[AUTHOR'S NOTE] I wrote this during my philosophy class today because I was upset that the teacher was absent. I find inspiration in strange places.

This was written kind of lazily and it's my first Hamlet fic, so my apologies if it's badly-written and OOC. Also, writing in the second person has somehow become my default. I don't know how to feel about this.

One last little note - the professor's name has no significance. I just picked it out from a list of surnames.

So, enjoy the fic, I guess? (gosh, this author's note is as long as the fic itself...)

"I cannot BELIEVE class was cancelled today."

The young prince had stormed into your room without so much as knocking, and, not bothering to wait for you to invite him to sit down, had thrown himself face-first onto your bed.

You sighed and calmly turned around in your chair to face him. "My lord -"

He sat up and cut you off before you could go on. "It's not fair, Horatio. I don't care how sick Professor Clement is - I don't care if he's dying! What am I expected to do today without a class to go to? He's ruined my plans, Horatio! He can't just do that! I…" He trailed off from his rant, still making frustrated motions with his hands as he searched for more words to express his distaste.

You waited for him to give up before attempting to speak again. "My lord, if I may…" You chose your words carefully. "Do you mean to say that the professor should give up his health in favour of your comfort? Do you believe that you are that much more important than him?"

Hamlet stared at you, incredulous at your uncharacteristic challenge. "Of course I'm more important than him, Horatio!" His voice cracked. "I'm the prince! He's only a scholar!"

"Hm." You gave a small smile and looked directly at him. "And what about me?"

"What?"

"Well, my lord," you breathed as you leaned back in your chair, "your statement is inconsistent with what you normally have me believe. You have quite often assured me that my being a poor scholar does not denote my worth, and yet now you say the opposite about our dear Professor Clement?"

"But…" He made more frustrated gestures. "You're different, Horatio! You're an exception!"

"So my social standing does not denote my worth, but the professor's denotes his?" You click your tongue. "It's a shame, my lord; you're one of Professor Clement's best students, but I don't believe he'd be too proud of your logic right now."

Hamlet glared. "Why are you doing this to me?"

You looked at him with what you hoped was a sly grin. "Well, my lord, I figured that, since you're so horribly upset about missing a philosophy class, you might want to engage in some philosophical conversation. Current topic of discussion: 'Are some people worth more than others?' So far you haven't presented a very compelling argument."

A sequence of rather humorous expressions flashed across Hamlet's face. Finally, he slumped back, turned over, and faceplanted on the bed again.

"I hate you," he mumbled into the sheets.

"I love you too, my lord," you replied, turning back to the book you'd been reading before your friend had so rudely interrupted you.

In all honesty, you were grateful for his company. You didn't have much of a life outside your classes, and things could get awfully dull without them. You were almost as upset about the cancelled class as Hamlet was.

But you wouldn't tell him that. He was far too much fun to mess with.

Besides, you had to be the stoic to his emotional mess. You had a role to stick to.

You wouldn't have it any other way.