Albus wasn't so terribly aware of his own breathing until Gellert stepped away and it became noticeably easier. Part of him truly wish that he could simply hate Gellert. And he scarcely knew what to make of the fact that he couldn't, hardly knew what that said of himself. As intelligent as Albus knew himself to be, he was no less a fool for it. What a dangerous thing love was, when it was capable of trumping any adversary. And he did love Gellert, the only other person like him. But he could live without it. He had before, he had for the past few years; he would find a way to make peace with this. He hoped.
Gellert's apology was acknowledged with little more than a nod. Whether Gellert was wholly sincere was irrelevant, so long as he behaved as if he were. No, this was much easier than being able to discern the elevated heat that radiated from Gellert's body. That thought, however, threatened to drag a whole slew of thoughts just like it into his mind.
Albus's hands snatched up the nearest available book, either his or Gellert's, he neither knew nor cared, and settled himself down on the bed. It was another relief, to find him better able to train his thoughts in the direction he intended, and he found himself a little lost in the pages for a while before Gellert's voice broke the relative silence.
"No," he said, at first with too much aversion. "Thank you, but I don't care for them. I had a particularly dreadful experience with one of their less creative flavours-- and candy ought to be delicious." Not vomit-flavoured.