A Revolution On Canvas (Frerard)

5: In Which Mr Urie Gets A Seventeen Year Old To Do His Paperwork For Him

Gerard's teaching style was only marginally more successful than Frank's, however the faults in his lay not in the lack of enthusiasm and complacency with doing very little at all, but more so over exertion, and to the point where he was boring students by just talking, however it only seemed to be his Thursday morning and Friday afternoon class that seemed to be exempt from the above.

The Thursday morning and Friday afternoon class, were what Gerard liked to call the 'good class', as in the class he'd put all the really enthusiastic people and the students he actually liked, which was of course something Lindsey frowned upon, especially since Gerard, being head of the department, got first choice in students, and she was usually left with the less than adequate ones, but Gerard reckoned he needed a class that would be happy to just paint and ask him about the upcoming weekend for an hour, especially in consideration of what had happened last night.

Last night, after school, with Mr Iero.

Of course, very little had actually happened with Mr Iero, and Gerard was more so focused upon the revelations that had come as of a result of it; the absent minded destructive temperament of his mind when it was left alone in the aftermath of Frank's smile, and the quote Gerard had kept, and the mess they'd made between them.

Because Frank was undeniably cute, and fuck, he was annoying as hell, of course, but Gerard knew by now that he was oddly drawn to the man; he'd probably even volunteer to continue help him decorate his classroom, because quite honestly, they really hadn't gotten much done, having favoured shameless half flirting, half insulting instead, not that Gerard minded.

Not that Gerard minded at all.

And he smiled to himself, sipping his coffee, leaned up against the front of his desk as he looked over the class - his favourite class, by a mile, and simply because it was so damn quiet in here, and he could actually think straight for once, of course, though, Gerard wasn't thinking straight as he doubted that he'd managed to do so in about fifteen years now, not that he really minded, of course.

However, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed the latest 'quote' pinned proudly to the quote board on the wall of his classroom, and that certain someone was Chantal Claret, who had gotten up in search of some more paint, but had laid her eyes on so much more.

Gerard did really like Chantal; she had common sense, she excelled in art, and she was more than happy to make casual small talk with him when he felt like it, and most of all, she was one of the very few students who didn't seem to care at all about the now rampant rumours regarding Mr Way and Mr Iero, however, in that moment, that all seemed to fade away, as Chantal stopped dead before the quote board, her eyes widening a little as she seemed to read the quote back to herself far too many times.

Gerard swallowed, hard, waiting for the inevitable, for her to scream something out to the class, and the whole room to explode in panic and gossip, and for him to be harassed with question upon question for the rest of his life, however, Chantal didn't opt for that option, and simply, placed the paint she'd been searching for back in her place, before making her way to the front of the room, meeting Mr Way's eyes as she did.

"Can I speak to you, sir?" She asked in a somewhat hushed tone, the two sharing a look of knowing, as Gerard inhaled sharply, before leading her into the supply cupboard on the pretence of helping her find some random art supply she may or may not ever need.

"It's the quote thing, isn't it?" Gerard closed the door behind them, exhaling loudly as he leaded back against the wall and racked his brains for some sort of plausible excuse, however, it really seemed like God was anything but on his side today.