Author's Note: Right now it looks like I'll be finished with this story around the fifteenth or sixteenth chapter, which isn't that far along! I'm pretty excited, and I hope you are too! Enjoy this week's chapter and remember to leave a review!

You can now find me on tumblr!

His first three classes were filled with absolute angels compared to the other two ragtag crews he had to deal with each afternoon. The morning classes handed their assignments in on time, never caused too much commotion, and made his job incredibly easy.

Then, as soon as lunch was over, he was greeted by complete beasts. Perhaps it was the sugar in their diets or the time spent conversing with their friends that made them so unwilling to stay still, but his final two classes of the day could be a living nightmare if he didn't remember to keep them on a tight leash.

First came the sophomore global history class. They were loud and difficult to entertain, meaning they often slipped into bouts of boredom and complained about studying the Crimean War. Why live in the past? The nineteenth century was long gone. The Glorious Revolution? Big whoop. The Magna-whatsit?

So, Arthur had devised a plan. He took a trip to the nearest costume store, bought himself a crown ornamented with fake jewels, a set of gold chains, and a scepter that seemed to have been designed for someone half his height. The next day, he made his grand entrance into the classroom as king of the estate.

"We're starting our own empire," he announced, and the room finally became silent. Twenty-two pairs of eyes stared back at him, and a few jaws hung open. Ol' Mr. Kirkland had gone around the bend. "But first, we need a name for ourselves. Any ideas?"

A notorious chatterbox in the back shouted, "The Twerkish Empire. You have to twerk twice a day or be exiled."

The class sniggered and seemed to approve of the less-than-tasteful title, and Arthur supposed he'd allow the fun for a day. He cleared his throat and took up a piece of chalk before writing 'Components for Building an Empire' in large print on the board.

"Right, then. We need to organize ourselves. What's the first thing an empire needs before it can establish its reign?"

"Land!"

Arthur clicked his tongue. "We can't invade and conquer yet. Think of all of our competition—the French, the Dutch, the Spanish, and the Portuguese. We wouldn't last a second at our current state. Think smaller… Basic, even. Remember what I said before—we need to organize ourselves."

He walked over to a student in the front row and handed him the scepter and crown. Then, he prompted the class again. "What do we need?"

"A king!"

Arthur smiled in appraisal and wrote down 'Ruler' on the board. "Long live the king. Well, he won't be living for very long if he doesn't have some protection and lackeys, so what's next? What is our king going to need so that he's a force to be reckoned with?"

The response came quickly this time. "A military?"

Arthur added the word 'military' to the list. "Very good. A strong military is going to be a necessity for us, especially this early on. Now, who's going to do the rest of the king's bidding?"

"People beneath him!"

"So, the rest of our government officials, then," Arthur said, putting 'government' on the list. "We're almost ready to start some quarrels, but we need something very important first. Something no one really considers until there's a lack of it…"

"Money!"

"And what do we need to generate money?"

"Tourism! We could erect a monument in our capital of a person twerking. It'll be an international symbol and our most popular landmark," another student suggested from the middle of the class.

Arthur shook his head and suppressed a laugh. "Well, tourism is a part of it, and so is infrastructure, but I'm thinking something more general. Every country has it, and some countries have stronger ones than others."

"An economy!"

"Precisely."

And thus, Twerklandia and the Twerkish Empire began to thrive. The class came up with all sorts of creative ways to begin world domination and to make citizens pay their taxes. As things became more intricate, problems arose with colonies, and neighboring empires grew troublesome. Arthur would help them find solutions by referencing tactics used by global powers throughout history.

They learned from those that came before. Don't rule with an iron fist like the Romans, but don't neglect your colonies and give them free roam like the British either, or you might end up with a revolution on your hands. Let them keep their customs, but make sure they know who really has power over laws.

Suddenly, the class wasn't terrified of history anymore, and everyone was slow to leave their seats even after the sound of the bell.

That was one nightmare out of the way. One more to go.

He'd just started Hamlet with his junior class, and they were quite resistant to Shakespeare. Arthur would've tied the students to their desks to hold them down if he could have. They practically seized and convulsed at the sight of Shakespeare, as though Arthur had been planning to give them all root-canals. It was a pitiful thing to witness, and Arthur had no choice but to be strict to make sure they kept up with the work.

Pop quizzes became a frequent threat, even though Arthur hated giving them. He had to check that the students were reading, and judging by the scores they were receiving on the quizzes that were announced, they hadn't even opened their books. Those who scored well often cheated, and Arthur was sick of the disobedience.

So, on one fateful Tuesday, he waited for the class to file in and said in a mockingly cheerful way, "Clear your desks."

The class groaned and shuddered, retreating into their comatose states. They looked as though they were dying.

"What is the term today's youth uses when they're reminiscing? Ahh, yes… Throwback? In that case, it's Throwback Pop Quiz Tuesday! I'm sure you all read scene five yesterday."

More groans, and Arthur felt a little sorry for them. "We talked about this," he reasoned before pointing to the poster he'd hung up on the wall. It stated, 'NO WHINING' in black letters with a giant, red 'X' through the center.

"Mr. K, this is like, so not fair."

"Actually, it is fair. The quiz is very straightforward if you read, Feliks."

"But no one read. Can't you just fail us now?"

"No, I won't allow any of you to fail. You're all capable of passing this class, as long as you do the work. We only have three weeks of British Literature left, and then we'll move on to our poetry section. You'll survive."

"UGH! Poetry? Can't you pick something cool for us to do?" Feliks pleaded, ready to get down on his knees.

Arthur rolled his eyes and simply handed Feliks his quiz. "Poetry is cool, if you learn how to properly appreciate it. Now, start writing—eyes on your own paper. Someday you'll thank me."

After ten minutes, Arthur collected the abysmal quizzes and plopped down into his chair with a heavy sigh. "Okay, Feliks you're our Hamlet for today. I can see you hiding, Tino—you can be the ghost of King Hamlet."

Performing the material made things less miserable, but half of the class still snoozed away in the background.

"Feliks, your father's ghost just told you that your uncle murdered him. Try to show some emotion," Arthur guided them along, losing interest himself. After a while, he decided he had to try something to salvage the lesson.

He briefly explained how Hamlet would soon begin his descent into madness, and as they read further along together, Arthur realized he was going to have to sacrifice his pride for the teens. Chiding himself for his poor decisions, he offered to perform as Hamlet in the following scenes, effectively waking the class out of their stupor.

He stood in the center of the class and put on his best acting voice, ignoring the grins and laughs he was attracting. He demoted Feliks to the role of Polonius. He then turned to the second scene of the second act and got into character.

Feliks started them off, "How does my good Lord Hamlet?"

"Well, God-'a'-mercy," Arthur replied.

"Do you know me, my lord?"

Arthur scowled for a moment and said, "Excellent well. You are a fishmonger."

A scattering of students in the back snorted and booed, "Oooh."

"Hamlet's throwing shade," Mathias joined in.

Feliks went on without missing a beat. "Not I, my lord."

"Then I would you were so honest a man."

"Honest, my lord?"

"Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand."

"That's very true, my lord."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing carrion—Have you a daughter?"

"I have, my lord."

"Let her not walk in the sun. Conception is a blessing, but, as your daughter may conceive—Friend, look to it," Arthur finished, putting up a hand to pause their exchange for a moment. "Can anyone tell me what just happened there?"

Crickets. Crickets for miles.

"I told Polonius not to let his daughter walk in public, lest someone impregnate her… Not the best thing to say in casual conversation."

The class livened up and started pushing Feliks to continue. "Beat him up, Polonius! How can he say stuff like that about your daughter?"

"Fight, fight, fight!"

Arthur hastily diffused the excitement. "I think that's a good place to stop for today. You'll finish the scene for homework. Be prepared for another quiz."

"Awwww!"

Fortunately, the bell rang a second later.

"Dad! Dad! Daaaad!"

Arthur dropped his newspaper on the kitchen table and gave Matthew a patient smile. "I heard you the first time, my boy. What it is?"

"Did you get my report card in the mail?"

"Yes, I did."

"And…?"

"You did wonderfully, as always. I'm very proud of you," Arthur said, depositing a kiss in the boy's hair. "You even made the honor roll again."

Matthew smiled and set his dimples on display. He hugged Arthur around the waist, overjoyed when the man returned the embrace. He decided he liked positive attention far more than the negative kind. "How did Alfred do?"

Arthur patted his back and returned to reading the paper. "You don't have to worry about that—it's my job."

"I heard he did really badly in—"

"That information is between Alfred and me," Arthur interjected with a stern expression. "I'll think about his grades, and you can focus on keeping up the excellent work, all right?"

But Matthew didn't seem ready to quit yet. "Is he going to get in trouble?"

"Matthew, please."

"Are you going to yell at him?"

"No one is going to yell at anyone."

"Is he getting his videogames taken away?"

Arthur rubbed the spot between his eyes and pointed a finger at the doorway. "That's enough. Go and take your bath before bed. We don't meddle in the business of others, do I make myself clear?"

Matthew frowned. Maybe he'd still get to hear the drama unfold from upstairs. "Yes, Dad."

When the boy was on his way, Arthur sighed and put his face in his hands. Alfred had done rather poorly in his American history class, but one could hardly blame him. Much of his free-time was spent at doctor's appointments and physical therapy sessions, so he wouldn't have had the time to study and complete all of his homework even if he had tried to apply himself.

Thus, Arthur was faced with quite the dilemma. He wanted to lecture Alfred on the importance of schoolwork, but the boy had already gone through so much in such a short amount of time that he couldn't find the heart to add to his mountain of problems. He didn't want to treat Alfred like a sick child; he didn't want to use his injury as an excuse to spoil him, but he couldn't exactly treat his son like a healthy child either.

Francis finished his shift early, and joined Arthur in the living room later that night to work out the predicament. They called for Alfred and watched as he limped his way down the stairs. He kept his head bowed, and his shoulders quivered as he sat on the awaiting couch. He waited to be scolded or sent to an early bedtime, but his parents merely whispered something amongst themselves and gave him identical, neutral expressions.

Francis was the first to speak. "Alfred, we know you've been under a lot of stress. It's not easy to focus on school when other things are going on. This doesn't mean school isn't important. We know you've been trying to do well. Some of this is our fault. We put too much on your shoulders at once, and we're sorry. It's time we slow down and take things step-by-step. You won't be playing soccer anymore with that leg, so you'll have more time to yourself during the weekends."

Alfred crossed his ankles and said, "Can I stop physical therapy too?"

Arthur jumped in, serious and stern. "Absolutely not. Your health is above everything else, and physical therapy is the only way you'll be able to recover effectively."

"But I don't like it!"

"You don't have to like it. It's what's best for you," Arthur insisted, looming over him. "Love, we can't stand to see you in so much pain, and we will do everything we can to help you heal. This means we need you to cooperate with Toris and the doctors."

Alfred puffed out his chest and glared. "It's my leg."

"We're your parents, and we get to make the discussions regarding your health."

"It's not fair!"

Arthur put a hand on his hip and sent Francis a defeated frown. Then, he turned back to Alfred and pursed his lips. "Our decision is final, Alfred. You will do as you are told."

"No, I'm not going!"

"Alfred."

"No!"

"Don't raise your voice at us."

"I don't care!"

Sensing that the hysterics wouldn't be ending any time soon, Arthur snatched Alfred up by his arm and firmly led him to the nearest corner of the room. He dragged a wooden chair over to the spot and told the boy to stay put for fifteen minutes. He didn't like doling out punishments, but Alfred was dipping his toes into dangerous water.

"I don't want to hear a sound out of you until I say you can speak."

"I'm not a baby!" Alfred shouted at the wall in front of him, defiant. "No one ever listens to what I want!"

Arthur had a sharp look in his eyes. "If you keep talking, I'll add on to your punishment."

Alfred could tell the man wasn't bluffing, so he directed his anger at the corner instead, thinking about how much he hated the world and how his parents didn't care about him because they never let him make any decisions for himself. How had he managed to live under their tyranny for years? He'd pack up his things and run away at the earliest convenience. He wasn't loved here. His parents just bossed him around whenever they pleased.

No more baths, no more bedtimes, no more practicing manners and sharing with his brother. He'd take to living life on the streets. He'd be tough. He'd fend for himself. He didn't need adults to tell him what to do anymore. He was big enough to do things on his own.

He lost himself in his scheming, and he barely noticed when Arthur put a hand on his shoulder to let him know his time was up.

"Have you calmed down? Can we talk now?" Dad asked him, lending a hand to pull him up to his feet.

"I'm moving out," Alfred declared once he was upright. "I can do things by myself."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and exchanged an amused look with Francis. "Hmm… I knew this day might come. I suppose you're right, Alfred. You're a big lad now. You can do your own laundry, and cook, and clean, and work to make money, and put bandages on your scrapes when you fall, and tuck yourself in at night, and read stories, and take medicine when you're ill, and—"

Alfred's triumphant smirk fell to the floor. He had to do all of those things? He could go without washing his clothes for a while, but he couldn't cook aside from making himself a sandwich. He hated cleaning, and he was pretty sure kids his age weren't allowed to get jobs. He could tough it out if he got sick or injured, and he could read himself a story, but it wasn't the same. He liked having Dad and Papa do those things—they always did a better job. They knew how to make a scrape stop hurting and how to make someone feel better when they were sick. They knew how to fix anything with a hug or some soft words.

"D-Do I have to move out now?" Alfred worried, chewing on his lower lip.

Arthur grinned and gave him one of his magical, one-armed hugs. "We might as well keep you around for a while longer," he teased, guiding the boy back to the couch. "Will you behave?"

How could Alfred stay upset when Dad made it so easy to love him again? He shifted his gaze between each of his parents and sighed. "Yes… I'm sorry."

"We're going to bring up that history grade of yours together, okay?"

"But I'm bad at history."

"Nonsense. History is in your blood, you just have to search for it," Arthur explained, tapping Alfred's nose to bring a smile to the boy's face. "Anyone can be good at history, and it can be fun too. But for now, you should get some sleep. We'll talk about this in greater detail in the morning."

Francis took over and sent the boy off to get ready for bed. When he had bathed and was dressed in his pajamas, both men escorted Alfred to his room, where Matthew was waiting for his return.

"Did they ground—?" Matthew paused when he saw his parents enter, and his face flushed red. They each gave him an admonishing look. "I mean…"

Arthur clicked his tongue at the nosey twin. "Enough. It's time for bed."

Something about everyone being gathered together in the same room made the boys cozier. Arthur and Francis were talking to one another in soft, pillowed tones, and neither twin wanted them to leave. It was pleasant to hear their parents discuss mundane things in the twilight.

"It's going to rain tomorrow. What do we have to do for a little sunshine every now and then?" Francis groused before turning off the lamp.

"April showers bring May flowers," Matthew chanted.

As though Francis's body suddenly remembered the month, he suffered through a scratchy sneeze. "You have an answer for everything, don't you? These allergies will be the end of me."

"Take one of the pills in the medicine cabinet," Arthur suggested. He made sure the boys were comfortable and that Alfred's leg was well-tended to before sweeping over to the door. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight, mes lapins."

"Bonne nuit." Matthew loved how French rolled off his tongue.

Alfred, however, didn't seem to appreciate the grace of language to such an extent. He mumbled a tired, "mmm… night," and left it at that.

When the men had returned to their own bedroom, Francis plastered a cheeky smile onto his face and fit himself against Arthur's frame, head buried in his neck. "Any night spent with you is a good night, mon amour."

"As if you haven't tried that line on me," Arthur scoffed in reply. Then, he slid a hand into his husband's hair and kissed him gently, catching Francis by surprise. Usually, Francis was the one to initiate kisses.

He would've been a little more elated at Arthur's affection if another sneeze didn't interrupt him. He released himself from their embrace and directed his mouth into the crook of his elbow, sniffling when the fit was over. "I hate pollen. It's the dust of the devil. Why don't you get seasonal allergies?"

Arthur passed him a tissue and smirked. "Natural selection saved one of us, at least."

"Come on, we can get through this. Your state exams are just a few weeks away, and I expect all of you score well. I've seen you grow as both writers and readers over this term, and I don't want you to quit when we're almost finished."

"Mr. K, can't we take a break?" Feliks groaned, staring longingly out the window. It was the warmest day of the year, and he was itching to go outside. "Like, my Hamlet essay can wait another day. Please tell us this is the last project."

"It's not. We have two major assignments to go."

Groans—they were the only sounds Arthur managed to elicit from his junior class nowadays. "All right. Everyone get up… You heard me! Up, up!"

His students ambled onto their feet like corpses raised from the grave.

"Start jogging in place. We have to get the blood rushing to your brains again."

"None of the other English classes have to do this!"

"I don't care what the other classes are doing. I care about this class—my class. Feliks, read the sign on the wall for us again."

The teen grumbled under his breath for a moment before saying, "No whining."

"Timeless advice, isn't it? We can relax and treat ourselves to a reward once exams are over. Until then, we're going to continue working."

"Hey, but what about what Tolstoy said?" Mathias reminded him, stopping his jog. He searched through his notes and once he'd found the words he'd wanted, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. "In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work—look around you."

Arthur tried not to look too thrilled at the fact that the teen had taken something out of his class. "Yes, but you can't cease your work if you weren't working to begin with."

Mathias started jogging once more. "Fair enough."

"Put down the cup, and no one gets hurt."

"Bloody—! Don't walk up behind me like that, numpty!"

Francis chuckled and stole the mug Arthur had been busying himself with. "That's enough coffee. You're picking a new poison, aren't you?"

"I've only had two cups today."

"Two cups too many," Francis decided, pouring the coffee down the drain despite the howl of complaint leaving Arthur's mouth. "Do I always have to be here to stop you from making yourself sick? You're a strange man, Arthur Kirkland. A very strange man. That is, of course, the reason I married you."

"Funny, I can't seem to recall why I married you."

"Shall I remind you?" Francis asked with a low growl, rubbing his nose against Arthur's.

"A refresher course wouldn't hurt."

An onlooker stopped their playful banter. "Eww, guys. Get a room."

"Alfred! You should be asleep," Arthur spun around on his heel and shooed their son away.

"I was thirsty, so I wanted to get some water. Is this what you and Papa do when Mattie and I aren't around?"

"My god. Look what you've caused, Francis!"

Francis shrugged his shoulders and took a step back, a crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "Don't blame me for your lack of self-restraint, Arthur. We all know how lustful you can be."

"Gosh, Dad."

Both Francis and Alfred seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing in unison when Arthur opened his mouth, turned scarlet, closed his mouth, and stormed upstairs.

A full minute went by before Francis finally contained his laugh and said, "I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."