DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. This is purely the work of one fan's creativity at play. Other than that, please enjoy.

It would be quite the understatement saying Arthur's life was a total train wreck. A three year old child, with no mother, was thrusted onto him. No doubt this miniscule being was a blood descendent of Arthur here, same eyebrows and hairstyle even. The mother, however, was completely unknown to the Briton. She most have been as equally drunk as Arthur was during this child's conception.

When Arthur received his offspring, his landlord had knocked on his door and forced the squirming bundle of blue into his arms. The landlord had said some lady swung by to dispense of Peter to his father for the weekend. It's been two years, and his mother has yet to reclaim him.

Unfortunately, Arthur had just been hired to be a English literature professor at a university a blocks walk from his loft, and he couldn't afford to miss any of his teaching days. For the first week, Arthur had kept Peter locked up in a play pen, an extensive library of Dora the Explorer looping on the television. He locked his son in the pen with a pillow, his baby blanket, a teddy bear, and unwrapped fruit snacks in a bowl. Yes indeed this could be considered child abuse, though Arthur did come home to check up on Peter on his breaks and plan times. Though, after that disastrous first week, the amiable old landlord decided to babysit little Peter while Arthur was working for his salary, and Arthur didn't voice a single voice of protest.

Life went on after that. Two years managed to slip by without much outcry. Until Alfred F. Jones decided it was a-okay to enroll in Arthur's class.

Despite his bubbly nature and his tendency to never shut his mouth, Alfred was barely holding his own weight in Arthur's class. One unit on Shakespeare's Hamlet over, and Alfred still believed the tragedy was about a squealing farm pig. His essays were complete trash and his homework found itself turned in, not to mentioned wrinkled, one week after its due date. And still, Alfred kept smiling on without much of a care about his academic achievements.

Worst part was, Alfred and Arthur resided inside the same apartment complex.

Arthur discovered this the night he arrived home at seven at dusk. Completely disheveled and wanting nothing more than sleep, Arthur retrieved his son on the first floor of the building, where Alfred was boasting loudly about some party miles from there on the stairs leading up to the second floor. When Arthur reached said stairs, son's hand being held firmly, Alfred and two others were stationed at the top. They spoke about alcoholic beverages, skimpy girls, and especially the party 'favors'. Arthur scowled as he released Peter's hand to instruct the little one to clasp his ears. Once Alfred had noticed his teacher zooming up the stairs, a wide eyed child beside him, he ceased his previous conversation with a subtle, "Hi, teach!"

"Good night, Alfred, be extra careful not to show up to class intoxicated tomorrow."

Even with those words of warning, Alfred had to audacity to arrive at class with a not so secretive hangover.

One week has passed since then, and the unit's test is just around the corner. Alfred desperately needed help. The other students studied on their own, leaving Alfred with one last choice. Professor Kirkland had to, I repeat for the hard of hearing, HAD TO become Alfred's tutor. So, with the straightening of his shirt and seconds to mold together his dignify. Once the class had been dismissed, Alfred reluctantly made his way to Arthur's wooden desk, asking.

"Hey, professor, could ya possibly help me with this Hamlet mumbo-jumbo?"

"Finally come to terms with your impending failure of my class?" Arthur's emerald eyes gazed up at Alfred from his grading.

"Uh... sure?" Alfred replied, slightly taken back by the hostility Arthur was throwing out like road spikes.

Arthur side as he discarded his black frames from his eyes. "I suppose I could help, we inhabit the same building, after all." The teacher tore a corner from his sample essay, the one he was referring to for his grading, and dotted down his room number and floor, as well as the time. "Bring a note book and a writing utensil. It's going to be a long night."

AN: I'm not at all a newcomer to the fanfiction writing world, but I still feel these writing jitters when I put out something. This is a clean slate for me, and I'm excited! I'm fully aware this chapter is quite short, though I'd love to hear feedback from the community, so if you wouldn't mind could you lovely readers leave a review to me! Thank you all for reading!