Arthur quietly entered his dorm room, in case Gilbert had decided to go to bed early, regardless of how much he doubted that occurrence. It was only eight-thirty at night.

Sure enough, Gilbert was still awake, but, instead of watching the news like before, he seemed engrossed in his typing of something. Gilbert looked up.

"Hey, Artie. You're back sooner than I expected."

"Translating everything was going to be too hard. And, don't call me Artie. What are you writing?"

"I figured I'd get a start on that English assignment."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I thought you decided to put that off until tomorrow."

"Nah. I decided to put off thinking about procrastinating this essay until tomorrow. And while I'm not thinking about procrastinating the essay, I might as well do the damn thing."

Arthur nodded slowly. "Charming. Have fun with that."

"Yessir." Gilbert made a mock salute before going back to his work.

Arthur sat on his bed with a sigh, opening up his cooking book to get the notes done.

"Hey, Artie."

Arthur didn't bother to argue. "What?" he asked without looking up from his work.

"Would it be safe to assume that Shakespeare was not a meteorologist?"

Arthur scrunched his eyebrows as he looked up at Gilbert in disbelief. "...Yes."

"How would you know?" Gilbert retorted. "For all anyone knows, he could not have even existed, and all of his stuff would have been written by aliens. That would explain why they messed all the English up."

"Two things. One, if you were going to stubbornly argue with me from the start, why would have asked my opinion? Two, that idea is so ridiculously absurd that if you were to include that in your essay, you would probably be sent to the guidance counselor for your problems."

Gilbert made a face. "And here you were muttering about me not being a 'quality roommate'," he grumbled.

"I have a reason to complain."

Gilbert sighed. "Thanks for making this essay even worse than when I started… eh, you only live once. I should be okay if I provide evidence."

"Devil's Proof does not count as evidence."

"Devil's what?"

Arthur sighed. "Look it up."

"Fine, grumpy-trousers."


"Feliciano. Do you happen to know anybody named Ivan Braginski?" Arthur asked the Italian as they were measuring out ingredients- the one thing Arthur could usually do without injuring someone. Matthew was manning the stove on the other end of their little kitchen.

"Why do you ask?" inquired Feliciano, chopping up tomatoes with a deftness that made Arthur a little jealous. Rule number two of their kitchen was to not let Arthur near any knives.

"I figured you would know. You seem to know a lot of people."

"Hm, I actually don't know much about him. I do know his sisters, though. Katyusha and Natalia."

"Natalia?" He knew the name 'Braginski' had sounded familiar. He had met her yesterday, and she seemed to one of Alfred's friends. If Natalia was connected to Alfred, did that mean Ivan was too?

"Si. She's one year younger than us, I think. Katyushi is one year older. If I remember correctly, Ivan was in our grade."

"Was? As in, not anymore?"

Feliciano looked at Arthur like he felt he said too much. "Uhm, yeah. He transferred out last year."

There was a beat. Arthur frowned slightly. "He transferred? Leaving his sisters here?"

"Crazy, right?" Feliciano laughed nervously. "I think I remember hearing that his parents divorced."

It was a sound explanation, to be sure, but the way Feliciano was acting did not dispel Arthur's suspicions. Perhaps the town did not condone divorce, or maybe Feliciano was uncomfortable about it.

Or it could be something else entirely. Something Feliciano would not- could not- tell him.

"May I have the ham, Arthur, please?" Matthew asked to him, turning from the stove.

"Sure," Arthur gave Matthew the cut-up ham. "What are we making, again?"

"An omelet."

"Eggs? I could never make eggs right," Arthur sighed.

"Well, the good thing about eggs is that if you mess up one type, then you can just go crazy and make scrambled. All you have to do is not burn them," Matthew pointed out.

"Yeah…," Arthur frowned. "Easier said than done, in my case."

Matthew chuckled. "I'll believe that."

Mrs. Thompson was happy with Matthew's eggs, though she did comment that she was anticipating something more unique. Arthur smiled a little. It didn't seem like she knew that the only reason Matthew's cooking magic was needed was because Arthur usually managed to turn the kitchen into a nuclear factory.

However, their group's 'normal' eggs were nothing compared to the nuclear waste Gilbert's group decided to turn in. Arthur swore that parts of the omelet were burnt while other parts were raw, if that were even possible. Mrs. Thompson just smiled at it and commented that it looked very unique. She didn't eat any of it. Looking onto the scene, Arthur absently wondered if his mere presence in the classroom affected the ability of others' cooking. It would not surprise him.


Arthur sat with Feliciano, Lovino, Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert again at lunch. He didn't think Matthew had the same lunch as the rest of them, otherwise he would have gladly sat with the quieter boy. Feliciano was fine to spend prolonged amounts of time with, but he always asked why the school never served pasta for lunch, and Arthur had to keep telling him to wait for dinner.

At the other end of the long table sat Alfred, and Arthur couldn't help but keep looking in his direction. He didn't know why he had such a fascination with him, and Arthur was nervous. He wasn't sure if the reason really was just because Alfred never spoke, or if it was something bigger, like Gilbert always said.

Alfred was sitting with the short-haired blonde he saw him with the previous day, as well as another girl, with dirty-blonde hair coming to her chin. The other girl looked soft-spoken and gentle, and the three of them looked like they were doing an assignment together.

"Feliciano, do you know who those girls are?" Arthur asked him. "Sorry to keep asking you to identify people."

"It's okay!" Feliciano smiled and looked at the two girls sitting by Alfred. "Oh, there's Katyusha; I was talking about her earlier, yes? The shorter-haired one. And the other one is Lilliana. Or just Lilli, to her friends. She's really nice. She's a sophomore, and Natalia's best friend."

Gilbert overheard Arthur and Feliciano's conversation and smirked. "Crushing on the girls now, are we?"

"Be quiet!" Arthur snapped, frowning. Gilbert laughed.

"Bad idea, mi amigo," Antonio interjected. "Lilli's older brother is a senior, and he's known for his protectiveness. Vash Zwingli is his name. Anyone who messes with Lilli is visited by Vash in the middle of the night and never seen again…. At least, until a few weeks later when they get out of the HOSPITAL."

Arthur made a face. "You cannot be serious."

"Oh, he is," Francis affirmed.

"Isn't that against school rules?"

"It's off campus, and nobody who survives his wrath has the guts to tell the police."

"Yet they tell their friends at school, who can tell administrators…."

"Well… it's just hearsay, anyway," Francis admitted. "But he's pretty intimidating. The stories wouldn't exist if he were at least somewhat threatening."

Arthur shuddered. "I suppose it's nice that he loves his sister…."

"Yeah," Antonio laughed. "I'll feel sorry for whoever ends up being her husband."

Francis laughed along with him as Feliciano, Romano and Antonio stood so they could get their food, leaving Gilbert and Arthur alone at their end of the table. Gilbert turned to Arthur. "Why don't you just talk to Alfred, instead of going all Holmes on him?"

"I don't want to pry," Arthur half-lied, though he knew Gilbert knew that he was nervous about talking to the other boy.

"If you want to convince me that you don't have a crush on him, then why are you so nervous?"

"I'm curious about him. Why he doesn't speak and all of that. You know that."

Gilbert frowned. "Do you think that there's some mysterious and totally interesting reason about why he doesn't like to talk? You know, it could just be a throat condition or a generally cynical worldview. Why can't you just ask him why? Then you can put your imagination at ease."

"I can't ask him something like that. It would probably be insulting."

"It wouldn't be as creepy as stalking him, though."

Arthur sighed as the other members of his lunch band returned with their food. "Let's just drop it for now."

Gilbert shrugged. "Fair enough. You'll come to terms with your latent feelings someday, Sherlock."


For the first time since he had attended the school, Arthur was lost. Luckily, the day was over so he wasn't going to miss any classes. However, he needed to get his English essay finished, and he was eager to get back to his dorm room before Gilbert so he would have some time to concentrate.

Arthur sighed. "Aliens…," he said while shaking his head. "I hope Gilbert wasn't serious about that."

Arthur stopped and looked around him. It seemed that this part of the school was older than the portion he spent most of his time in. The walls were of a darker brick, and there were fewer windows. Arthur felt like the walls were closing in on him- the hallways were narrower here, and it was an oppressive force.

Arthur began to walk again. He turned a corner and spied a classroom. A weak sound was straining from the small room and Arthur, brows furrowed, crept closer to investigate. It was music, Arthur noticed. He peeked into the classroom through the window in the door.

The room itself looked like an old choir room. It was still outfitted with a blackboard, instead of a dry-erase one. Judging by the bare walls, the lack of any music or other teaching materials, and the really old-looking piano, he assumed the room had long fallen out of use. The new chir room was near Gilbert's piano classroom, Arthur remembered. He recalled seeing students singing outside one of the rooms when Gilbert had insisted Arthur go watch him play piano.

The music he had been hearing stopped. From where he was standing, Arthur couldn't see who had been playing. Arthur assumed this room was now reduced to a practice room. It was only now that he noticed the spare instruments in their cases scattered around the room.

The music started again. The sound wasn't horrible, but Arthur felt that it was very strained. The instrument being used was a stringed instrument, Arthur could tell. It didn't sound much like a violin though, which was what Arthur was familiar with- it went too low. Maybe it was a viola?

Arthur succumbed to his urges and opened the door, entering the old classroom to see who was playing.

He certainly did not expect to find Alfred there with what was undoubtedly a viola, struggling to play a passage in his sheet music.

Arthur knew that Alfred was at least a little musical, but he didn't know that Alfred played anything other than piano. This discovery made Alfred a little less of an enigma. He wasn't just "the silent boy".

Alfred did not notice Arthur's entry, still attempting to play the passage he was working on. Arthur watched him for a few moments longer, noting Alfred's posture and playing technique.

"You should relax," advised Arthur, without thinking of how Alfred would react. Alfred jumped- the poor boy almost dropped the viola in his surprise, turning to look at Arthur. Arthur felt a little guilty about startling the other boy, and he put his hands up and apologized.

"I'm sorry… I was lost and I heard music. I play violin a little, and I couldn't help but notice your struggle."

Alfred nodded slightly and smiled a little, sending a wave of relief through Arthur. He didn't know Alfred much at all, and was not sure how he took criticism.

Alfred lifted his instrument again and stared at Arthur with his bright blue eyes, as if waiting for Arthur's critique.

Arthur smiled and went closer, reaching to Alfred's left hand and gently straightening his wrist, slightly changing the hold he had on the instrument.

"If you keep your wrist straight," started Arthur, "It'll be easier for you to use your fourth finger to hit some of those notes."

Alfred nodded. Arthur continued.

"You can have better control of your bow arm if you bend all of your fingers of your right hand. It'll help absorb shock and allow you to do more with it. Just make sure you are relaxed, and enjoy yourself."

Alfred nodded again and let Arthur guide him to the correct posture.

"Try playing again. Just the first measure of your passage, though. Baby steps, you see."

Alfred did as he was instructed, playing the notes correctly. Arthur smiled; Alfred had already improved, and with just a few posture recommendations, too. Arthur felt proud that he was the one who have helped him.

An hour passed. Arthur was impressed at how fast Alfred learned- it was clear that Alfred was very musically talented. Arthur didn't understand why he was so far behind. Maybe he didn't ask for assistance enough, or was ignored because he seemed so quiet.

"You are really improving quickly." Arthur smiled, and Alfred stopped playing to look at him. Alfred stared at him before smiling back with a nod.

"Well… I should probably get going," Arthur said, stretching. "I have to finish that essay…. Have you finished it?"

Alfred nodded as he loosened his bow.

"I am uncertain about what I want to write about, exactly. Gilbert was talking about aliens and things. I'm worried for him."

Alfred laughed quietly as he put away his instrument. Arthur stared. It was the first sound he had ever heard Alfred make. Something about it made him smile.

Oh my goodness, I must be the creepiest person alive.

"Well, thanks for letting me do this for you. Uhm… if you like, I'll be willing to help you again."

Alfred thought for a moment, and then nodded in affirmation.

Arthur grinned. "Great. I'll see you tomorrow." He turned and left, hoping he looked more stoic than he felt. In truth, Arthur was ecstatic. His friendship with Alfred was coming about, slowly but surely. He felt a little silly for being so nervous around the other student- it felt almost natural to be around him. He got a different feeling with Alfred than with Matthew, though, and that concerned him slightly.

Alfred smiled and packed up his music.


Arthur entered his dorm room. Due to his impromptu viola lesson with Alfred, Gilbert was already there and watching the news.

"What's up, Artie?"

"I did what you advised me to. I just spent an hour actually talking to Alfred."

"Ooh! Did he say anything back?" Gilbert propped himself up on his elbows eagerly.

"No," Arthur went to his desk and opened up a Word document on his computer. "I just helped him with his viola playing."

"Maybe next time. You play viola?"

"I play violin. But the technique is very similar until he gets too advanced for mere violin crossover."

"Cool. So, happy you get to be with your crush?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't have a crush on him!"

Gilbert grinned. "Oh, yeah, sorry. You're just curious, huh? As far as I'm concerned, that's pretty much the same thing."

Arthur shook his head. "Leave me alone. I have to finish this essay."

"Now who's procrastinating? Hey, do you want to read mine?"

"Wait until I'm done. I just need to write the last paragraph."

"Paragraph? I only have one paragraph. I hope that's good enough."

Arthur ignored him, beginning to type as Gilbert watched television nonchalantly.

A solid twenty minutes passed until Arthur saved his essay with satisfaction, relieved that he was finally finished. "Okay, I'm done. Let me read yours."

Gilbert eagerly jumped up and retrieved his essay, bringing it over and handing it to Arthur. Arthur took it gingerly, noting that Gilbert was not lying when he said the paper was only a paragraph long.

Gilbert Beilschmidt

Mrs. Moran

Advanced English Language

23 October 2013

Shakespeare's writings are well-known for their lessons and themes hidden in the drama. Some of his most famous pieces of works are his tragedies such as Macbeth, Hamlet, and Romeo and Juliet. Upon further inspection, it is very clear that Shakespeare did not only integrate very humanistic themes, but became a prolific figure in the scientific world. Regard page 33 of Hamlet. The rises and peaks of the poetry lines- for Shakespeare wrote in iambic pentameter- correlate very closely with the pattern of earthquakes in California during 1933. A particularly long line on page 33 obviously refers to the 1933 Long Beach earthquake. This leads to a particularly jarring question: how did Shakespeare know that that earthquake was going to happen, centuries later? This is because our human perception of time is different from the perception experienced by the alien species undoubtedly floating about the Universe- their time is different, and they can experience all events simultaneously, and they decided to write about earthquakes in code. This theory of time is supported by many scientists. In conclusion, Shakespeare is an alien- or a group of aliens- who wrote about earthquakes and, if one were to turn the book upside down, rain patterns (another line on page 33 of the book refers to the 1933 Chesapeake–Potomac hurricane).

Arthur had no words. Gilbert's works cited, on the next page, consisted of the book itself, Wikipedia articles on the 1933 Long Beach Earthquake and the Chesapeake-Potomac hurricane, and a scientific blog talking about time.

"I could figuratively tear this apart and tell you that you will automatically get a failing grade on it… but it is so extraordinary that trying to do so will probably amount to physical injury on my part, so I'll let you fly with it."

"Great! I wouldn't change it anyway. Besides, surely you know that this is supposed to be a satirical piece, right?" Gilbert took the essay back with a grin.

"Satire?" asked Arthur.

"Yeah. We are always looking so deeply into this whole thing in English class. Why do it? Do you really think that the author would have done something just so people would tear it apart and say, 'Well, he used a semicolon here to demonstrate the oppression of the native people, yada yada yada'? No. I doubt he would have wanted that at all. So I'm trying to make a statement that looking so deeply into something and having the gall to say there is a 'wrong interpretation' is not the true meaning of literature. Literature should inherently give you a feeling of the meaning and theme. That's what makes good literature. We shouldn't have to fight for it. And, if we have to fight at all, then that's probably not what it was about."

Arthur frowned and thought about what Gilbert said. "I see…," he said. "That's actually very wise. Do you think the teacher will get it, though?"

"Even if she doesn't, I've made my point. That's all I care about." Gilbert smiled and flopped onto his bed. "What'd you write about?"

"I just wrote about the motivations of Macbeth and the influence of supernatural culture on his society. It's not as… unique as yours, certainly. I've always been interested in the supernatural."

"Like, Harry Potter?"

"Yeah."

Gilbert snickered. "So, you don't like Doctor Who, but you like Harry Potter? There's the stereotypical Brit I thought I knew."

Arthur sighed. "Shut up."

Gilbert just laughed.


"A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."

~Proverbs 18:24


AN: Ah, I love the viola. It is a beautiful instrument. It has the delicacy of a violin, yet also the richness of a cello. Someday, I will have a viola army and we will take over the world with benevolence and music. You have all been warned.