Vlad giggled, popping a piece of caramel popcorn in his mouth. Arthur took one from the bag, rolling it between his fingers, examining, before eating it. The three were sitting together in the school's courtyard, enjoying the small lunch break that they had before having to return back to class.

Well, Vlad and Lukas were enjoying themselves, with their shorts and short-sleeved t-shirts. Sweat trailed down Arthur's back and he mentally patted himself on the shoulder for remembering to put deodorant on that morning. Though they sat under one of the numerous trees in the courtyard, the shade and soft breeze did little to shake off the sweltering heat.

Stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth, Vlad's voice was muffled, half-chewed bits falling out onto his shirt and lap as he spoke. "An-and then I said to 'im, 'stay in your bed and go to sleep, or the boogeyman will come out, pull ya down under the bed, and we'll never see you again!' Didn't hear even a single peep that night."

Lukas chuckled, making a comment on how Vlad shouldn't talk with his mouth full. He received several chucked pieces of popcorn as a response.

Arthur snorted. "Yeah, because scarring your little brother's mind is totally going to make him stop 'misbehaving'."

Vlad threw his arms up in the air dramatically, eyes wide and mouth open with shock. "C'mon, Arthur! I'm just teasing him!"

"I agree with Arthur-" Lukas leaned back, propping his arms against the concrete for support "- you keep scaring your brother like that, he's gonna have some serious problems when he gets older. He could even turn out to be like you."

"Oh, and your brother Emil is definitely-" the two bickered back and forth, Arthur tuning them out. He pushed his sleeve up, wiping the sticky sweat off his forehead.

Arthur scanned the courtyard, eyes squinting in an attempt to not be blinded. Tables sat in a pit in the middle, trees, including the one Arthur and his companions had claimed, surrounded it and providing much needed shade. He could see the doors to the nice, air-conditioned cafeteria from where he was sitting, and wished that they had chosen to sit there instead.

Turning his head, he spotted something familiar, freezing. At a certain, crowded table, a particular caramel head sat, his head down and using his arms for a pillow, a black haired boy whispering to him and rubbing his back while the others leaned in towards him.

Arthur gripped against the concrete, an unfamiliar feeling making his hands shake. His shoulders tensed and he narrowed his eyes, staring. After about a minute though, he sighed, slumping over, reaching his arm to rub the back of his neck. He was still angry with what Alfred did the day prior. That must have been it.

He looked back towards Lukas and Vladimir- who he guessed were his friends now. The two were staring at him, eyes expectant. Arthur raised an eyebrow in return, but deflated, hanging his head down and slumping hi shoulders. "I'm... sorry. Just wondering who they were." He jerked his head towards the crowded table, mainly towards Alfred and the one whispering to him.

Vladimir nodded, Lukas turning to stare towards the group. Arthur could have sworn there was a tinge of longing in his gaze, but chose to ignore it, thinking it was probably nothing. Vlad gave Arthur a knowing expression, nodding his head towards Lukas. "It would be useful for you to know them, I guess." Vlad sat up, crossing his legs. "Those guys are part of the baseball and soccer team."

Arthur smirked. "You mean football team."

"Yes. Football team." Vladimir turned to Lukas, elbowing him in the side to get his attention. "Speaking of the football team-" he turned to Arthur, raising his brow "-American football team, I mean. Rumor has it that they're not going to have it this year.

Arthur perked up, propping his chin on his hand. "Why? Did some stupid jocks do something?" He watched the movies, the ones with American football players with sensitivity levels in the negatives, their IQs even lower. Ones that tormented the lives of those who didn't comply with their standards. Perhaps something had happened, something horrible enough to suspend the team for the year.

Vlad shrugged, grabbing another piece of popcorn. "Not enough people to play, I guess? It's not that popular."

"What do you mean, 'not popular'? Isn't it the best thing since sliced bread in America?"

Lukas turned towards him- "No, that would be Betty White." and looked back to the table.

Vlad rolled his eyes, telling Arthur to look it up. "The thing is, football is just not that popular. In fact, people here couldn't care less about football." He grabbed some popcorn, shoving it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing. "Now baseball, that's popular. Soccer, too, when it's not baseball season. I've never been to a football game before in my entire life. Been ta hundreds of baseball ones, though. I think Lukas used to play. Lukas?"

"Played in elementary school. Quit when I got hit in the face with the ball."

"And there ya have it. Those guys at that table over there, they're the best on the team. Not counting Kiku, though, he doesn't play. Alfred F. Jones, Gilbert Beilschmidt- that's Mr. Beilschmidt's eldest son, by the way- Antonio Fernández Carriedo- that sure is a mouthful- and, the one and the only, Mathias Kohler." Vlad wiggled his eyebrows when he said the last boy's name, which prompted Lukas to roll his eyes.

"Oh, shut up."

Arthur scooted up. "Wh- Mathias? Who's that?"

Vlad smiled, a small dent appearing in the middle of his chin. "Mathias is the boy that Lukas is smitten with. Watches him whenever he passes by, can't talk to him without turning into a stuttering pile of goo. Ya know, that kinda crush."

Lukas' cheeks spread with a color not unlike that of a pink rose. Turning his head into his shoulder, Arthur could barely make out his voice. "Knock it off, Vlad."

"Ok, fine. Fine. But you're going to have to face it and you know it."

Arthur tucked that small piece of information in the folds of his mind, saving it in case he would have to use it for future blackmail.

The three made small talk for the rest of the lunch break, topics like the weather and future homework coming up, Vladimir making the occasional joke at Lukas' expense. The entire time, though, Arthur's attention kept wandering towards that table.

Perhaps he had been harsh to Alfred yesterday. A bit too harsh. He knew the boy started crying when he left, could tell by his shaking and voice crack. Maybe he should go over there and apologize and-

No. Alfred deserved what he got. If he hadn't reminded Arthur of... that, then maybe he wouldn't have yelled at him. What he said was completely justified. Arthur nodded, sealing the fact.

When the courtyard started to empty out, the three exchanged their goodbyes, promising to see each other whenever they could. Arthur grabbed the now-empty bag of popcorn, throwing it away on the way to his next period, which happened to be choir.

He didn't know why anyone thought it a good idea to schedule a choir class after lunch, but he dealt with it. Mr. Vargas was a nice enough director, ignoring him after their introduction in favor of spending the period to paint vivid images of what this year contained. Arthur knew today would probably be much more eventful and that maybe he would get his part. He had no preferences, only that it wasn't next to the sopranos. Their voices often gave him pounding headaches, especially when they hit the highest of notes.

Arthur walked down the hallway, busy admiring the glittering trophies and banners yelling about past championship wins. He turned the corner, running into someone with an 'oomph'! Taking a few steps back, he adjusted the strap of his backpack. Looking up, a "my apologies" on the very tip of his tongue, he froze upon seeing him.

It was Kiku. Alfred's boyfriend. Arthur looked him up and down, at his pink t-shirt, his jeans, the few strings of black hair brushing against his chin, only to be nodded away, and he could tell that Kiku was doing the same to him.

The words on his tongue had shriveled up and died, the strong, sour feeling from lunch spiking up again. He smiled anyways, his words sweet like honey. "I'm terribly sorry-"

"Are you Arthur Kirkland?" His voice had a sharp, tense edge to it, making Arthur's smile falter. It was back up again in a moment.

"Yes, I am. And you are...?"

"Why don't we skip the pleasantries, if you don't mind."

His smile fell, replaced by the nastiest sneer he could manage. Arthur rolled back his shoulders, tensing his back. He lowered his voice so eavesdroppers would have a difficult time hearing. "What do you want, Kiku."

Kiku raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side, only to sigh, returning to his calm expression. "So you know me."

"What- do- you- want?" It wouldn't be long until the bell rang and he wanted to get to class on time. Kiku was keeping him from the choir room and if he didn't get out of the way soon... Arthur clenched his fists, gritting his teeth.

Kiku tugged down the hem of his t-shirt, the faces of animated characters stretching along with it. Arthur looked down. Kiku's fingers were clenching the fabric as if he were mustering the courage to talk to him. How cute.

"Alfred is my best friend. He has been since middle school. Alfred is the sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful person I know. And it will always be that way.

And you made him cry. Alfred, you made him cry. I don't know how, but you did. For three hours last night, he cried into my shoulder. For three hours.

I don't even know you, just a name and a face and what you did. But, I can't help but dislike you- no- hate you. For making Alfred... not Alfred."

Arthur sighed, lifting up his watch to check the time. Only a minute to get to class. As much as he was enjoying their heartfelt confession and ooey-gooey snuggle and cuddle time, he really needed to go. "I don't know about you, but I would like to get to my class sometime this century. Can we-" he rolled his hand in a circular motion "-wrap this up quickly?"

Kiku looked like a fish out of water with his gaping mouth. He was probably expecting Arthur to apologize in a frenzy, to have tears making tracks down his cheeks, pleading for forgiveness and saying that he didn't mean to hurt his little golden boy's feelings. Arthur snorted. He was being underestimated more and more these days.

He snapped on his sweet little smile from before, raising his voice to his normal volume, moving his arms to stand akimbo. "Is there anything else you need, Kiku? I wasn't lying, I really do need to get to class."

When he heard no answer, he shrugged, making a short humming noise to go along with it. Arthur pushed pass Kiku, strolling down the hallway. He could see the choir room from where he was.

"Please believe me when I say I don't take what I'm about to say lightly-" With a groan, Arthur stopped, contemplating whether or not he should have continued walking "- and I am rarely as livid as I am now. I hate you, Arthur Kirkland. I hate you with all my heart. I despise you because you hurt Alfred. My Alfred. And I will never forget it."

Arthur tried to make it seem like he was actually paying attention to this declaration, bopping his head side to side, left-right-left-right. Back turned to Kiku, he shrugged again, starting to walk. "How dramatic."

He didn't pay any mind to Kiku, who was stuttering after his response. He didn't pay any mind to his claims about Alfred crying into his shoulder for three hours the night before. Nor did he even care.

He pushed open the door to the choir room, cursing when he saw most of the seats were full. Mr. Vargas was standing at the front, writing something in loopy scrawl on the chalkboard. Arthur dashed to an empty back seat in the boys' section the farthest from the girls. Anything to get away from the sopranos.

When the bell rang, Mr. Vargas clapped his hands together, smiling with straight, pearl-white teeth. "Good afternoon, everyone." His smile grew wider when the class greeted back in uneven voices, Arthur for once choosing to respond with them. "We are a choir, and a choir is a family. Now, let's try this again, and this time, as a family. Good afternoon, everyone."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Vargas." Though it was monotone, the greeting was in unison, which seemed to please him.

Arthur watched as Mr. Vargas turned to the piano accompanist, a boy who looked to be the same age as Arthur with wrinkle-free clothing and styled hair. He whispered something to him, turning back towards the class.

"Yesterday, we went over last year's failures and triumphs. What we would fix and what we could keep on doing this year. Today-" Mr. Vargas stretched his arms above his head, rolling back his shoulders "-we will be 'choosing' sections."

The class groaned, Arthur not understanding why. Mr. Vargas slung his head back, groaning louder and more obnoxious than any of the students. "C'mon, guys! This is necessary. It is. We have new people come into this choir, who we'll consider family the moment they step in the door, and we have beloved ones who go and will be considered family even after they're long gone."

Arthur slumped back, rolling his eyes. He had no idea what Mr. Vargas' deal was with family, but he'll never consider these people that close to him. Ever.

But he still didn't know why his supposed family was so opposed to seats being arranged. Arthur looked around, several faces scowling, others indifferent. No evidence as to why the groans took place at all.

Mr. Vargas, still standing in front of the classroom, stood akimbo. "Who are our newbies this year?"

Arthur once again looked around. No one had their hand up. Which made him frown. Slowly, shyly, he raised his hand. Mr. Vargas' eyes snapped to him, smile getting wider and wider as his hand got higher and higher. Arthur wiggled his fingers in the air, brow raising as he did it. He had a feeling that he would be the first person subjected to the apparent torture that was picking seats in the Vargas regime of the high school choir.

Mr. Vargas cleared his throat, crossing his arms. "What's your name, young man?"

"Arthur Kirkland." With how many times he had been introducing himself lately, one would think that he had some elaborate and well thought-out way of doing it, but he didn't. No flourish, no nothing. While he had thought of doing an eloquent, "Arthur Kirkland, my dear lady or lord," he had decided against it, out of risk of being called a smart ass, which, while he would certainly take delight in being called one, he didn't really need at that moment.

Mr. Vargas nodded his head towards the piano. "Step up to the piano, son."

Arthur wanted to comment about how he wasn't his son and to never call him that again, but instead pushed himself out of his chair, walking up to the accompanist. Mr. Vargas stepped back, towards the two, looking at the keys. "Let's do... key of B."

He could hear the snickering of those behind them but chose to ignore it when the accompanist pressed the key. It was a bit too high, to the point where he would have troubles hitting the highest note. He gave a look to Mr. Vargas, who seemed to sympathize with him. "Go to the key of F, Roderich." Roderich played the key. "One octave lower. Perfect."

It really was better. Arthur allowed himself to relax a bit. Mr. Vargas turned to him, looking him up and down. "You have experience in a choir?"

Arthur wanted to cringe at the though. "Yes, sir. Seven years of church choir back in the UK." He hated every minute of it. The songs were boring, the director had a stick up her ass. Maybe four. No one in the congregation was ever happy with what they did and made sure to give their input after performances. Arthur had a sinking feeling that this would be the same thing.

"Better experience than some people here. How's sight-reading?"

"Mediocre."

"It'll be great by the end of the year. Roderich, play the starting note." Roderich pressed the key, the noise vibrating through the now silent room. "Now, I don't know what you're used to, but we do things a bit differently here. Watch." Mr. Vargas took a deep breath, Roderich playing the starting key again. "Va~ Za~ Zinga Zinga Zinga Zinga Zing." His voice was deep and rich, moving to the various pitches with ease born from decades of practice. "That one started with the starting note. The next one, you start with "re". Va~ Za~ Zinga Zinga Zinga Zinga Zing. And then you go on to "mi". Got it? Heh, I learned this at a director's camp a couple years back. Pretty good, right?"

Arthur nodded, not sure if he was doing it as a compliment to Mr. Vargas' learning or if to show he got it. He breathed in, his stomach expanding. Just as Mr. Vargas had done it, Arthur did the stupid assessment, going up the scale by one after each segment was over.

When it ended, he relaxed his shoulders, his cheeks hot. Turning to Mr. Vargas, Arthur raised his eyebrow. Mr. Vargas averted his eyes, bopping his a bit. Arthur couldn't tell if he was trying to build suspense or if Mr. Vargas actually didn't know what part to put him in, even after that minute of doing eight of those ridiculous segments. Mr. Vargas rolled his eyes back, running his fingers through his hair. "Uh... let's put you in~-" Mr. Vargas paused, lifting his hand to stroke his chin. He stood there for at least three minutes, Arthur beginning to understand why everyone hated this day. The man took forever to "choose" if he was even doing that. "-bass. Let's put you in the bass part."

Arthur sighed, shoulders slumping. Finally, they were done. He turned, walking back to his seat. Mr. Vargas called up the next victim, who Arthur felt a tinge of pity for, but that feeling disintegrated when he remembered the laughter behind his hack as he did his. And the fact that he was made to go first.

While funny at first, watching Mr. Vargas embarrass his students one by one in front of the entire class quickly grew to be dull and irritating. After the fifth guinea pig, a soprano whose voice was high enough to give Arthur a headache that felt like his brain was being viciously stabbed, he had finally had enough, discreetly sliding his current book from his backpack. Arthur had gotten multiple pages in when a very, very familiar name popped up.

"Alfred, my boy, come on up." Arthur jerked his head up, softly closing his book. He had forgotten Alfred was in the choir. Sure, he had seen him yesterday, joking and playing with some assumed friends of his, but he just dismissed it as yet another class with the fool who thought him to be Australian.

And there he was. Arthur watched Alfred as he walked from the back row to the piano. Alfred and Mr. Vargas shared toothy grins, giving each other a high-five. "Think I'm gonna go down ta bass, Mr. V?"

Mr. Vargas let out a deep, loud laugh. "We'll just have ta see." He turned to Roderich, nodding to the keyboard. "Give me a B."

Like it had what seemed like hundreds of times before, the room fell silent when Roderich pressed the key. Arthur watched as Alfred took a deep breath, fingers fidgeting. As Alfred sang the segments, his voice, while high, was pleasant and smooth. Arthur grinned.

Despite what Kiku said, Alfred looked perfectly fine. His smile was as bright, cheery, and, though he would never admit it to anyone, as contagious as it had been the day before. So either Kiku was a lying piece of rubbish, trying to get Arthur to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, or Alfred F. Jones could reign in his emotions quicker and more efficient than anyone he had every met. Even better than himself.

Alfred finished the last segment, high "do", looking at Mr. Vargas with hopeful eyes. Mr. Vargas rubbed the back of his neck. "Eh..." He was doing his suspense thing. Arthur groaned, leaning back.

Alfred's voice was whiny, and though Arthur had spent years of something like it dealing with Peter, he thought it cute. "C'mon, Mr. V!"

"Eh-" Alfred lifted off his heels, up-down-up-down. Mr. Vargas yelled, "Tenor!"

Alfred huffed, stopping his foot down with a "Darn it!". He then frowned, hanging his head down. Mr. Vargas gave him a couple of pats on the shoulder, which were hard enough for Arthur to hear the thumps even from where he was sitting, before nudging Alfred back to his seat.

When Alfred slumped back into the chair, kicking his feet at the carpet flooring, he turned his head in Arthur's direction. Arthur gave him a reassuring smile- which from him, was rare- but Alfred just scowled, looking away.

He tsked. Okay, maybe he had deserved a little bit of that, considering his little vent the day before, but the sooner Alfred realized that it was all his fault, he being the one who provoked Arthur, then they could put this all behind them and move along.

If Alfred was going to be like that, then fine. He would ignore him as well. Arthur turned his attention back to his book, opening it as the piano sounded. He rubbed his forehead, wincing at the high note. The rest of the period was going to be long, if he didn't kill himself first.

The bell rang, the class seemingly sighing with relief in unison. Arthur pulled his backpack from under his chair, shoving his book inside and zipping it up.

After an entire period, Mr. Vargas had only assigned less than half the class their sections, claiming that they would do the rest tomorrow. And the thing was, he probably knew what part a good number of people were, but, as Arthur had heard, Mr. Vargas enjoyed doing more than he had to, usually making the class suffer. Though, Arthur doubted the man really cared.

He stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. The classroom was quickly emptied, the only ones left being himself, Roderich, Mr. Vargas, and a few stragglers. Arthur was just about to clear out into the hallway, already having one foot out the door, when Mr. Vargas spoke.

"Arthur Kirkland?"

"He stopped, ducking his head back into the classroom. "Yes, sir?"

"Come here. I wanna talk to ya."

Arthur huffed, walking back towards Mr. Vargas' desk. Mr. Vargas and Alfred were at least on friendly terms, that much was evident, and he could've blabbed and blown out of proportion what had happened yesterday. Or maybe it was Kiku, the fool.

Mr. Vargas was leaning against his desk with both his hands propping him up on the veneer. "We have a Madrigal Choir here. Y'know what that is, right?"

"Madrigals are secular songs sung several centuries ago."

"Pretty much. I want you to join ours." He handed Arthur a paper, a smile widening on his face.

Arthur took the paper, looking it over with a scrutinizing eye. he raised his head up back to Mr. Vargas. "Why me?"

Mr. Vargas' cheeks darkened and he averted his eyes, raising his arm to rub the back of his neck. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his. "Uh..." he sighed, dropping his hand. "Look, my grandson- he has... troubles when dealing with other people. Rude. Pushes them away. Tries his best to humiliate them when he can." Mr. Vargas looked off, smiling about his brat of a grandson "-one time he held a fake mustache to one of Mr. Beilschmidt's sons, Ludwig, I think it was. You shoulda seen it. Hilarious.

But he's actually kind, gentle, caring to the people he cares about. And when he's in cooking club, talking about cooking, or just anything about it in general, he has something that he's interested in. He has something that he belongs to-"

"I'm not your grandson, Mr. Vargas." And he certainly didn't want to be compared to him, whoever he was.

" And I know that. But why did I ask you? Let's just say that your conduct isn't exactly a secret among the teachers. The ones that have you, at least. You need something to belong to. Now, I know you might say that you already have this choir, but you need something else. This, this could be it. Please consider it. We'd love to have ya." Mr. Vargas winked at the last part, Arthur smirking to go along.

Arthur didn't need to know about Mr. Vargas' grandson, nor did he care. He knew that the teachers were aware of his reports and he was flattered that they were talking about him. But that didn't mean that he needed or wanted to be asked to join a Madrigal Choir, of all things.

He nodded, moving his eyes corner to corner to make it seem as if he were actually considering it. "I- uh... will think about it."

Mr. Vargas' smile was blinding and he seemed elated as he put his arm on Arthur's shoulders, leading him towards the door. "I really hope you decide to do this."

Arthur nodded, walking out of the classroom. He turned back towards Mr. Vargas, giving a small smile. "I do as well, sir. have a good day, sir." He started walking down the hallway, making his way to his next class.

"Don't be who they want you to be, Arthur!"

"I'll keep that in mind, sir." He saw people staring at him, at Mr. Vargas. He glared at those people, snorting at their shocked faces, and walked faster.

Arthur would only join that stupid choir when Hell froze over.

A/N: Finally, this chapter is done! I apologize for not posting last week, I didn't get it typed until the Monday after. If I don't post one day, just assume that I'll get it the next Sunday and we'll go from there.

Thank you for reading, everyone! Have a great morning, day, and evening! See you all next Sunday!