Chapter 5

Gerard woke up early that morning. He was surprised by this as much as his whole family, since there hadn't even been an alarm clock that woke him up, and he was on the afternoon shift at the store, meaning there was absolutely no reason for him to be awake at five to seven in the morning.

But maybe there was.

When he woke up, thinking it was midday, he rolled over to fetch his phone, frowning in confusion when the white numbers told him it was indeed 6:57 in the damn morning. He rolled out of bed and put on his slippers, not bothering himself with the job of changing out of his pajama shirt and baggy sweatpants. It was only his family he was seeing; there was no reason to dress up.

With a nice cup of warm coffee in mind, Gerard made his way down the stairs, and turned on the coffee maker. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he decided he might as well open the store, since both his parents and little brother were asleep, and he was sure his Dad would like that Gerard both woke up early and opened the shop for him.

Besides, it wouldn't be much trouble, because the family strategically lived in the same block as the store, basically two houses over. It was nice not to have to walk a long distance to arrive to the family business at least.

Though Gerard was old enough now to drive, he was nineteen at the time, he preferred taking the bus or walking. Mikey was the exact opposite, asking Gerard to teach him how to drive almost every single weekend, driving Gerard nuts with how much he wanted to have his own car and be able to move around. Despite Gerard's preference, he did know how to drive: his parents had taught him how to do so when he was barely fifteen, in case of any emergency, and got his license as soon as he could.

He was quite good at it too: never speeding, always respecting the pedestrians, stop signs and red lights. He was the one who drove Mikey when his younger sibling needed it, since he was still pretty shitty at the whole car driving thing, and refused to learn how to ride a bus.

Gerard never really saw the great thing about driving: everything he wanted or needed wasn't that far away (except the gigs him and Mikey went to that were just outside of town). He had the shop literally ten steps away, his house was right there and the centre of town wasn't that far away. That was all he really needed.

As soon as he had graduated high school the year prior, Gerard had had a rather long talk with his father about his future. He didn't want to leave town and didn't want to study a proper career, he wanted to stay and work at the shop his Dad owned, get a few bucks out of it and maybe get his own little apartment, or share one with Mikey when he graduated high school. Although his mom wasn't quite fond of the idea and wanted Gerard to study something at university, his Dad was more than ecstatic that the shop would carry on being owned by Way people.

Even though Gerard did plan on taking over the shop once his Dad let him, he did start giving a few private lessons of Spanish in his free time, so he could earn some extra cash. Most middle school and high school kids needed help with the language, and he was kind of good at it, so it was good business.

Suddenly, Gerard froze.

The shop.

The shop's wall that that kid had tagged and had promised to cover up by seven. Gerard's eyes widened and his coffee was suddenly forgotten: he was wide awake now. A glance to the clock hanging on the kitchen wall told him it was now six past seven. That dude better has covered it up, or Gerard was screwed, and Gerard would call the police then.

He remembered the deal he had made with the Frank-guy earlier that day, and ran out of his house in his goddamn pajama pants and slippers as he dug around his mind for the guy's surname, which he couldn't quite recall. Give him a break; he had gotten like four hours of sleep. The sun was small but bright on the early morning sky, and a few birds were chirping as Gerard made his way to the alleyway of the shop, heart racing and hoping his Dad wouldn't kill him if he found out.

But much to his surprise, when he reached the small gap between the art shop and the next building, there was no sight of the previously-there art. The wall was as stark bright as it had been twenty-four hours prior, no trace of the boar or the policeman left behind. Frowning and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Gerard wondered if there had ever been a drawing and the tagger named Frank or if it had been all a weird ass dream to frighten him. But no, he remembered the guy's witty comments and his face features pretty damn well; it couldn't have been such a lucid dream, right? It looked way too realistic to have been a dream, or a nightmare.

His frown deepened and he took a step forward with his hard stretched, wanting to touch the white paint.

"Whoa, fresh paint, man: don't touch,"

Gerard shrieked at the voice and gave a small jump backwards, hand flying upwards to clutch at his chest, almost trying to hold onto his racing heart. His head whipped to his right, where he had heard the familiar voice come from, and there was no mistaking it: there, leaning with his shoulder against the edge of the alleyway was the one and only Frank Iero, smirking at Gerard and looking at him up and down. Gerard wondered briefly if he was being checked out, when Frank spoke again.

"Nice slippers," Gerard blushed furiously, remembering he had ran out of his home with his pajamas still on, and crossed his arms against his shitty, stretched t-shirt as if to hide it. Not that Frank was well-dressed, he was in the same attire as a few hours ago, when Gerard had caught him tagging in the first place, but this time, Gerard caught a few speckles of white tainting his black clothes. Gerard tried not to feel intimidated, even though the boy was quite shorter than him. When Frank took a step forward, Gerard tumbled backward slightly, and looked away at Frank's raised eyebrow. "What? Haven't got your baseball bat to smash my head in?"

Gerard could almost hear the amused smile in Frank's voice, but chose to ignore the question, instead facing the once-tagged wall and speaking. "You covered it up,"

"I always keep my promises, Gerard Way. Besides, I really didn't want the police on my ass... Again. Thanks, by the way,"

Gerard tried both not to over-think the fact that Frank had added the word 'again' to the end of his sentence and how Frank had walked closer to him, looking at the painted wall like Gerard was. His brow was slightly furrowed and his lip was almost forming a pout, as if he was sad that he had had to cover it up. And a small part of Gerard felt guilty, and he sympathized with Frank, but the bigger part knew how his father would've reacted to the street art, and he knew what he had done was the right thing.

"Yeah, you're welcome. I, uh, I did like the art, it did make a nice statement, but, y'know, not my shop yet, so those were really the only options," Gerard didn't really know why he had the sudden urge to defend himself in doing what he had done, or why in fuck's name he was complimenting this- this criminal's art.

Frank grinned at him. "Thanks, man. I do like the name of the shop though: I know a good pun when I see one,"

Gerard tried not to laugh, because what the fuck, laughing with someone who vandalized your dad's shop, really? But he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his chest. The shop was cleverly named 'The Way To Go', in big red letters, and anyone who knew the owner knew just how fucking shitty the pun was, and Gerard felt almost embarrassed that Frank had noticed it, even if he hadn't been the one to give the shop its' name.

He quickly made his face a serious one again and straightened his posture, "I won't tell anyone,"

"I know. Thank you, again, you totally saved my ass last night, even if it was a bitch to cover up, and a shame to have to paint over such a piece, but I understand where you're coming from. And hey, maybe someday I'll actually get paid for doing some art, and then you will stop calling it fucking 'vandalizing' and appreciate it as the art it actually is,"

Gerard didn't answer, and instead kept looking at the blank wall, as if he was trying to find the drawing under it, trying to make out the shapes and forms under the white coat, but it was impossible, Frank had done quite a good job in covering it up.

"Well, I gotta go. See you around, Gerard," Frank grinned, and Gerard turned his face just in time for Frank to place yet another sloppy and wet kiss on his cheek, which ended up landing way closer to his mouth than he would've liked.

"Stop fucking doing that," He moaned in annoyance as he wiped the saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand, face pulled into one of disgust as Frank walked backwards out of the alley.

"You love it, Gerard Way," Frank winked with a laugh, and disappeared once again, leaving Gerard still furiously wiping at his cheek, even though it was now clean and saliva-free. Gerard scoffed and lowered his hand, glaring at the end of the alley where Frank had disappeared, and then turned to face the white wall once again, left alone with his thoughts and his thoughts only.

Frank had mentioned about having the police on his ass again, the word 'again' being the keyword, but Gerard was left confused. The boy couldn't be out of school yet, he couldn't be a day older that seventeen. Gerard wondered why a guy like his age, at such a young period of his life would decide to vandalize shops without permission, why he had decided he liked illegal stuff and tagging walls in the city.

It was dumb, really, throwing away a whole lifetime like that just to make a statement. Gerard frowned. Why would he prefer a life where you had to be aware of the cops every single step you took and live with the constant fear of getting caught or recognized and punished by your actions.

There were so many other ways of expressing yourself, why would someone do it in one of the illegal ways there was? Gerard wondered if maybe the crew Frank hung out with had convinced him to start doing this, and he also wondered if Frank did other illegal stuff he was unaware off, and if he maybe should call the police or try to talk him out of it.

But Frank was just another random boy from New Jersey, why was Gerard so damn hung up on him?

Then he understood it, Frank intrigued Gerard, he had all these questions about Frank's choices that none other than Frank himself could answer properly.

Gerard did begin to understand something else though, Frank (and other taggers) did it for exactly the thing Gerard questioned: they liked living in constant fear, for it wasn't fear, it was the adrenaline. The thought of being caught at any moment thrilled them and sent energy pumping through their veins, it was a dangerous way of expressing oneself, sure, but it was that what made it expressing yourself, the danger you put yourself through to show the people what you thought and to make a statement through art.

Gerard's whole day consisted of him thinking about all of this: tagging, Frank, the thrill of getting caught, the art, everything. He fell asleep thinking about this too, and his dreams were haunted by images of him and someone who looked suspiciously like Frank running through the streets and laughing, bags filled with spray cans slung over their shoulders.

But Gerard's morals and common sense were prodding at the back of his head, forcing him to erase any similar thoughts and to focus on the shop. He had to admit though, that voice in his head sounded suspiciously like his Dad's.

--
havent written in like 2 months lol
-blue