Yes, family dinner, oh how I dread the god-forbidden once a week occasion. The occasion where all three members of my immediate family can take their bites at me, whether it be toward my art or my appearance, they usually take their pick. Tonight was different though, instead of berating me about my pasty skin or my anti-social tendencies, they decided to pick on the lovely fact that I wasn't happy about taking vocal lessons from my weirdo of a teacher.
My mother was the one who'd started off the bickering until edging my father in, then my 'dearest' brother, Michael. I was minding my own business while poking at the plate of ham and green beans placed in front of me with my fork, my family had a stale conversation about my brothers grades going on in the background which I just viewed as white noise.
"Gerard, your food." My mother had told me sternly at some point while I was zoned out, "You're skinny as a rail! Have you been eating lunch at school?"
I nodded, not even bothering to look at her. I loved my mother a lot, I completely adored her to be exact. She was a lovely woman with good morals and an accepting heart, nothing phased her in the least and I was proud to call her my mom. She was the only person in my family that encouraged me artistically. As much as she wanted me to do something with music she reminded me countless times that as long as I was doing what I loved, she was overjoyed for me.
My mother dropped her fork on to her half empty plate. "Gerard honey, you've barely said a word. Are you feeling well?"
"Tired." I replied.
Michael scoffed. "What could you possibly be tired from? All you do is sit in your room, that's not very energy straining last time I checked."
My father looked up and gave him a warning. "Michael."
"I'm allowed to be tired." I mumbled. I placed my elbow on the table and put my forehead in my hand, staring down at my plate and eating as slowly as I could manage.
"How's your musical theater class?" My mother asked after a long silence fell over the dinner table.
"Fine." I answered.
Although I wasn't looking at my father, I could feel him tense. "*Musical* *theater*?"
My mother smiled, "Yes, Don. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Donna, are you *asking* for the boy to get bullied?" My father snapped at her, "Gerard, why don't try something like football or...maybe track?"
"You're kidding, right?" I snapped. I still didn't look up.
"I think musical theater would be a great thing for Gerard." My mother announced proudly.
Michael laughed. "Yeah, a great thing of embarrassment."
"Mikey, please."
"Mom, don't even try." I said. I looked over at Michael, my eyes shooting darts at him, "There's no point in telling him to screw off because he's an immature little brat."
"At least I'm not some goth kid who parades around school like he's some kind of special, tortured snowflake, God Gerard I wouldn't be shocked if you were some kind of fa-"
"Michael! Enough!" My father scolded.
"No, I want him to finish his sentence." I said. I knew what Michael was going to say. He was going to throw the word 'fag' at me. It wasn't bothered by it. But my mother was. My mother absolutely hated when Mikey called me that word, mostly because she'd been suspecting that I didn't have as much interest in women as the family had thought. Mother and I never really talked about it, we kept a quiet, understanding peace until I decided to openly speak up and tell them.
"Mikey, don't you even dare say what I think you're going to say." Mother directed at him. The table went silent again to leave only sounds of my father and Michael chewing away at their food. Mother and I just stared at each other, she could tell I was uncomfortable being in a family situation.
"Well, have you done anything productive in you're uh, music class?" My father asked.
"Yes." I answered sharply.
"Like what?"
I sighed. "I sang. The teacher likes me and my voice. I'm taking vocal lessons twice a week."
My dad only nodded and continued to eat. Eventually all the attention turned back to Mikey as I realized that my dad was probably extremely disappointed in me. He was an average father, you could say. He wanted me to be some teen athlete which of course was not my cup of tea, but more of Mikey's. He was starting Mikey early, with him being only fourteen and a freshman, he was already on his way to achieving my father's little sports star dream that I could've never made come true. But I was fine with that, and so was mother. That's all I needed to keep me moving forward.
"Can I be excused? I wanna go to bed." I finally asked. Only about one-sixth of my plate had been eaten but my parents were used to that. Food wasn't my forte.
Mother let out a defeated sigh. She reached across the table and pushed my bangs out of my face, "Sleep well, sweetheart."
I smiled at her, barely, but it was a smile. I got up from the table, faced Mikey with one last glare, and removed myself from the dining room completely.
My brother and I didn't always treat each other like complete assholes, it depended on our moods. One day, and we could have a bond closer than any other siblings you've ever encountered. And the next, I could be punching him in the face and holding him in a headlock while he repeatedly called me a fat ass. There was no in-between.
Mikey had come into my room later that night, knowing I barely ever slept and fibbed at the table just to get away from the degrading conversation. He'd caught me in the middle of an art project I was working on. I was curled up in my bed with my back set against my wall, sketchbook in my lap. He didn't really say anything, he just sat down next to me and tucked his knees into my chest.
"I'm sorry." He said.
"For what?" I questioned, bitterly. I continued drawing away in my book.
"For dinner. I'm just in a bad mood and I didn't have anyone else to take it out on." He told me.
"Okay."
"You barely talk anymore." I could feel his eyes set on the side of my face, almost burning holes in my cheek as he tried desperately to make eye contact with me.
"Alright?"
"I get worried about you, Gerard." He said blandly. "I just don't understand how someone can be so invested in them self and barely open up to someone. Especially their family. I get that art is important to you, but it's not something that your whole life should revolve around. I mean, don't understand how it makes you feel but, it's...it's ridiculous."
"You're fourteen. You don't even know what you're talking about." I spat.
"And you're only seventeen! Since when does age entitle you to how much common sense you have?"
"I'm almost an adult."
"Yes, in five months Gerard. You're not an adult yet. You're still a kid and maybe if you'd stop sulking around you'd be doing things that normal seventeen year olds do." Mikey sputtered.
"You sound like dad."
"Good. Maybe that's the reality check you need."
"Get out of my room. I'm busy."
Mikey tucked his brown hair behind his ears, continuing to stare at the side of my face. "Look at me."
I rolled my eyes and froze my pencil, still staring down. "Get. Out. Of. My. Room."
"You know what? Fine." And with that, he got off my bed and slammed my door as hard as he possibly could on his way out.

---

School the next morning was a fucking bust. I didn't sleep at all after Mikey left my room. Honestly, what he said had really gotten into my head and kept me awake all night. A part of me wanted to say he was right, but another part of me was saying he didn't understand how I felt about things. Especially my art. He had no right to say it was ridiculous. That pissed me off.
I sat in my usual seat in the auditorium, I didn't put my earbuds in this time, I just stared at my shoes. Homeroom bell hadn't rang yet so I occupied myself with listening to other people's conversations as they drifted in. I would be lying if I said I didn't jump in my seat when the kid I least expected to interact with me decided to sit beside right me.
"Hello." He said. He smiled.
"Hi." I replied.
"I'm Ray. You're Gerard, right?" He asked. He gave me a peculiar vibe, no matter how normal he seemed to look. He was definitely a happy person, I can tell you that. But in all honesty, the first thing I noticed about him was his hair. I'd kill for his hair. All the curls and the volume, how it looked so soft. Magnificent.
"Yes. The one and only." I said.
"Okay good." Ray smiled again. "I just thought you'd want a buddy, ya know? I makes me sad when I see you all by yourself. No offense."
"None taken." I answered.
"I like your shirt by the way. Bowie's a pretty cool guy." He said and looked down at my shirt.
"Oh thanks. I look up to him. He's inspiring."
"Yea man, I get that." Another smile.
Homeroom bell rang eventually after we had both worked up a conversation about different things we liked, mostly focusing around music tastes. Mr. Iero rushed in just like everyday, apologizing and cursing on how he could never be on time. He looked better than usual today, his hair was tamed, the bags under his eyes were barely visible, his clothes weren't wrinkled. He looked...good? In a way.
"Hey guys." Mr. Iero announced and gave a bright, enthusiastic smile. He sipped from the Starbuck's cup that occupied his hand and stood in front of us.
"Goodmorning Mr. Iero!" Ray said cheerfully. Mr. Iero gave him a glance that turned into a brink of smile when he realized Ray was sitting next to me.
"'Morning Ray. See you've made a friend." Mr. Iero looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, let's talk about the actual point of this class."
He sat his cup on the edge of the stage and lowered himself on a single chair that was in front of it. "Patrick!" He said abruptly, "What's the meaning of this class?"
Patrick's face turned bright red as everyone's eyes landed on him. It was sin, how shy he was. He could almost compete with me on that aspect. "Uh, to strengthen our music skills?"
"Precisely." Mr. Iero projected. "Not just to strengthen your musical ability, but to encourage your social skills, and motivate you creatively. Also to ya know, do some bad ass musicals for the school."
I heard Ray giggle softly. He was kinda way far up Mr. Iero's ass.
Mr. Iero stood up. "So, plan for today. We're voting on what musical you guys wanna try for. When that's done, for our little vocalists in the room, I'm matching songs to your voices. Got it?"
A few people gave him a response of, "Got it."
"I'm not a pencil-paper teacher as you may have noticed," Mr. Iero laughed softly, "So we're doin the whole 'raise your hand to vote' kinda thing."
He paused, "You guys ready?"
Everyone gave an eager, "Yes."
"Alright. One, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."
One vote.
"Two, Grease."
4 votes.
"Three, Les Misérables."
I raised my hand. So did Ray. And Patrick. 5 votes.
Mr. Iero smiled the widest smile I had ever seen, I thought his face might've fallen off. "I was hoping you guys would pick that one."
I was satisfied. Les Misérables was one of the best plays I had ever seen. When I was about twelve, my family had driven up to New York for my birthday and we had seen it right on Broadway. It was probably one of my most treasured memories.
"Okay, I'll have availible parts posted out on the board tomorrow, we'll do auditions next week, then we shall go from there." Mr. Iero projected. It was nice to see him so overjoyed over the fact that his ten students had picked a musical that he'd wanted. It was quite a silly thing to be joyful over, but I was happy for him, nevertheless.
"Let's have a discussion really quick." He sighed. "I know you've all heard about the lovely football game next week, yeah?"
A majority groaned.
"Yeah, feeling's mutual guys." Mr. Iero chuckled. "But, our wonderful principal Ms. Nestor wants some talented kid to sing the national anthem. So, that being said, guess who she came to?"
Everyone was silent.
"Heck yeah you guys guessed it," Mr. Iero sighed sarcastically, "She came to me. And lucky for you guys, she didn't ask me to pick from my class full of freshmen. One of you fantastic seniors gets to sing the national anthem. Isn't that great?"
"Who's gonna sing it though?" A guy asked.
"Good question Brendon, cause, I don't know yet." He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, "I have someone in mind, though."
Splendid. Just fucking splendid.
Ray leaned toward me, "I think he might pick you." He whispered.
"Doubt it." I said.
Ray shook his head. "You're kidding, right?"
"No? Why would I be?"
"You're oblivious aren't you?" Ray laughed quietly."
"What? No? What am I oblivious to?" I was confused. Utterly confused.
"Mr. Iero stares at you, Gerard. Literally everyone talks about it."
"Okay, so? Maybe it's because I look strange. Just because you stare at someone doesn't mean jackshit." I snapped.
"No, you don't get it."
"How so?"
"It's stare like, he wants you. You know?"
"No. I don't know, actually. You're delusional."
Ray sighed, "Whatever you say, Gerard."
Mr. Iero was rambling again, talking about preparation and such. Was it actually true though? Did he really stare at me? I thought people were just overreacting. Or maybe they weren't. The scary part was the fact that he was staring didn't make me uncomfortable. Deep down in the depths of my soul, I felt kind of content that people thought he was staring at me. Like he wanted me. Mr. Iero definitely wasn't unattractive. I felt disgusting for thinking that, I mean the guy was at least ten years old than I was. But he intrigued me, entirely. I didn't know why. I couldn't understand why. That got me thinking. The past few days I had been excited to go into his class. I was excited to sit there and listen to Mr. Iero's constant gibberish and complete bullshitting his way out of teaching. It made me...happy.
"Anyway, we have ten minutes left of class." Mr. Iero yawned. "So I'm gonna pull some students aside, see who I want to sing at the football thing next week. Do something a little productive please, this is still considered a class."
Everyone then turned to each other, doing the exact opposite of what he said and just talking to one another. I watched him as he rubbed his temples, his eyes closed as he looked just about read to fall asleep at any second. He took a swig of his coffee and cleared his throat while I realized that I was sitting here and fucking watching him. Everything he did, I was observing intently. How he moved. How the tattoos on his hands blurred when he moved them around. How his eyes flickered across everything.
What the hell was wrong with me?
"Gerard?"
I jolted when I heard Mr. Iero say my name, but at the same time I felt my heart beat ten times faster. Maybe because he scared me when he said my name. Maybe because he made me nervous all around. A good kind of nervous that I don't know how to explain.
"Come here." He said brightly. I nodded and lifted from my seat, trudging over to him. I stood in front of him, close enough to smell the warm cologne that was petruding from his beige cardigan. "How do you feel about singing next week?"
I was shocked, "What?"
"Next week," He said, "You wanna sing the national anthem?"
"I d-don't know if I can that's like...my voice isn't good enough... I don't-"
"You're voice is good enough, Gerard." He told me softly. His eyes stared deep into mine. They were so pretty. Their scheme was so fucking calming, I could stare at them for hours. No matter how bad that sounds.
"Your voice is advanced enough to sing that, you know that? It's pretty incredible actually." He sipped his coffee again. not breaking eye contact with me.
"Well, I mean...if you really think I can do it-"
"No, Gerard. I don't think you can do it. I know you can do it. You're talented, accept that."
"Okay." I sighed, "I guess I'll do it."
"Good."
"Can I ask you something?"
He paused, "Of course.?"
"Um, the other day you said something really uh...weird?"
"You gotta be more specific, I say a lot of weird things within an hours time." He laughed. I forced a smile.
"You said something about me...tempting you?" I said carefully.
His face dropped. "Oh fucking hell." He mumbled under his breath, probably thinking I couldn't hear him.
"If you wanna know what I meant, stay after class, yeah? I promise I'm not being sketchy or anything, it's just... strange." He told.
I nodded.
I sat back down in my seat, awaiting the last few minutes before the class ended. Ray didn't say anything to me, he was busy talking to a guy named Pete who had his arm firmly wrapped around Patrick's shoulders. The bell rang finally, and everyone cleared out as Mr. Iero gave them his goodbye's and told them to have a nice day. I stayed in my seat, waiting as everyone left until it was just Mr. Iero and I.
He was sitting on the edge of the stage, gesturing for me to sit next to him. I did. We didn't say anything to each other for a moment.
"This your free period?" He asked.
"Yeah." I answered.
"Okay." He took a deep breath, "Listen, I think you're remarkable."
"Oh. Thanks."
"I'm really not trying to freak you out and this is so fu- pardon my french- fucking unprofessional and so out of order for a teacher to be doing. But Gerard, I do remember when you were probably around fifteen years old. I do remember you. This isn't the first time we've seen each other."
"What are you saying?" I asked.
"What I'm saying is," He swallowed, "When I saw that you were in my class, it made me so happy. Beyond comprehension. I want to help you, you get that? You seem so...sad. It keeps me up at night because I can tell that you're a great person."
"I...I don't know what to say." I really didn't. I nothing but flattered. I felt like someone actually appreciated me.
"You don't have to say anything."
"People say you stare at me."
"They aren't wrong."
"Oh."
"It's just hard." He sighed.
"Wha...what is?"
He didn't speak for a long while, "You really wanna know?"
"Yes."
"This is fucking unrealistic." He breathed.
"What?"
"It's fucking unrealistic to be a sad teacher who thinks he has feelingsfor a student that he's only interacted with three times."

Notes

im sorry to all 9 of you that this took me 8 days to put out im also sorry that its rlly gay and cliche but i want this move fast so it has a fucking storyline. feedback would be cool even though im a total flop and im bad at everything. xx