Chapter Text
The first day of school is meant to be exciting, and maybe it would be if Frank hasn’t been through twelve already. After middle school the novelty just wares off. The same could be said for college. He never really got the hype, but he knew he had to go if he wanted to do anything even remotely important with his future. That, and his parents have been up his ass about picking a stable career path since he was like sixteen. Which is funny, considering how instead of starting his day with an important- major related class- like math or science, he was sitting in a messy art studio first thing in the morning.
Frank was artistic enough. If you’d call drawing on your desk instead of listening to your chemistry teacher ‘artistic’. He didn’t hate it, but he wasn’t exactly good at it. He was only taking this class because he had to. The other electives didn’t really call to him, the band was full of stuck up kids who’d been doing it since fifth grade, and he couldn’t take another psychology class on the basis of his Major... so art it was. It’s kind of lucky, really. Being his first class of the day he doesn’t have to fry his brain at eight a.m. Except a professor won’t take whatever sharpie graph he can pull out of his ass and give him an A like his high school teacher, he had to actually try. Still, it’s nothing too taxing.
He took a seat in the back. Not because he was like, nervous about sitting in the front where everyone could see his shitty artwork, or anything. Just because the class was practically full when he walked in and those were the only seats left open. It was nicer in the back, anyway! Less people to breathe down his neck and point out all the things he’s doing wrong. Plus, he was able to snag a seat by the window, so that was pretty rad.
The glass was muddy with old paint and what was most likely dust. It looked out into a garden, long green stalks sewn through chicken wire and wrapped around long wooden posts. Red and yellow flowers bloomed in tandem with cherry tomatoes and what Frank assumed were half-baked bell peppers.
Suddenly something in the window’s reflection caught his eye, another student sitting across the isle from him. He was nothing remarkable, just another face in the crowd, yet Frank couldn’t look away. He looked a little too old to be a freshman, with scraggly brunette hair and hazel eyes. He wore a loose black t-shirt for some band Frank had never heard of, and old ragged jeans. He sat his bag in the seat next to him, the universal sign for “Do not sit next to me”. He pulled a thick spiral notebook from his bag and silently flipped it open, seemingly ignoring everything the teacher was saying. To be fair, Frank was too. He hadn’t even realized the class had started, actually. Frank shook his head, tearing his eyes away from this stranger and trying to pay attention.
“-and don’t worry if you aren’t confident in your art. This class is meant to expand your mind through creativity and history, not to judge you based on a subjective medium.” The teacher rambled on. Her voice wasn’t too grating, which Frank appreciated. “In this studio you’ll learn new techniques to not only create, but conceptualize! And if you’re ever having trouble feel free to talk to me.” She gestures to the back of the room. “Or this year’s lovely TA, Gerard!”
Just as she says that kids begin twisting in their chairs, every eye in the room suddenly turned upon one brunette boy (now known as Gerard, why did that sound familiar?). His back straightened at the sound of his name, folding his hands discreetly over the paper in front of him. He smiled awkwardly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“Since it’s only the first day I won’t make you kids work too hard-” The teacher started up again, everyone moved back to face her.
Frank tuned her out again as he watched the boy, Gerard, bury his head into his book, cheeks reddening in what could only be embarrassment. A bit of an overreaction if you ask him. Why become the teachers assistant if you don’t like attention?
Then Frank realized the only attention Gerard had at the moment was from him, and that he should probably stop staring before things get awkward. He doesn’t want to be caught eyeballing a random kid on the first day of school, because then suddenly he’s “the weirdo in class with a staring problem”. And, yes, that caricature is common enough in Frank’s life that it has a title.
His eyes drifted across some of the other kids in class, nothing too crazy, all pretty artsy, the usual art major-crowd. There was a girl sitting closer to the front that Frank thought was kind of pretty, dark hair and eyes with sharp black make up. He made a mental note to try and sleuth out her name later on. But that was about it.
He spent the rest of class scribbling on his schedule paper. Random things like what he still needed to buy for his dorm and a reminder to apply for a student parking pass. When the clock hit nine, everyone seemed to get up in unison. Everyone except Gerard, Frank noticed. He stayed put, not even bothering to look up from his sketchbook… Guess he has nowhere else to be.
The rest of the day is a complete blur in Franks head, a muddled mess of teachers names, building numbers, directions he got wrong, and hundreds of kids all just as lost as he was. He was twenty minutes late to his afternoon math class because somehow he managed to wander into Abstract Algebra instead of Statistics, which just so happened to be all the way across campus. It wasn’t until he stepped into his dorm that the fog began to clear.
“Hey, Frank.” His roommate greeted him, a tall wire-framed boy with messy brown hair spiked in every direction.
“Sup, nerd.” Frank flopped down onto his bed, still sheet-less and stiff without a mattress topper. He’s yet to unpack his belongings, unlike the boy across from him who’s practically covered his designated wall with posters and pictures. “Jesus Mikey, when did you have time to do all this?”
The boy rolled his eyes, something Frank has seen him do a million times. “Uhm the whole week since we brought all our stuff up here. Y’know, because I actually decided to prepare for freshman year instead of party all summer.”
Normally Frank would have been offended, but not by Mikey. They’ve been best friends for years, since the beginning of high-school, and he felt pretty damn lucky to be rooming with him rather than some rando. Even if that meant dealing with his intrinsic sass.
“Oh please, like you aren’t dying to hit a kegger” Frank laughed, kicking off his shoes haphazardly much to Mikey’s dismay. Day one and he was already making a mess. “I know you, Way. You’re a party animal at heart.” He winked playfully before reaching over the end of his bed to dig through a box on his desk. He couldn’t exactly remember which box holds what he’s looking for, but he’s sure he’ll find it at some point.
“Not true.” Mikey argued, but smirked just before saying “I am going to a party tomorrow night, though.”
Frank’s ears perked at that, “A party you say?” Mikey knew just how to peak his interest. “What exactly does that entail?”
“Drinking. Because I know that’s all you’re interested in, Iero.”
Frank blew a raspberry in Mikey’s general direction and continued digging through his box of junk. “Now who’s saying things that aren’t true?”
“If it’s not that then it’s girls.” Mikey said, kicking back onto his bed and flipping open his silver Motorola. “Anyway, my brother invited me. He said it would be a good way to make some acquaintances.”
Frank stopped in his tracks, “Brother?”
Mikey gave him a weird look. “Yes?”
“Since when do you have a brother?” Frank’s hand finally circled around what he was looking for, a small beat up altoid mint tin, want to take a wild guess what’s inside?
Mikey looked bewildered. “Since forever? Frank- wh- you know this, he literally goes here! And you’re not blazing in our dorm on night one!”
“Chill man they’re gummies!” He laughed, “I swear you have never once mentioned having a brother.”
“That’s not- Frank you’ve literally met him!” Mikey was sat up now, phone abandoned next to his pillow. “Remember last New Years when we went down to Atlantic City? He was the one who drove us an hour home after you blacked out drunk on the beach and Matt nearly shot a firework up your ass.”
Frank wracked his brain trying to recall the event with no luck. Then again, if he was as black out drunk as Mikey claimed, there was no hope in recovering the memory. “I got no clue what you’re talking about, Mike.”
“Look!” Mikey shouted, shoving a Polaroid into Franks face. It was an old-ish picture of the person Mikey claimed to be his brother, a young man sitting in the passenger seat of a car, with dark messy bangs and a girlishly round face. It’s wasn’t until Frank saw his eyes that he realized.
“Oh! That guy!” He exclaimed, “Gerard, right? He’s in my art class.” Now Frank knew why his name sounded so familiar this morning. He did look drastically different in this picture, though. Younger, approachable, he’d go as far as to say he looked sweet. The boy he saw this morning looked far from friendly. Not that he looked mean! Just like someone who didn’t want to be bothered, not very open to conversation.
“See you do know him!” Mikey stuck the picture back onto the wall. “Weird he’s in your class though…”
“Apparently he’s the Teachers Assistant.” Frank shrugged, popping open the altoid tin and picking out a small gummy. “What year is he, sophomore?”
“Junior.” Mikey chewed his lip thoughtfully, something he always did when confused. “He didn’t tell me he was TA’ing.”
Frank popped half the gummy into his mouth, figuring he’s going to bed soon anyway and doesn’t need a whole one. “I get the feeling it’s not really his speed.”
“It’s not.” Mikey laid back down, tapping away on his phone. “Anyway, you coming to this party or not? I gotta tell Gee if I’m bringing anyone so he knows how many twelve packs to buy.”
Frank thinks about for all of two seconds before agreeing, he’s always down for a party! And while he doesn’t know why, the idea of possibly getting to learn a little more about Gerard intrigued him.
The next morning isn’t much different from the first. Frank realizes a little too late into his morming routine (waking up and staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes) that he’s going to be late for art. He dresses quickly and practically runs to class, nearly tripping over his untied converse. He (barely) makes it, falling heavy into his seat next to the window. The class almost seems fuller than it had yesterday, they were louder, more animated in their conversations. At some point the class had passed around a stack of fresh notebooks full of blank paper to spill their creative geniuses onto. Her first and only instruction was to, quote “Make something representative of you! Of who you are, and who you want to be!” Then she sat down at her desk without another word.
That was it. What the hell was Frank supposed to do with that? It was just specifically-vague enough to make his brain hurt. So much for an easy morming class… it took him ten minutes alone to figure out what he wanted to draw, and twenty more minutes to try and fail about four times.
What Frank wanted to draw was his guitar. A shiny white Les Paul Epiphone, with peeling holographic stickers across the front. It’s the same one he’s had for years, and he’d say it represents himself pretty well. What Frank actually ended up drawing was more akin to Mr. Peanut than any guitar he’s ever played.
“Looks like you’re having some trouble there.”
Frank startles from his daze, the Professor standing right above him. Her face wrinkled into a smile as he quickly flipped to the next empty page, embarrassed by his first grade level art. “Uh, yeah.” He laughed awkwardly. “I’m not very good.”
“That’s okay!” The professor says cheerily, “You’re still trying. Why don’t you ask Gerard for some help? He’s great with instruments.”
That’s not what he expected to hear, but he guesses it gives him an excuse to at least talk to the guy. Maybe it will ease some of the intrigue. But that also means he has to show off his embarrassing artwork. Ehh, if he was anything like Mikey how bad could it be?
The teacher leaves Frank to his devices, strutting off to help another student. It takes a couple minutes of staring for Frank to finally get out of his chair and walk over to Gerard’s table.
He goes unnoticed at first, Gerard being completely and entirely absorbed in what he’s drawing. He marks his paper swiftly and almost aggressively, yet nothing looks out of place. Every stroke of his pen is precise and perfectly placed, like his brain is three steps ahead of his hand at all times. It’s mesmerizing how easy he makes it look. Frank can barely get through a single line without his hand wobbling. He waits for Gerard to completely lift his pen before he speaks. “Hey, man.”
Gerard practically jumps out of his skin, nearly dropping his pen and rushing to cover his paper. It’s a bit funny how similar a reaction he and Frank had to being startled, though Gerard’s art is far from shameful. He stares up at Frank, eyes wide and glossy almost like a doll. The look made Frank feel like he’d caught a rabbit in a trap and it was waiting to either be let go or eaten.
“I’m Frank.” He held out his hand, realizing Gerard was not going to speak first. Why so formal? He doesn’t know, it just feels like the right thing to do.
“I’m Gerard.” He said so quietly Frank almost couldn’t hear him. He gave a crooked smile before hesitantly reaching out and shaking Franks hand.
And- okay- nothing against this guy that he just met, but his hand was sweaty. Like, clammy verging on wet kind of sweaty. Frank withdrew his hand. “I was told you could help me with- uhm- drawing my guitar.” God he sounded dumb. Why couldn’t he have thought of something more meaningful to need help drawing?
Gerard’s eyes lit up, “You have a guitar?”
“Oh, yeah! I’ve had it for a while.” Frank went to show Gerard his sketches as an example, hoping they’d get the point across even if they were bad.
“Let me see.” Gerard beats him to it, eagerly taking the sketchbook and flipping to the page Frank previously hid. Seeing his own terrible sketches next to what was comparably a masterpiece made his stomach squirm. Gerard examined it for a moment, tapping the end of his pen against his bitten pink lips. Suddenly he was back in the zone, scribbling down notes and shapes and soon enough there was a miniature version of his guitar right there on the page!
It was almost picturesque in black and white, despite the fact Gerard had never seen the instrument before. The professor did say he was good.
“It wasn’t too far off.” He said, turning the book to Frank so he could read the tiny notes. “You just drew the body backwards.”
He’s right, now that the sides are swapped it looks a lot better. Gerard’s was also three dimensional, while Frank’s were not. The lines were so neat and tidy that it looked printed. “This is great! Thank’s you.”
Gerard laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s no problem.” He looked away cheeks turning the same shade as yesterday.
After a few seconds of tense silence Frank took it as his cue to sit back down, giving Gerard a friendly wave as he did.
Despite their limited interaction, a lot was learned. Gerard was shy, just like Mikey when they first met. They also looked more alike than he initially realized, with the same pointed noses and dark brown hair. Main difference being Gerard’s soft features. His cheeks were round compared to Mikey’s sharp jaw and pointed chin, they almost made him look like a girl. Not that it was a negative quality! He wasn’t a bad looking guy, Frank would even say he’s sort of handsome, just a little girly is all.
He also learned that Gerard might have an interest in music, at least one that’s a little deeper than surface level. How else would he be so good at drawing guitars? He knew Mikey dabbled in bass a bit back in high-school, maybe Gerard played an instrument too…
Frank let thoughts take over his mind, spending the rest of class staring out into the garden while he considered his findings. That’s when he remembered the party! That’s as good an opportunity as ever to talk to him again. Maybe it would be less awkward outside of an academic setting.
Before he knew it class was over, and suddenly the most interesting part of his day was over. He breezes through the rest of his classes, electing not to listen to his professors re-hashing their syllables in favor for formulating an outfit in his head.
Of course he has to wear his favorite black jeans, and his only pair of sneakers, but the shirt situation is a little different. He really has time to consider it when he returns to the dorm.
Mikey is already ready (because of course he is), and is staring Frank down the entire time he digs through his boxes of unfolded clothes.
“Okay, this one or this one?” He holds up two nearly identical t-shirts, both for hardcore bands local to their home town.
“Neither.” He’s losing interest. “Both. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does so matter!” Frank throws the shirts into a discarded mountain of clothes on his mattress. “Take this seriously, Mike.”
Mikey groaned dramatically, throwing his head back in annoyance. “Since when do you care so much about how you dress? This has literally never been a thing.”
“I want to make a good first impression, okay? Can’t have the older, mature college chicks thinking I’m some ill-socialized teenager who can’t dress himself.”
Mikey scoffed. “What people think and what is true are two completely different things.”
That’s when Franks eye catches something deep at the bottom of the box, hidden under all his old pajama’s and ripped up jeans. “This one!” He exclaims, holding up a white and black striped long sleeve. He honestly forgot he owned it, but it would go perfectly with the vibe he was trying so hard to achieve.
“You are hopeless, Iero.”