Who Needs a Dream? Who Needs Ambition?

Melchior takes a moment to reply; if this had been any other situation, if he had had any other thoughts running through his mind at that moment in time, maybe he would have responded right away with an eager, assured response, a solid argument, maybe pulled out of his ass but defensible, reasonable.

As it is, he stares past Anatoly's shoulder for a moment before bringing his eyes, carefully, back to rest on Anatoly's.

"If there is one thing I have learned it is that feelings are not as easy to ignore or control as they should be. What you say is reasonable, but obviously it does not match your feelings, otherwise you would not be having any problems."

He takes a moment to consider his next words, wanting to choose them carefully, not wanting to steer Anatoly wrong. Somehow this is more important now than it had been from the start.

"If he does feel this way, perhaps you are hurting him. Perhaps he thinks you do not return his feelings. That is just as likely, is it not? And you cannot get better at anything until you practice."

Sighing quickly, he continues. "I am not saying you should run out and confess to him right now, but I am saying that you should not rule it out. Think on it some more. But know that leaving it bottled up will cause an explosion. I can promise you that."