"Heard of it, tried it out, despised it. Things were just taking far too long," Eliot snorts, but he doesn't follow up with any more challenging statements, at least not for the moment.

The magician can be a real asshole sometimes, and he doesn't have the patience for certain things or people, but there's a part of him that can be kind, too. A part that recognizes that possibly Jean isn't built for this kind of thing. He seems to be an ordinary human being - a clever one, no doubt, but not a magic, mystical, or otherwise supernaturally inclined one. And that world, the hidden, unseen world can be a shock to the system for anyone. Hell, Eliot can remember how he reacted when he really got that magic was real, and he had wanted it, so badly the longing had been choking him. Jean, he suspects, has never been that way as an adult, maybe never at all.

So instead he fully turns his back to the other man, busying himself at the stove, then fussing with plates, silverware, finding a colander. All things that innocently occupy his time while he tries to hold his tongue, to not fill the silence with useless banter or flirting or snide comments about sanity.

God, though, he's so glad he's not ordinary any more. He may be a miserable, broken person, but at least he has magic.