There is no thing, Poe. Even as she does trace her fingers against Cassian's palm before he moves. To continue sorting out the food situation, she imagines.

"Fruit."

She may half want to live on junk food alone and she definitely hides cheese puffs and pixy stix where she knows Cassian won't look -- her underwear drawer and inside a box of tampons -- but Jyn has found herself in a torrid love affair with fruit. Any kind of fruit. Weird melons and coconuts and berries and tiny little clementines and so many grapes. She doesn't like bananas.

It's the texture.