In his hands was part of his sugar rations that were hidden in a thousand tiny pockets, rations which Gaius was increasingly convinced would become a very limited supply; it was a bit of taffy, which was promptly stuffed in his mouth upon hearing the voice...and more importantly, the fact that she accepted his offerings? Cripes.

"I'm-" Chew, swallow. "-not sharing." He'd just sprouted a pair of moth wings. This was his sugar time of need.