We're Chasing The Sun (Frerard)

Chapter 3

"These are the forgeries of jealousy; and never since the middle summer's spring, met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead..." Mr. Johnson, totally known as Gerard's favorite teacher, continued reading the play aloud with rapture, whilst Jase and Brendon continued kicking against Gerard's chair. They let quiet giggles escape their mouths because, apparently, it was fucking hilarious. 

Until Ryan gave Brendon an eyebrow raise. And strangely, that was all it took for them to stop.

Ryan was a cool dude; he was overall pretty chill. He had the advantage of being openly gay, but also not made fun of, unlike a lot of people that were recently out the closet—and still in the closet. And not to mention, he had his own band. And, like, bodyguards or whatever they were.

If someone dared to open their mouth and make fun of Ryan Ross, well, they'd be dead by the next day. That was because of Brendon Urie. The number one bodyguard.

These two were so dissimilar, and if someone contradicted Gerard at that, they should go reevaluate their life. Seriously. No one could even compare Brendon asshole Urie to Ryan Ross. It's like comparing a moth to a freaking glamorous butterfly, you just don't do that. 

Who even likes moths?

Gerard especially despised moths like Brendon Urie—who, mind you, had resumed kicking against his chair after Ryan was excused to visit the restroom. Brendon and Jase had started chuckling again. Evil chuckles. Like demonic five-year-olds' chuckles.

Gerard just didn't get it. He wasn't an easy target. Was he? Well, even if he was, there was no need to point it out. Why be so mean? Did Brendon Urie seriously never watch Bambi as a child? 'If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all.'

Gerard blamed the system. It was their fault Brendon turned out like that. If school had made him think about his life a little, that all wouldn't be happening. Take Mr. Johnson, for example; how could he go on like that? Gerard was wondering how the fuck his teacher wasn't bored of his miserable life yet. If only he'd thought about being a teacher a second time in the past, he could've grown up to be a terrific rhetorician or something along those lines. Stuff that requires a lot of speaking, you know?

But no. Instead, Mr. Johnson was torturing and plaguing seventeen-year-olds with Shakespeare.

Not that Gerard didn't like Shakespeare or anything, but his anger was burning up inside him with the ringing, annoying voice of his demented teacher, and he swore his life was cursed, and fucking hell, those assholes were still kicking against his chair, and with every kick he could feel his chair—!

"Fu-uck," he stuttered. Gerard fell off his chair. To be honest, he should've seen that coming.

He literally fell off his chair and everybody burst into laughter as he struggled to stand up, cheeks red. 

He literally fell off his chair and everybody was laughing, for fuck's sake. What was so amusing about his physical pain? Now he was almost certainly letting his faith in humanity slip out of him and he honestly didn't care. He didn't even want to live on this planet anymore. Humans. Disgusting creatures. 

Gerard genuinely preferred to live with a malevolent entity such as a demon. A shapeshifter-motherfucker like Pennywise maybe. At least then, his life would have some unfeigned suspense, finally. He had enough of high-school drama; a week with Pennywise would feel like being on a fucking holiday, really.

Heck, even Hell would feel like being on a holiday at that point.

"Everybody, calm down," Mr. Johnson tried and turned to Gerard with a compassionate glance. "Oh, Gerard. Are you okay?"