The next day at the university was as painfully awkward as one would expect after the night before. Mr. Alfred here was daydreaming, an elbow propped on the wooden surface his supplies were on and placed his hand underneath his chin, while listening to Professor Kirkland drone on and on about how British literature is far more superior than whatever trash American writers decide to spew out. Shakespeare is considered a glorious god of writing compared to Poe. And isn't Steinbeck a bit too overrated? Alfred couldn't comprehend a single word that tumbled forth from Arthur's mouth, yet he was so smitten with the Englishman, he adored every single word.

Ah yes, the details of Alfred's nauseating daydreams completely glossed over the unmistakable fact of Peter's presence. The new student for the day, as Arthur put it, or the week if conditions didn't clear up.
Since the landlady was quite the busy lady that day-her hands being full with her daughter going into labor with the landlady's granddaughter-so any child normally left in her protective care was to travel to their parent's work that day. When Arthur walked in with the miniature version of him following his every move-Peter's favorite stuffed fox donned in a red cape, named Oliver after the titular character from Oliver Twist, was being carried like a briefcase-and Alfred did a faint wave to the little thing, making sure no prying eyes would see such a thing happen. Peter sat in a foldout chair by his father's old oak desk, and swung his feet while both glancing at all the student's face and hugging fox Oliver to his chest. Yet, the little thing understood every word that Arthur said, he even knew the novels that were in the discussion, and even inaudible muttered to himself things such as. "I really liked that book!" or the alternative phrase to his stuffed animal. "Do you like that book, Oliver?"

When actually work was assigned to the students, a thorough reading of Finnegan's Wake-Arthur can go to Hell for assigning that hellspawn of a novel-Peter's attention was brought back to his father, who had just sat down at his very own desk. The little one was brought into Arthur's lap, the stuffed fox being abandoned in the lonely beige foldout chair, and surprisingly watched as Arthur graded homework from the night prior. (Which was the homework Alfred completed at the Kirkland's dining table, and he had asked Peter for some aide on most of the questions.) Peter would lean closer to his father and ask "What does that word mean?" before Arthur cracked a stunning smile and whispered it's meaning to his offspring. "Well, poppet-"

With all that occurring, Alfred couldn't keep his mind focused on the blighted novel before him, hell he didn't even get passed the first sentence! The American kept on staring at the two before him, his future family as the landlady foretells. Arthur's perfect smile that sent shivers down Alfred's spine, Peter's round eyes constantly brimming with curiosity, Arthur's beautiful body and rugged personality, Peter's likeness to Alfred himself… Everything about them made his heart flutter.

What a sappy sod.

Then, the class had ended. The other students filed out with hastened movements, while Alfred lingered behind for a bit. "Alfie!" Peter cried out after he was set down from Arthur's lap. His chubby baby-fat ridden legs carried the rest of Peter over to the American, which Alfred responded by picking up the little thing-such a lightweight to him-and balanced him on his squared hip.

"'Sup, lil Brit." Alfred responded as he took small steps over to Arthur's desk; the Briton showcasing a small smile at the sight.
"His babysitter was out, so he gets to work with me for the entire day." Arthur explained, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Good thing it is, though. He knows more about great American novels and British literature than you ever will."

"Geez, that really hurt." Alfred said, wincing just a smidge as Peter looked at him with slight pride showing on his baby-features. "But I feel sorry for Pete… Having to listen to your lectures all day, this kid deserves a Purple Heart for that." He retorted, Arthur's eye visibly twitching. "If he doesn't wanna stay here, I can take him back to the apartments. I have one last class at three, so I'll just give him back before then!"

Arthur was intrigued, no doubt Peter would get rather bored later on in the day and complain about the books being taught similar to how Alfred would before them. "Would you be so kind?" He stood up from his swivel chair, arms crossed over his pathetically thin chest, and eyes staring on expectantly.

"Yeah! We can watch superhero cartoons and have an awesome lunch!"

Now Peter was struck with the sudden feeling of excitement, his smile widening bigger and bigger as if it were to overcome his baby-sized face. "Can I, Papa!"

"What's the correct saying?"

"Uh… May I, Papa!"

"Yes, you may. Just don't eat too much sugar or you'll get a stomach ache." Arthur advised while handing his son the fox animal he abandoned not too long prior.

With a quick peck being their parting kiss, Alfred disembarked from Arthur's classroom with Peter in his muscular arms. Peter was rambling on and on about what superheroes were his favorite, which was a topic already covered at the ice cream parlor earlier on, and how his father was missing out on some quality fun time-which Alfred couldn't disagree with. Some of the lingering students waiting about in front of the English building, stringing down to the parking lot even, presented the duo with bewildered looks. Wasn't that Professor Kirkland's son? Why was the kid blabbering off about superheroes? Why is that hunk of a college senior carrying that kid as if the annoying thing was his son? Luckily, the students shrugged their questions off and returned to their trivial activities by the time Alfred and Peter had reached their means of transportation.

Alfred ensured Peter was buckled up tight in the passenger's seat, stuffed Oliver lying idly in the youngster's small lap, before taking off to the apartments.
"After you left this morning, Papa told me that you're gonna be around for awhile. Is that true?" Peter asked, as he watched the cars zoom by through the windows of the sports car-blue eyes wide with excitement.

"Yeah, I plan on bein' around for as long as I can."

"Papa's more happy with you." Peter turned his attention to Alfred, yet another huge curl to his lips present, as they reached a stop light. "My friend Wendy doesn't call him Grumpy Bear anymore!"

Alfred let out a chuckle and ruffled Peter's blonde locks underneath his hand before the red light hastily turned green and they were off once more.

Yet… There was a foreign car in the parking lot when Alfred arrived. Some sports car far nicer than what Alfred here had possessed. Peter eyed the car but nonetheless, Alfred had carried the two of them inside; where he came in contact with another oddity. Down the hall, where the landlady's room was located, there was a bleach blonde lady banging on the oak door. Her voice was booming, which inclined Peter to curl in closer to Alfred's chest due to the sudden noise.

"Open the door you old hag!" was a phrase that was repeated a million times while the lady was banging her knuckles against the door. Some… other profanities were shouted, but Alfred practically jogged up the stairs so little Peter wouldn't add anything new to his vocabulary.

Alfred and Peter arrived to the American's apartment in record time-Alfred's roommate being absent on account of school as well as a new girlfriend he picked up earlier that week. Alfred set the little Briton down on his feet in order to unlock his door and allow both of them inside. "Welcome to mi casa." Alfred announced as Peter trudged on in with uncertain steps-since the room was enveloped in darkness and the smell of rotten pizza. The little one's face still held confusion even as he was set in front of the television, and even as Alfred momentarily abandoned the room to return to his car for his backpack he left behind in his car.

Though, on the way down the stairs, he ran into the same woman who was yelling at the door. "Hey." She let out. "You know Arthur Kirkland?"

"Uh... yeah." Alfred replied, a little uneasy about this current predicament.

The lady held out a envelope for Alfred, and watched as Alfred snatched it from her ever so slowly. "Give that to him." She demanded, swishing her hair as she waked off.

Curiosity killed the cat they say, since Alfred ripped open the envelope and skimmed over the letter. The identity of the woman was solved as well as the connection to Arthur by that simple letter.

The court hearing to decide who has custody over Peter was next week.