[it's too late to keep him from taking offense; with another sour look he decides that Kit isn't even worth the dignity of eye contact and instead lays down on the couch petulantly. for a long moment it looks like the other boy isn't even going to get a response, but the allure of food causes him to finally relent.]

Burgers. Sausages, if they have them. Baked potato. Corn if they don't fucking incinerate it. ...hot dogs are fine, too.

[another pause, and then:]

Pile everything they've got on them.

[so, basically, anything he can fit in his mouth.]