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“Oh for fucks sake!” Merlin burst out, picking up the plastic pencil holder and hurling it across the room in temper. It hit the wall with a satisfying crash, pens, pencils, and the various detritus scattering across the bed and floor in the tiny apartment. He glared at the mess for good measure, in case it hadn't gotten the hint that he was not happy, Jan.
“Did the wall insult your mother again?” Arthur asked mildly from the twin couch nearby, not looking up from his laptop screen. Merlin felt vaguely guilty for making noise and interrupting him, before he remembered that Arthur wasn’t studying, but was in fact pretending to be a sword-wielding hero on some poncy online fantasy game, where everyone’s avatars were exceedingly muscled, scantily clad, and obviously (to Merlin at least) a pathetically transparent way for the poorly endowed to feel better about their miniscule masculinity, non-existent girlfriends, and to pretend that one day they won’t live in their parents basement. (“That’s not fair Merlin,” Arthur had complained when Merlin had first laughed himself sick over it all. “FAIRY!” Merlin had snorted, “You are pretending to be a scantily clad, pink FAIRY in an online computer game!” “It’s an Elf.” Arthur had insisted stubbornly, as Merlin wiped tears from his eyes and procedded to make some truly filthy comments about magic staves).
“I’m stuck,” Merlin complained, “and am about to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.”
“You shouldn’t have left it so long then,” Arthur replied mercilessly, “also, I am not picking that mess up.” Merlin swivelled around in his chair to glare at Arthur instead.
“You could help, you know.” Merlin said sulkily, “Didn’t Morgana do this subject last semester? Couldn’t you get her to let me look at her paper?”
“Ring her yourself and ask,” said Arthur, getting distracted by a dwarf for a minute, “she’ll give you a hand but she’ll require a pound of flesh as interest.”
“I already sold my soul to Lancelot for that extra packet of gummi bears,” Merlin pouted, “so that’s no good. I have no leverage. Guess I’m on my own.” He sighed dramatically for good measure.
“Just copy a diet and exercise plan off the internet,” Arthur suggested, “nobody will know the difference.”
“Except for the part where I am not ripped like 50 cent.” Merlin pointed out.
“Oh yes,” Arthur spared him a glance, grinning, “I forget that mere mortals like yourself are not blessed with perfectly sculpted abs like some.”
Merlin rolled his eyes so hard it felt like he sprained something.
“Just make a list of what you eat and how much you move and talk about how you could make it better.” Arthur went on, “What’d you have for breakfast today?”
“Cornflakes.” said Merlin.
“There you go,” said Arthur, “write what it says about healthy stuff on the box then. Did you have the same yesterday?”
“No, I had smartie cereal,” said Merlin chewing on a nail absently and peering over Arthur’s shoulder. On the screen, little characters with names like ‘BruceChillis’, ‘Gnomercy’, ‘MyLittlePwny’ and ‘Bovafett’ were doing nasty things to poor, defenceless pixellated monsters. Arthur looked horrified. He pointed at Merlin accusingly.
“Those were my smarties!” he exclaimed “Also, I beg your pardon, what?”
Merlin shrugged. “You ate my crisps last week, now we’re even.” and then, “Maybe I should make a character on this thing. I could call it ‘ThePainTrain’ and frighten Asian gold farmers into doing my work for me.”
“Go back to your assignment, Merlin.” Arthur said firmly, and Merlin sighed and turned back to his own computer reluctantly. He began typing in a way that he hoped was disconsolate and pathetic and adequately expressed how bored he was through the clicking of the keys alone. He hoped the depressing click-click-click would guilt Arthur into getting up and making him a cup of tea, at least.
“Look at it this way,” Arthur suggested lightly, “the sooner you finish, the sooner you can celebrate finishing.”
“With what?” Merlin grumped back at him, “I ate your smarties, remember?”
“I can think of a few ways.” Arthur said, and something in his tone sent a shiver down Merlin’s spine. “Finish your assignment, pick up those pens, and I’ll show you.”
Merlin reapplied himself to his assignment with renewed enthusiasm. He was going to finish it if it killed him.