Mello paid as little attention as ever to the food. He'd accepted the necessity of eating here, but that didn't mean he had to like it. A couple of sausages, some pancakes and syrup, which made a lousy substitute for chocolate, but might at least fend off the sugar-deprivation headache.

His inclination was to find an isolated spot and go over what little he'd learned so far today (not enough, never enough, here), but he was growing accustomed to taking the hard line with himself. It wasn't like anyone else was going to snap him out of it if he got too absorbed in his own thoughts. So when he spotted that Niikura kid, the one the Yakuza wasn't fond of, sitting alone, he made his way over to the table. Turning potential allies into definite ones was always a good idea, and there was a part of Mello that wanted to remind the kid he was on the ball when he wasn't sedated. He deliberately assumed permission, knowing, and hating, that he would once never have had to do so consciously, and set his tray down. "Hey."