if he should move them eventually — or if that would break the moment. ]

...Hm. [ If someone told him he was the best at anything... in Strasbourg? In Paris? He lets out a quiet snort at the absurdity of that. ] I must have been born cynical. If anyone told me something like that, they would be flattering me too clumsily to be worth listening to. I've never been...

[ Talented, exceptional. Correct. He doesn't have Georges' daydreamy eye for beauty or Didier's unfailing strength. But it isn't as if he's ever wanted to excel at anything — least of all, the things he was supposed to apply himself to. ]

I have never met the expectations placed on me. Let alone exceeded them.