Chapter Text
Gerard Way’s alarm clock was going off somewhere with all the subtlety of a marching band playing in his bedroom.
What a beautiful way to start his morning.
The room was dim. The back wall painted in a sickly grey, casting shadows across his posters and the mess of yesterday’s clothes crumpled next to the closet door. He could see the faint glimmer of his wallet chain in the pile, a subtle reminder to grab that before he left.
"Ger! Turn that shit off!" screamed what Gerard could only assume was Mikey, fresh out of the shower, judging by the sound of wet footsteps slapping against the hallway’s floorboards and the faint scent of 3-in-1 shampoo creeping under the door.
He shot his arm out, aiming to slam the damn thing into silence, but ended up knocking over his lamp, two empty bottles, and half of the towering pile of crumpled balls of paper and sketchbooks instead. The clock thudded dully onto the carpet, still screeching, and Gerard grumbled out a few less-than-holy complaints before leaning half off his bed to finally silence the beast’s wails.
6:30.
Gerard was not even remotely prepared to face the day.
Fuck my life.
He sat up, dark hair sticking straight up in the back, one eye still squinted against the lull of sleep. Something crunched under his palm, probably more failed doodles. Or a granola bar wrapper. At this point, who's to say.
The cold of the floor greeted him with a violent jolt of energy as he dragged himself upright, stepping over a brand new sketchbook that had fallen from the pile. The corner was already bent. He stared at it like it had personally betrayed him, just another reminder of how long he'd spent pouring over ideas that didn't sound right on paper.
From the hallway, Mikey peeked his head in. His hair was still dripping, the seemingly useless towel hanging limp in his hands.
"Mom says you're going to be late again," he warned, yawning before stomping away.
"Ye of little faith," Gerard mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He shuffled to the door and leaned his forehead against the frame for a moment, just breathing in the smell of the old house. It wasn’t home, not really. The air still felt too clean. No trace of coffee or paint, nothing soaked into the walls like back in Jersey.
Gerard missed New Jersey. He missed the chipped tiles of the old apartment and the way the window in the kitchen always fogged over when someone made toast.
They’d moved in the summer, something about being closer to relatives. Something about starting fresh. He didn’t get much say in it.
Jersey was expensive. Raising two kids wasn’t cheap. Mikey’s breathing acted up every other Friday and Gerard’s meds were actually starting to work for once.
Or they would.
If Gerard could ever remember to take the damn things.
He ran a hand through his tangled hair, attempting to stamp down where it stood up in the back. He sighed, scanning for the orange prescription bottle. It was half-hidden under a crumpled napkin, the drawn-on vampire teeth peeking out at him from the lid. He popped one into his mouth and swallowed it dry, picturing his mom’s disapproving grimace.
Now we were getting somewhere.
We were also getting more late.
The floor whined under his weight as he grabbed his school uniform off the top of his closet, the only place he’d remember it in the mess of the room. He swiped the wallet chain off the floor, bending down to toss the laundry into a slightly more organized mess.
His boots were already by the door, laces tangled and smelling like beer. He considered untangling them for half a second before stuffing his feet in and tucking the laces under his heels instead. Good enough. Mildly uncomfortable.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like coffee and that weird cereal Mikey liked that had marshmallows of WAY too neon hues. He would bet his entire collection of DnD customs that the things were carcinogenic.
Gerard’s stomach turned. Breakfast was a no-go. He just passed through, his sketchbook sticking out the top of his overfilled backpack. He tried his best not to draw the attention of his mother on his walk of shame, narrowly avoiding her as the door slammed behind him.
The world outside was too bright, despite the rainy dull grey that had painted his bedroom walls earlier. Gerard blinked hard against it, pulling his hood up to shield his eyes as he stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk. The strap of his bag was already digging into his shoulder. He could feel the knot of the laces under his heel with every step.
Somewhere in the distance, the church bells rang, marking the top of the hour. Because of course they did.
His new school, St. Augustine's Preparatory Academy, was about a fifteen-minute walk if he didn’t stop to loiter or suck down an anxious cigarette. He had about ten minutes until the bell rang.
Mikey was right. He was totally going to be late.
St. Augustine’s sat at the top of a hill like some sort of hellish castle. Gerard half-expected a dragon to skitter across the roof, guarding a fair maiden who needed saving. That would be cool, though. This place was not.
It reeked of anxiety, wax, and boredom. All sharp brick and long, self-important windows. The kind of school that looked like it had a dress code for attitudes.
Gerard was all eyeliner (horribly smudged, slapped on at the last minute) and spiked hand-me-down boots. The front steps were already swarmed with students, a sea of tucked shirts, red ties, and polished shoes.
He had meant to iron his pants last night, but that was before he got distracted by his doom spiral of artistic failings and fell asleep in a pile of scrap paper.
He could already feel the stares. The whispers. The sideways glances that carried more judgment than actual words.
He was sorely familiar with the half-amused, half-disturbed looks he got all through high school. And now he got to experience it all again.
In a new state.
With new people.
In a stupid uniform.
Gerard let out a breath and adjusted the strap of his bag. He pulled his hood lower and climbed the steps two at a time, hoping to blend in, knowing he wouldn’t.
The door to Room 203 creaked louder than it should have, and the second Gerard stepped inside, the air shifted.
The priest at the front stopped mid-sentence, hands folded over a textbook like the disruption was a personal attack. Thirty heads turned toward him in unison, scanning him with the kind of attention you usually reserve for roadkill or fire alarms.
Gerard barely met the teacher’s eyes.
“You must be Gerard Way,” the priest said, his voice even and polite in a sharpened way that didn’t feel particularly priestly.
Gerard nodded once and tightened the grip on the strap of his backpack.
“You’re late. Grab the seat next to Mr. Iero.”
The way he said it made Gerard feel like he was being sentenced, his only hint was that it was the only open chair in the room.
He moved toward the desk without saying anything, stepping between tightly packed rows of desks. Every face he passed had that same clean, polished look, like they'd all grown up with dinner parties and resume-building hobbies. One girl in the third row leaned toward her friend and whispered something behind her hand, the giggle that followed piercing the suffocatingly awkward silence. Gerard was almost grateful, even if it was likely at his expense.
He sat down next to the guy who was apparently Iero. "Mr. Iero" was leaned back in his seat, shirt buttoned all the way to the top, red tie pulled tight and jacket collar smoothed down. If you glanced quickly, he looked just like everyone else in the room, stiff, pressed, clean. But when Gerard looked closer, he caught it.
There was a tattoo, barely visible under the collar of his shirt. Just the edge of a dark shape creeping up the side of his neck, he clearly didn't mean for it to be seen, his collar practically touching his sharp, clean-shaven jaw, his lips slightly were chapped, and-
Gerard blinked and looked away.
Jesus.
No fucking way.
He refocused on digging a notebook out of his backpack, too aware of the way the guy next to him shifted just slightly, like he could feel Gerard’s eyes on him. He was covering his mouth with his palm, resting his head against it like he was bored, but Gerard could see what he was actually doing.
Hiding a lip ring.
It flashed silver just for a second, tucked behind the bend of his fingers.
Of course. The sleeves, the collar, the posture. He was trying not to get noticed, to blend in. His mind wandering about whether or not the man next to him had other tattoos, where...
Gerard looked straight ahead and pressed his pen too hard into his sketchbook, ink pooling across the page and splattering onto his blazer.
He’d been in the room for less than three minutes and had already managed to stare at a stranger’s mouth and think something that probably wasn’t helpful for his current plan of keeping his head down, AND ruin the first page of his brand-new notebook.
He flipped to a blank page and kept his eyes on it, even though he wasn’t writing anything, absent-mindedly he began doodling random band logos into his margins.
Around them, the rest of the class returned to their lecture. The priest had launched back into some explanation of moral consequence or spiritual authority or something equally exhausting. The air felt too warm. The walls were covered in framed quotes Gerard didn’t want to read.
He could feel the students behind him staring at the back of his head like he might whip around and snap at them or something.
Someone muttered something with his name in it. Someone else laughed.
Gerard didn’t turn around.
He didn’t know if the guy next to him could hear it too, but he hadn’t said anything. He hadn't even glanced over at Gerard. That was already more than most people had done since Gerard moved here.
Still, Gerard kept his eyes low and said nothing. He wasn’t planning on making friends. He definitely wasn’t planning on getting caught staring at someone’s mouth five minutes into his first day.
He just needed to make it to the next class without drawing any more attention, hard as that would be. He considered wiping off his eyeliner in the bathroom on his way to his next class when he saw 'Iero' briefly glance over.
That subtle moment haunted Gerard through the rest of his classes until it was finally lunch. Gerard practically ran around the side of school, finding an isolated spot to in brother Mikey's least favorite habit of his. but could you blame him? The man needed a smoke after the day he had.
Math class had been a nightmare from the moment Gerard walked in. Halfway through the lesson, a cough from the back row cut through the quiet. “Fag.” The words hit like a slap, loud enough for a few heads to turn and smirk. Gerard’s grip tightened around his pencil, face burning in anger. He rolled his eyes, continuing his drawing and trying hard not to lunge over the desk behind him and beat the breaks off that fucker.
Gerard was just about to lose himself again in his spiraling thoughts, replaying the insult, the stares, the unrelenting weight of feeling like he didn’t belong, when a soft thump broke through the noise.
Someone had slumped down beside him on the cold concrete.
Gerard blinked, half-turning his head to see who it was.
Iero.
“Got a cig?” He asked, his voice low and casual.
Gerard hesitated for a fraction of a second before pulling one from the pack and handing it over. The awkwardness settling between them. He murmured a quick thanks, taking it and lighting up.
Silence fell between them for a moment.
“Name’s Frank,” he finally said, exhaling smoke and nodding in introduction.
“Gerard,” he replied, avoiding eye contact and sliding his sketchbook protectively under his knees.
Frank smiled, clearly amused at the taller boy's demeanor, and god was it a smile. All doe-eyed and wide, like the sun itself came through the clouds to laugh too. Gerard cursed his mind, mentally kicking himself for the way he reacted.
“You look like you wanna be anywhere but here.” Frank chuckled.
Gerard shrugged, rubbing the burning blush from the back of his neck, unsure what to say. “You could say that.”
“So… what’s up with the sour face?” Frank asked, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke. Gerard wondered if he prayed enough, God would let him reincarnate to be the smoke from a cute punk boy's cig.
Gerard glanced away, biting his lip. “Just the usual. New school, same shit. People don’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for you when you don’t fit in.”
Frank flicked ash onto the ground. “I heard. New place can be rough.”
Gerard glanced down at Frank’s shirt collar, now unbuttoned slightly. His tie was much more loose than this morning. There were thin lines of ink dancing across his neck and around his collar, previously hidden.
"Pretty," he murmured to himself. "That's pretty badass."
Frank's neck immediately flushed crimson, dropping the cig and stomping it out with his boot. "Uh... thanks, dude. I've had them for a minute."
Gerard's eyes dazzled in intrigue, "Them? There's more?"
"Oh, yeah. Quite a bit more. I know it's not super model student of me, but I'm not quite a model student anyway."
Gerard laughed at that, before standing to his feet. The lunch bell ringing as he did. He offered his hand out to Frank, who took it and slid to his feet. Gerard felt his fingers buzz with nerves at the feeling of Frank's ringed hand against his. The cool feeling leaving his hand quickly after Frank got to his feet.
"Here... let me borrow a piece of paper, yeah? I'll write down my cell if you ever want to hang outside school." Frank hummed, hand out in expectation.
Gerard had to fight the laugh in his throat, seeing the shorter boy suddenly gain this new layer of sass. He could tell they'd likely become fast friends. That'd be it though, despite Frank's beauty, he didn't want to stir shit up. He would be lucky if he could manage to get through the year without being outed, and it would hurt worse if it was Frank. That was clear to Gerard. Despite just meeting today, he could tell that a disastrous crush and rejection by Frank would hit harder. He recovered from his mind wandering and handed Frank a piece of scrap.
Frank jotted down his number with a small smile crudely drawn next to it, slipping it into Gerard's palm and practically skipping away with a wave. It was endearing, too endearing. Gerard stood their a moment, letting the whole interaction crash over him, cheesing stupidly to himself before sliding the paper into his pocket. Frank Iero had made him late anyway, the dork.