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Surely it's natural to blink for a second. He and Akiyama have been classmates for over a year, true, but that doesn't mean he expects to be addressed by her. He doesn't expect ever to be addressed by anyone out in the world, with the exception of professors.

"...cost-benefit, I'd imagine."

At this late in the night, she's irate and under-caffeinated enough to grump at anyone in her general area. And considering the fact that her general area is the cafeteria-study-space, since all the carrels in the silent libraries are full? She has a lot to grump about.

"I understand that objectively and I reserve the right to be irritated by it," she says moodily, sitting at the booth across from Mordred - the only booth that isn't full, how many people go to this goddamned university - and pulling out her notebooks with slightly excessive amounts of force.

"...why?"

He shouldn't engage. He should just let the fact someone spoke to him be. He should just soak up the human contact of having someone sit across from him at a busy time of night.

And yet.

She blinks, looking up at the kid, surprised that he's actually responded to her. People rarely do. She doesn't tend to have an aura of approachability.

"Because I need coffee and I have to settle for this unhealthy crap," she says, pulling out a bottle of Mt. Dew and showing it to him. "24 hour coffeeshops exist. I know they do. Just apparently not on this campus."

He should nod. He should nod and drop his attention down again and not engage.

"So you gave up."

Or that. There's also that.

Oh, he did not just say that. Megumi's eyebrows raise high, her expression goes cold and flat, and the bottle she's holding is dropped unceremoniously onto the table. "Sorry, what did you say?" That sequence of words has never sounded less apologetic or questioning.

It's the sort of thing he backs down from instantly with Arthur. Being out of the house has had him sparking much more with the freedom of the fact that Arthur isn't here.

"You said you need coffee. But you're drinking soda."

The tension in his jaw is very slight, but probably beginning to be visible. It's half the beginning of frustration and half the nerves of extended conversation.

Her jaw is set, and she's about to retort when she stops herself, firmly shuts her eyes, and counts to ten quickly in her mind.

She looks the same amount of angry when she opens her eyes again, but at least she doesn't actually cuss him out. "Yeah, because my coffeeshop is closed. Are you hard of hearing?"

He's seen Gerallt close his eyes like this. He's not sure it's ever worked on anyone who didn't already seem to have the heart of a saint.

"But you know there's probably coffee somewhere."

"Is this your subtle way of trying to get rid of me?" Because she really, really wouldn't be surprised. "Look, I need to study for finals - I'm not going to give up the first seat I've found in this shitty school to go on a grand search for coffee. Christ, I wouldn't have brought it up if I knew you were going to be an ass about it."

He'll be a good boy. He'll look back down at his own books.

Ish.

"So you don't need it." Which is, admittedly, semantic. "Or you gave up."

That's it. She reaches out to slam his book shut, getting up from her seat and pulling with surprising force at his arm. "Get up now. I'm getting coffee and you're coming with me because you're the one being a little bitch about it."

--well. That's not what he'd expected.

Digging his heels in is natural. He's hardly a pushover, but he can't quite keep himself from being lugged from his seat.

"We'll-- lose the table."

If it makes him feel any better, she's quite muscled under the long sleeves of her jacket. She can push most people around. "Should've thought of that before telling me I was giving up," she mutters darkly, steering him towards the door by the elbow once she's grabbed her backpack and thrust his own into his arms. "We can always study at this hypothetical coffeeshop that you're so insistent I should find."

"What, because you need help?"

Not that he isn't tugging his bag over one shoulder and shoving his book into it. He's got ingrained instincts with strong women arranging his life for him.

"Because you were wasting my time with your bullshit, so now I'm going to waste your time with mine." As soon as they're out of the door, she drops his arm and stuffs her hands into her pockets, heading for the nearest street. "Pick up the pace, kid."

"I was making polite conversation."

For given values of politeness, admittedly. And for given values of this being an actual objection, given the way he's got a nice little army jog in his step.

"Really? Your mom taught you to tell people they're giving up?" she demands, not turning to look at him as she speaks. "Seems like she might've fucked up somewhere along the way with the whole manners thing."

He's supposed to be 'being good.' He's not supposed to have any other calls to Uncle Artie about fighting in school.

But he's also at university, and he's fairly certain that's adult enough not to care so much.

"The fuck you say about my mum?"

She raises her arms in surrender, wheeling around to face him abruptly. "Okay, look, I'm sorry." Bringing mothers into the conversation is unfair, a line she shouldn't have crossed. She definitely isn't going to stop snapping at him. "See, I can even back off and apologize. That's polite. You might want to look up the word."

Oh. Well.

That's new.

It takes a moment to blink the tension in his shoulders back. It takes a moment to actually settle down the instinctive bile in his throat.

"...fuck you." It's more sullen than anything. "I'll-- buy your coffee."

"Damn, you got me there. Killer comeback." She looks him over, then shakes her head, turning back around. "Don't need or want your money. That's not the point." After a pause, she adds, "that was polite, though, if that's what you were going for."

"Fuckin' classy gentleman, aye?"

Or something like that. Certainly amenable enough to being dragged away from work by an authoritative colleague, apparently.

The scoff that leaves her throat is impressive. It's one she's been working on for years. "Now, don't try and stretch it too far. You're still kind of an ass. I thought you were one of the quiet ones." The last sentence ends somewhere in between a statement and a question, as they come to a stop at an intersection.

Both his shoulders lift without much concern.

"I am quiet."

It didn't make him a wonderful person.

"I don't understand. If you're an asshole, might as well be loud about it. I'm a jerk, and nearly everyone knows that." Though she has the opposite problem, where she's not actually as much of a grumpy person as she seems, and she scares everyone away before they can actually find that out.

"People aren't as irritating in my presence that way. Generally." And now she has to level one of her stares at Mordred for a moment before crossing the street as the walk symbol flashes.

He makes an attempt, but it's clear he's never seen much modeling of 'proper smiles.' The brief pulling back of his lips is more of a flash of teeth than a proper grin.

The next lift of his shoulders is a little more natural. "Everyone's going to be irritating anyway. Most people don't-- drag you out into the night about it, though."

"Evidently, you were irritating to the wrong person," she points out, roughly running a hand through her choppy hair before sticking it back in her pocket. "And not everyone is irritating. A lot of people are, but not everyone."

"Who's not irritating?" Even the people he cared for deeply were irritating, after all.

She scoffs, not taking his questions seriously at first. "Don't tell me you don't have any friends," she responds derisively. Of course, she doesn't really herself, but she does have her brothers.

She means it as a rhetorical question. She doesn't actually mean for him to answer it.

So the fact it's a 'no, not really' can surely just be ignored for now.

She slows to a stop when he doesn't respond, turning to look him over again. "... what, really? Shit, man. Didn't mean to be that much of an asshole about it."

"Whatever." It's what he's used to, after all. It's not something to stop about, so he's absolutely going to keep walking. Off-campus is something he can navigate a lot better. "Just-- proves my point."

"Shit, man," she repeats, still a little dumbfounded as she picks up the pace to start walking again. "I should be the one offering to buy you coffee." She won't, but she should.

Surely she understands that he's going to bristle all over again now. "Hell would I want with your pity coffee?"

Of course. She would've done the same, in a different time. Now, she just blinks at him. "I assumed you'd drink it, but you can do whatever you want."

"You're the one who wants it at all." He's just the guy who got dragged along for the ride--and who does have a sense of where they should be heading for coffee at this hour.

“Fair. I wasn’t really offering in the first place.” She shrugs her shoulders, looking around herself as they reach the next crossing. “I’ve never been this side of the city before." But there must be a coffeeshop somewhere around here. That's how cities work, isn't it?

Someone else might have tapped her on the arm. Someone else might have tugged her with them.

Merdraut simply takes a sharp left at the crossing, shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Should know your own city."

She would've snarled if he'd touched her. Anyone tugging at her would've been met with an instinctive, violet reaction.

This sharp turn, she can easily follow, though she hurries to walk by his side rather than behind him. "Not my city. As soon as I get my degree, I'm getting the hell out of dodge."

"Yours while you're here." His hands shove deeper into his pockets as he glances over at her again. "Putting yourself at a tactical disadvantage."

The look that passes over her face is somewhat incredulous. "I don't know what kind of war you think I'm fighting, but I can deal with the tactical disadvantage. I don't intend to go out and about very often."

"When aren't we at war?" She's got that leanness about her, after all.

"Never said I wasn't at war." Though he's got her looking more curious than blank now. "I think the two of us are fighting on different fronts, though."

There's another sharp turn, then a sharp jutting of his chin across the street to a still well-lit coffee shop. "You should pick a better front."

"Hey, Perkins?" Her voice is purposely kept conversationally light, so that he's not expecting it when she yanks at his collar with an iron grip. "Don't fucking talk to me about things you don't know about, okay? Just shut the fuck up."

The grab in the dining hall had been one thing. This grab is clearly something entirely different. This is the sort that gets his body entirely tensing up and one thumb hooking up to aim for her eye.

It's too intensely familiar for her not to immediately reach out and try to twist his arm behind his back. At the very least, she'll attempt to keep his hand from actually reaching her face, pushing back with a surprising amount of strength.