This is purely self-indulgent because S3E12: Upper West Side Story is perfectly canon and Neal teaches romantic poetry with glasses. Cue, this everyone-needs-to-be-a-teacher!AU. :D

XXX

Of Vikings and Kingfisher Blue

XXX

"Mr. Caffrey."

He turns at the sudden knocking on the classroom door to see Peter Burke. There is still a stick of chalk in his hands as he raises an eyebrow at the interruption, dark framed glasses sliding just so down the ridge of his nose.

"Can I see you after class?"

The students are staring but of course, he is smiling in the next second like this is all well within his expectation (except for the all-telling gleam in his eyes, which makes it look as though this is all a part of something closer to anticipation instead.)

"Of course, Peter."

He gives him a steady nod before he turns back to the blackboard with dates dating back to the Post-Impressionist period, where van Gogh and Cézanne broke out of the old frame work, and pointillism and Fauvism dominate the scene with bolder colours than even he is comfortable working with.

That lasts all of five minutes before class ends with the bell ringing throughout the school and his students are bee lining for the door. He heads out after them with a faint smile that he can't quite hide.

"Don't undermine me in my own classroom, Peter. It's very undignifying."

He walks in with a frown that doesn't convince anyone, not when Peter is rolling his eyes in retaliation and disputes.

"You wear a hat to school, Neal."

"It's a tri—never mind." Neal huffs out in slight annoyance and gestures at Peter to continue. And Peter looks as though someone has just started another fire next to the one he just put out. He fastens a glare at the other and bites out. "Stop changing the Arts department's monthly projected spending to include your personal needs. We are not your personal shopping centre."

In this case, someone might as well set a hypothetic fire to his theoretical one because he is pointing at the papers, two fingers pushing just a little too insistent over the four or five lines of new canvases (not enough for a class but more than enough for one man) and paint supplies (who needs five different shades of blue? Kingfisher is not blue, Peter. It's part of the turquoise family. It's different. Or so Peter imagines Neal to say.)

"The department's got more than enough funds to cover these expenses. Also, I don't see you complaining about Mozzie and his liquid Nitrogen."

"Haversham's department, Haversham's problems." And to this day, Peter still won't poke at Neal and their science department head, Mozzie Haversham's friendship with a meter stick. He's heard Mozzie go off on an hour-long outburst more times than he cares to actively look for this brand of torture. "You are under mine, Neal. So, stop changing my files."

"But what about my students?"

"Neal, your students don't need a nude model, they've got the Internet for that." Peter glares at him, remembering last month's projected spending report. One less look at the papers and he would've brought it to Hughes for approval on a model posing naked in a classroom of the school.

"I could have the next Picasso in my class and you've just snuffed out that brilliance."

Neal doesn't exactly sniff but it comes close and Peter is still pissed off enough to know just how to get under the other man's skin (not that he doesn't know other ways but that's besides the point).

"I think we've got more than enough one-eared man painting blue squares."

"That's van Gogh," Neal bites back a swell of frustration that comes with the job description, "and—"

"Don't care, I teach European history, the kind with Vikings."

"I still don't know why you always make that a thing. Vikings aren't that cool." He ignores Peter's wounded look in retaliation for the low blow just before. Because when aren't they perfectly okay with playing dirty? Neal, for sure, hardly minds. "But fine, if I don't spend an extra penny of the department's money, it is my class, my curriculum?"

"…Technically."

"Then I'll just have to sacrifice myself for the benefits of enriching young minds."

Peter snorts. "Don't say that, you're a menace to this generation's youth."

"They love me for it." Neal doesn't add, you love me for it. (Not that that isn't implied.)

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Peter," he says his name like he is speaking to a particularly dull audience that has him biting back another yawn, "that means that I'll just have to be the model for my next life drawing class then."

Neal gives him a nonchalant shrug as he turns to leave, only pausing by the door to flash Peter a wicked smile in return.

"But you can sit in if you like, I might just wear one of my hats."

XXX Kuro

And if it isn't obvious, I don't know how education systems actually work.