Through the crystal clear window of Mrs. Kirkland's advanced English class, Arthur Kirkland would watch the football team spar during their weights class. His mother, obviously the English teacher, droned on and on about The Great Gatsby, while her son's gaze was ensnared by something otherworldly, something so stunningly handsome, something that was so incredibly unoriginal. The appearance of the star quarterback and fellow senior; Alfred F. Jones. Arthur couldn't help but to feel infatuated with that football player, nearly every student of either gender or no gender were floating on the very same boat-though it was a bit clichéd but Arthur didn't want to ponder about it for more than two minutes and twenty-three seconds.

Unfortunately, Alfred and Arthur never co-existed in their past. Arthur was always an embodiment of a rainy day, and that deeply harshed Alfred's constant chipper mood. So they never once become friends nor acquaintances, and only conversed when it came to projects and interviews for journalism.

And that put Arthur at a disadvantage compared to the other sods he was learning alongside. So, Arthur decided to do something about it; make a stand for once in his life. Something that was sure to catch every student as well as every teacher's attention. That's exactly why he didn't scribble his name on it.

'Aphrodite details who we love; matches us together with her eye; we may not know it; but we are destined to be.'

Hilariously cheesy, am I right? Or am I right?

Nonetheless, he planned on delivering it to Alfred's locker in the flesh. Take a hall-pass and sneak the note into Alfred's locker-Which just so happened to be side-by-side with Arthur's own. Once Mrs. Kirkland, Morrígan to her son Arthur here, had ceased her analyzing of, spoiler alert, Gatsby's death scene, Arthur ventured up to his mother's desk with a simple question on his mind.

"May I use the washroom?"

"Why yes, you may, love. Hurry back."

With a hastened thanks escaping his lips, Arthur skedaddled out of the classroom-with a skip to his step.

The halls were vacant, and Arthur's brown loafers caused boisterous clacking sounds against the blue-tiles he walked upon, and the classrooms were sealed off to shelter themselves from any stragglers wandering the halls to escape class if only for a moment. And chatter from both the expansive library and the tiny teacher's lounge clouded the whole school, with Arthur learning the secret to the perfect casserole as well as the status of Mr. Beilschimdt's younger brother health. Going back to the halls being vacant! Arthur descended a flight of stairs from the English infested fourth floor to the senior lockers on the third floor, in order to reach his navy blue locker. He was able to decipher which locker was his, since his was sandwiched in between the overly decorated lockers of Alfred and soccer star Francis Bonnefoy-yet his wasn't touched with touched with a flaming ten foot pole by the cheerleaders and their glittery handmade cards the waste class time on. Holding the folded paper to his chest, Arthur sealed off his emerald green eyes and silently prayed for the best in his tragic life-which was rather odd considering he hadn't a clue as to what religion he held the banner for. With one swift movement, Arthur slid the note through the grills of the locker; huffing as if he just concluded a marathon.

Then the realization that that very note was so incredibly stupid, that it would be used as quality blackmail if Arthur's cover was blown, smacked him upside the head. At a time that was entirely all too late; and the house of cards came crashing down. Arthur's face became flushed with a crimson red as his eyes nearly popped free from his eye sockets.

'Look at what you did, you bloody moron! Alfred's going to read it and see how pathetic you really are… How chipper! Antonio and Francis left you for a reason… Alfred was just going to do the same…'

Thank you kindly Arthur's demented conscious, he surely needed that to be said!

The obnoxious alarm shrieked, and the joyous chatter flooded into the hallways. The students swarmed past him as he stood cherry-faced and ready to collapse into a coma. He sighed deeply as he felt the faintest storm of tears tickle at the corners of his eyes. Arthur stared dejectedly at the floor as he started on his journey back to his mother's classroom. Francis, who was mentioned twice before, greeted him with a foreign word and an exchange student from Romania said hello as well, yet Arthur was too far along on the path of shame that he completely disregarded their existence.

"Love, that was certainly a long bathroom break." Miss Morrígan stated when her rain-cloud of a son walked on into the classroom.

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes… Is everything all right?"

Arthur shuffled over to his partially vandalized desk, his shoes sliding against the gross carpeted floor. "Define 'All right'." He said, picking up his stack of textbooks at the corner of his desk. "I think our definitions are worlds apart." He tacked on as he began to head over to the door.

Miss Morrígan tore the glasses off her face and set them down by her grading papers. "If my memory serves, that word means-" She started, yet was rudely interrupted by her sad sap of a son opening the door and exiting the classroom-his textbooks cradled in his arms. School had just concluded, it was also a Friday, so the hallways were near barren when Arthur returned to the scene of his crime. Save for a few stragglers dashing past him to head to the bus, Arthur Kirkland was completely, and utterly, alone by his locker. He was a gigantic ray of sunshine after opening his locker. Slowly placing his textbooks on a wire shelf her bought for that sole purpose, as he mumbled under his breath on how pathetic of a human being he was.

Then he hears it. A noise that made his heart shudder and flutter all at once. Arthur's muscles clamped up as the noise inched closer and closer. If it wasn't obvious by now, the noise was indeed Alfred F. Jones heading on up the steps from the second floor; his obnoxious voice ringing through the walls.

"Bloody hell." Arthur thought, as he began to act as if he was rummaging through his locker in search of a textbook-that he just shoved into his locker. "...hopefully this doesn't end like Hamlet…"

Alfred bid his twin brother adieu, since Matthew had to attend to his after-school club and all that, before approaching his locker-having to elbow Arthur's locker door out of his personal space. The American fumbled around with the grey lock before managing to remember the right combination, and watching Arthur's note fall out of the locker. Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach, as he saw-out of the corner of his eye-Alfred unfold the note and skim over it with those breathtaking blue eyes of his. When Arthur assumed Alfred was done reading his masterpiece-judging by three minutes that had slipped by after Alfred unfolded it-the Englishman slammed his locker shut, a notebook clutched tightly to his chest, as he attempted to evacuate the premise.

However, a floating being above his head had different plans.

"Hey, dude." Alfred called after Arthur began to book it, nonetheless he caught Arthur's attention once the bushy-browed man braked on his heels. "Did ya' see who slipped this in my locker?" He asked, more in a commanding tone than a sweet one.

"Perhaps I do." Arthur began, furthering catching Alfred's attention. "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I just wanna know."

"That isn't a very… good explanation…"

"It's the best I got."

Sighing, Arthur dug his stubby nails into the side and spine of his math notebook. "Yes, I do know who it is… but they wish to remain a secret." He lied straight through his teeth, hustling along back into his mother's classroom before Alfred could pry any further.

Once in the safety of the English classroom, Arthur's knees began to shake and buckle into themselves as he attempted the long stretch to his belongings. While Miss Morrígan's attention was bagged by her grading, Arthur slipped the notebook into his backpack before indulging in a few quick mental words of encouragement. Then Miss Morrígan raised her head up from the badly-edited essays to glance at her bouncing baby boy.

"Now do you wish to speak?"

"Give it until Monday… You'll hear some gossip, then we'll talk."

Arthur spent his Friday night wallowing in his shame. Being his grumpy old self while watching reality television to feel better about himself, while cuddling with his white and brown spotted cat and pouring his heart out to him. Before promptly consuming an entire box of Twinkies, then returning to his binge session of Real Housewives. However, the next day, Arthur didn't have the time to wallow in his shame; he was desperately needed at work and placed responsibility above all else.

After receiving a ride from his mother, Arthur began his part-time job at the three floors of a library located in the bustling heart of the downtown. His main task being, sorting the books and placing them in the correct order-either by a last name or by that blighted decimal system. Luckily, Arthur momentarily forgot all about yesterday's fiasco whilst skimming through a romance novel that peaked his interest. It was about some English professor falling in love with one of his students, while risking losing his son, yet the student happened to have fallen in love with his teacher and helped him cope with the impending trial. Arthur was very well near the end, when he felt a finger poke his shoulder and a voice all too familiar entered his ear.

Now let's just watch the shame flood right back in.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked, slamming the novel shut and presenting Alfred with a well placed glare.

All the jock did in the face of that glare was smile. "Y'know, heard from my bro that you work here an' all. And ya' kinda know who the person who wrote the note-"

"No." Arthur interrupted, attempting his best to keep his voice at a whisper.

"Aw!" Alfred whined. "C'mon, why won't you tell me"

"Because, that poor sod wants to remain anonymous."

"But…" Alfred whined once more, using his puppy-dog eyes as a weapon but it wasn't very effective against Arthur. So, he tried to bring out his inner muse. "No one's written me a note like that-"

"You're trying to sympathize with me, aren't you know? I'm a bookworm, I'm supposed to hate you."

"Let me finish!" Alfred demanded, his voice cracking in between volumes. "All I get are flat out proposes to, uh, y'know what I mean. And a whole squad of girls flirting with me at once. Not a single letter."

Arthur felt somewhat flattered, since he was the one who wrote the letter Alfred was complementing, yet the constant state of dread he was experiencing was causing him to hide who was the perpetrator with that note. "Once again, you're trying to sympathize with me."

"Ugh, you're so difficult…" Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, as someone down the aisle of books was presenting them with a confused look harboring in his eyes. "I'm asking-"

"Ooh~ Isn't that a new practice for you!"

"I'M ASKING that ya' tell me who wrote it, since you said you knew who wrote it, right dude?" Alfred pushed, breaking down Arthur's sarcastic walls. "If not, I'm just gonna find out on my own."

"Okay, have fun with that-"

Now it was Alfred's time to interrupt. "And you're gonna help me with it. You Brits like Sherlock Holmes, right? You, dude, totally have to be like him!"

Arthur felt his eyelids twitch, no doubt the man he was so infatuated with happened to be so idiotic as well. "You just labeled me a stereotype…" In the end, Arthur found himself sighing, as he set the book clutched in his hands down onto the cart. "My shift ends in an hour… I'll help you find out who it is then."