Chapter 4

The figure of the man was still in the shadows, so Frank couldn't make out his face or hair to try and recognize the guy, because he knew a few people from New Jersey, and if it was someone he at least knew he would have a bigger chance of talking them out of calling the police.

"Who are you? What do you want?" The guy said, and, suddenly, there was a blinding light shining right into Frank's face, which he soon recognized as a flashlight. Frank cursed under his breath and looked away on instinct, squinting as his eyes got used to the brightness. "Who are you?"

The guy said again, but he still sounded quite scared. Out of politeness and to assure the man that he wouldn't do anything, Frank raised both his hands next to his head, stilling his movements and finally being able to see after being momentarily blinded. He took a good look at the guy, his eyes scanning the very light blonde hair which looked almost white, going over the man's pointed nose and round features, before his gaze fell onto what the dude was holding onto: a baseball bat. Frank had to hold in his laughter. A fucking baseball bat? What was the guy going to do, strike him to death?

Instead of mocking the guy (because he honestly had the upper hand here), Frank talked, his bandana moving slightly in sync with his lips.

"Hey, man, I-I mean no harm, I was just tagging, didn't think anyone was awake, my bad," Frank spoke, wondering briefly if he should take off his hood or the cloth covering his mouth, but then decided the less the guy saw his face the better off he would be.

"O-Okay, well- wait, tagging!? As in street art!? Fuck, oh God," The blonde dude mumbled, and looked in panic as he stepped closer, moving his flashlight so he could see the unfinished tag on the wall. Frank saw his eyes widen in panic. "Oh shit, oh no, this is bad. My Dad's gonna fucking kill me, fucking shit, oh no, no no no, why me, shit, dick, fucking motherfucker," The guy said, and it looked as if he was muttering every single curse word he knew, and he honestly looked completely freaked out.

Almost subconsciously, and because he was a nice guy, Frank found himself stepping closer to the dude, trying to calm him down, and was surprised to see that, after closer inspection, the guy's short hair was actually white, not blonde like he had thought.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, calm down," Frank said softly, in what he hoped was a calming tone, since he really didn't feel like dealing with a guy having a panic attack right now. From previous experience, Frank knew what calmed him down was getting distracted, talking about other shit than what caused the panic attack in the first place, so he tried that. "Hey, uh, what's your name?"

"Ge-Gerard," The white-haired guy replied almost instantly, eyes flickering towards Frank's hidden face for a second before falling back to the wall. Then, his eyes widened, as if he shouldn't have told Frank his name but it was his immediate reply when someone asked for his name. He -Gerard- looked at Frank with eyes wide as saucers. "I shouldn't have said that,"

Frank grinned at him from under his bandana, and even wider when he noticed the guy's expression change from freaked out to angry, and Frank knew it was him he was angry at. For some reason, that made Frank smile even wider. Gerard was quite attractive, even from up close, and he had an adorable angry face. He stepped closer to Frank, pointing an accusing finger at Frank's chest.

"You! It's your fault! This isn't my fault! You were the one who tagged the place! Ruined the wall with your fucking criminal paint!"

"Whoa there, buddy, insult my art one more time, I dare you," Frank said, kind of upset Gerard had degraded his art like that, but still wearing a smirk under his bandana, because the dude looked seriously mad. He almost felt tempted to add an 'I double dare you, motherfucker' reference after his sentence, but Gerard was already talking.

"And I even gave you my name! Fuck, you know my name, and you tagged the place, you-you criminal!"

Frank resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead raised one hand to pull his bandana down from his mouth so it hung limp around his neck. "Listen, I'm sorry -though I'm not really, but--" And then he stopped himself. Because he was about to beg Gerard not to call the police, but it didn't look like Gerard was thinking about calling the cops, and Frank wasn't about to give this dude any ideas.

"Oh God, what am I gonna do?"

"Uhm, leave it up? Let me finish it so it's a win/win situation? I get to make my statement and you get rad art in your shop? Come on, it'll be like an advertisement! Get it? Because you got an art shop, and this is art?" Frank wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, trying to win Gerard over and keep his mind away from the idea of picking up a phone and calling the police on Frank.

"Art!? You call this fucking shit art? You vandalized my Dad's store! He's gonna kill me! Art is a drawing on a goddamn paper, not illegal and on the side of a building without permission from its owner! I should- I should call the cops! This is illegal!" Gerard exclaimed, and that's when Frank started freaking out himself, though tried to remain calm. Gerard looked around his age; maybe he would let him go easy if he offered the guy a deal. Because he would do anything to not get caught, and even if the piece did make the statement Octavia, Pencil and he were trying to make, he would cover it up if that meant no police involved.

"Okay, you need to chill, dude, it is art, come on, you gotta give me that at least. Listen, how about I make you a deal? I will walk away now, alright? But I will come back and paint it over as soon as I can, yeah? Please? I swear, I swear on my life, I will clean it up before your Dad even sees it, okay? Please, man, help a guy out. I'll even, I don't fucking know, I'll clean the shop if you want me to, just don't get anyone else involved. Look, I promise I will be back, just let me walk away right now, yeah?"

Gerard narrowed his eyes at him. "And how can I trust someone who just fucking vandalized my Dad's store? Can't exactly 'help a guy out' if that guy is a criminal! And no way am I letting you in my Dad's store, God knows you might vandalize that shit too,"

"Look, look, Frank, my name is Frank, okay, Gerard? If I don't clean it up you can call the cops. I'll do it in, I don't know, tomorrow, the paint needs to dry before it can be painted over, yeah? I will do it first thing in the morning, no one will even know the wall was painted; you won't even be able to see it. Please, man, tell me you haven't done something stupid in your life, I know you have, please don't call the cops, you won't get into shit if you don't get me into shit, yeah? Please, Gerard," Frank tried to reason, and he was seconds away from dropping to his knees and lowkey begging Gerard not to call the cops.

Gerard rubbed at his face with the palms of his hands, looking to be deep in thought and really considering the offer. Frank took this as a good sign, and Gerard sighed, which made a small smile slip into Frank's face.

"I want your last name,"

"Whoa, take me out on a date first," Frank joked, but Gerard rolled his eyes as a small blush spread on his cheeks, crossing his arms and giving Frank his best death glare.

"I want your last name so I know who decided to kindly tag my Dad's shop so I can report you if this shit isn't cleaned up by eight in the morning, Frank," Gerard said sternly, muttering Frank's name reluctantly, as if he didn't really like the fact that they knew each other's first names already and without his consent. "Last name and you've got yourself a deal."

Frank smirked, "Iero. I will have it all cleaned up by seven, Gerard,"

"Iero? What kind of a last name is that?"

At Gerard's raised eyebrow, Frank answered back. "Mine, why, you got a problem with it? Want me to write it down?" Gerard shook his head, though he was tempted to say yes. If he knew how to pronounce it it would be enough to tell the cops, right? "What's your last name, anyway?"

"Way," Gerard blurted, then looked away with his brow furrowed, seeming to scold himself for his automatic response when someone asked for his last name, much like he did with his first name. Frank grinned at this, and felt extreme happiness at realizing no cops would be called and that he had managed to get out of this one, though it was a close call. He bent down to pick up the three bags his friends had left behind, and piled them all over his shoulder, struggling to adjust them so none would fall back.

"See ya', Gerard Way," Frank said as he enveloped Gerard in a brief hug, which the white-haired boy wasn't really expecting. Shocked was an understatement, but his astonishment went from ten to a hundred when he felt Frank press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. Oh God, what had Gerard agreed to? He watched the short boy pull back and slide the bandana back over his face so it covered his mouth, he watched as he jogged away, the huge bags bouncing against his frame as he did.

Before he could disappear from the alley, though, Gerard yelled, "Seven o'clock, Iero!"

Gerard could've sworn he heard a laugh through the night sky, and like that, he was left alone in the middle of the alley, clutching a flashlight in his left hand and a useless baseball bat in his left one. A few minutes later and after he managed to convince himself what he had done was better than what he didn't, he found himself looking at the unfinished art spread on the wall.

He helped himself view it with the flashlight, his eyes squinting as he studied the line work and the colors chosen, deciding it was actually a nice piece. He felt guilty for not letting Frank finish the tag, looking at the incomplete policeman (who was just a few splotches of blue and black) and half-wishing he had let him complete it. After all, the piece did make quite the statement.

But he quickly shook those thoughts away. His Dad would kill him if he ever saw the drawing on the side of his precious shop, and Gerard just hoped this weird Frank Iero would keep to his word and actually cover the drawing up.

He had until eight in the morning to do so, since they opened at half past eight, but Frank had said he would cover it by seven. That only left him a few hours though, but Gerard guessed all Frank really had to do was get some white paint and paint over the drawing he made, which wasn't a difficult task.

With baseball in hand and feeling like an idiot, Gerard Way wandered out of the alleyway and back into the shop, half wishing he hadn't been on duty that night; only half because he knew that Jesus would have called the police immediately, and no, Gerard wasn't talking about the actual Jesus Christ here, he was talking about the guy named Jesus who usually took the night shifts at the store and was a close friend of the Way family.

As if the actual Jesus Christ would love Gerard as much as Jesus did, or vice versa.

Gerard locked up an hour after his encounter with Frank, and it was safe to say he fell asleep that night hoping to the actual God (not his friend Jesus) that Frank had kept to his word.

--
i feel like 10 days apart from each chapters is too much but then a week in between is too little idrk

i send love and shitty smut,
-blue