Bayard pauses for a good long while, sucking his lower lip in the pocket of his teeth, staving off the inevitable admission of not so much youth but wrongfulness. Finally he exhales deep, neck still scrunched up and face still near to Karkat's but otherwise deflating like a piece of paper gone wet. "Twelve."

Well, it is that, too. A little bit of willful stubbornness. When it leaves Bayard (like a possession switching hosts) Bayard looks only slightly sullen at having been so rebuffed.

"I just wanted to know what your book was. I ain't ever seen one like that."