His prepared protests faltered under Gellert's grasp-- a grasp that wasn't so much demanding as it was--
Only, Albus rather lost track of the thought, forgetting to feel alarm over the way Gellert touched him. It was entirely trivial, he knew; it was just sugar. And a worrisome range of possible flavours. But it was just a piece of candy. Taking it didn't have to mean anything. Déjà vu wasn't a genuine reason to do, or not do, anything. And this, surely, meant nothing to the Gellert sitting close, but not too close, on the bed.
He waited, as Gellert unfurled his hand, for the wave of resentment to return, for the chill of his anger sweep over him at the idea of Gellert skirting so close to something he didn't even remember. And altogether, it seemed drastically irrational, for Albus to hold this Gellert too accountable. It was one thing to see him as capable, another to try to hold it against him. For a brief moment, flashes of that dream scattered across his mind. Reluctant to too closely examine that again, Albus gaze Gellert one more glance and popped the bean into his mouth.
Tart, almost overwhelmingly so, but sweet. Loudly citric on his tongue, Albus managed to suppress most of the small smile threatening to curl his lips.