"Mr. Iero?" Mikey Way asked, entering the room for fourth period. "Can I talk to you after class?"

"Of course," I said. "You know that you can talk to the counselor, too, if you want..."

"No, Mrs. Marshall wouldn't understand," he said, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. "You'd be better."

What on the hell is that supposed to mean? I wondered as the bell rang, and Mikey made his way to the back of the class. He placed himself there in September, and now, almost three months later, he hasn't moved.

"'Morning, everyone," I said. "Now, I really want to give you time to work on your Twitter debate thing, but I have to actually teach you stuff if you want to pass the midterms and go to college. So, get out your grammar books and turn to page 764."

The classroom bustled as everyone got out the needed supplies, and I stood up, finding a dry-erase marker. "Alright, so, today we're dealing with characterization. There are two types: direct and indirect. Who can give me an example of direct?" I asked. Of course, no one raised their hand, and I sighed, giving them a smile. "Direct characterization is when the author directly tells you a trait of the character. An example would be... Umm, 'Mr. Iero had an unwise early adulthood'." Everyone laughed at that, which I expected.

"Now, indirect is a bit more complicated," I started. I turned and scribbled the definition for direct, then writing indirect' definition. "Indirect, you have to use context clues to figure it out. Like, 'Mr. Iero has a lot of tattoos and dropped out of college to tour with a band' would be indirect for the 'unwise early adulthood' thing. Just, for the record, I didn't drop out. I almost did, but I wouldn't be a teacher if I had, so, yeah."

A knock came from my closed door, stopping me in the middle of sentence. "Come in!" I called, and the door opened to reveal— oh, fuck.

"Mr. Iero, can I speak to you?" Gerard asked, poking his head into my room. "It's pretty urgent."

"Sure," I said. "I'll be right back, guys."

I left the classroom, careful to close the door behind me, and turned towards Gerard. He looked the same as he did earlier that morning, sans the coffee-stained dress shirt, trading it for a snug-fitting Anthrax shirt. He also has swatches of paint on his arm, and a bit of blue paint in his hair. This man...

"I'm really sorry about this morning," he said.

"Why're you apologizing to me?" I asked.

"I lashed out at you, and you didn't deserve to be spoken to like that." Gerard said, pushing his hair behind his ear.

"Oh," I mumbled, and pulled the sleeves of my sweater back down over my hands. I noticed Gerard staring, and asked: "Wanna see?"

"Oh, God, yes," he said and I pushed up my sleeves to show him the array of ink on my hands and arms. He delicately touched my skin and breathed: "Why in the name of God do you have 'ween' on your left hand? Are you trying to tell us something?"

"You're hilarious," I deadpanned. "I have 'ween' on my left hand because I have 'hallo' on my right hand. I was born on Halloween, and... Yeah."

"That's awesome," Gerard said. "I was April 9th, so, not as exciting." Then, he turned my hand and asked: "You have a lot of tattoos."

"I have more," I told him. "On my chest and legs and stomach and... Everywhere, basically."

"I'll have to see them someday," he said, looking up from my hand. His voice held no hint of sarcasm or anything scandalous; he seemed genuinely interested. You gotta remember he's an artist, Frank, I told myself. He wants to see your art.

---

"See you guys tomorrow," I said as the bell rang for fourth to end. Mikey immediately made his way up to the podium and and I asked: "What do you want to talk about?"

"My brother was telling me about someone last night," Mikey said with no introduction. "He said he was cute and his laugh was 'damn adorable'. Guess who?"

"Oh," I said quietly, twisting my fingers in my hair. "Well... I, uh—"

"He totally flirted with you, didn't he?" Mikey asked. "When you two were out there."

"He didn't," I said, noting a hint of disappointment in my voice. "Even if he did, what does it matter?"

"Gee doesn't flirt," Mikey informed me. "He just doesn't. You, Mr. Iero, are very special."

Goddamn. That's the second time in two days that I've felt like the chosen one. The Way brothers sure know how to make a man feel special.

"So I've been told," I mumbled. "Head on to fifth. I'll see you tomorrow." Mikey nodded as he left the classroom and left me to ponder on what he said. Was Gerard trying to put the moves on me?

I need to take that phrase out of my vocabulary.

Notes

Here's a fun game: put 'Mom' at the end of any MCR song title. Ex. Give 'Em Hell, Mom; It's Not A Fashion Statement, It's A Fucking Deathwish, Mom; Kill All Your Friend, Mom. It's quite hilarious.

xoøli