My teacher - Frerard fan fiction

I never told you what i do for a living.

'Did you hear about Mr Dolton?' Ray runs into me as I pass his form room on the English corridor. He clumsily pushes into my side as he regains his balance. 'No, what?' He whistles loudly, holding onto his heavy backpack.

'God man it's all over the papers!!' I run a hand through my black hair getting frustrated. 'Fuck sake Ray what?!'

'He murdered his girlfriend and........ has been hiding her body in the art stock room for the past fortnight.' Ray squished his lips together, waiting for my reaction. At first I thought he was joking but Ray always smirks, it's a dead give away. He wasn't.

'MY ART TEACHER IS A MURDERER?!' Ray nodded. 'AND IVE BEEN SITTING NEAR A DEAD BODY FOR THE LAST TWO WEEKS?!' He patted me on the back. I was shocked, disgusted.

My desk is placed right next to the wooden door that leads to all the extra paints, paper and pens that Mr Dolton needed. But little did I know a poor woman's body was rotting just two meters away from him.

I really don't think I can sit in that seat with some sub teacher talking about Paul Klee and pretending nothing has happened. When in reality an innocent woman has been locked in there, dead, cold for weeks. I didn't even know, I was just worrying about if my tree looked realistic.

'Well I have Art first period. Fuck sake Ray, I don't want to go!' He looked at me with soft eyes. 'I'm sure you will be fine Frank, made of hard stuff you! the strength of ten men and the height of an average seven year old girl!' He punched me and laughed.

'ITS NOT FUNNY!' 'The situation or your height?' I scowl and walk off. Dreading the next hour. Who would take over to? Because every cover I have had knows shit and bricks about the subject.

They're all washed up 40 year olds who rock up into the classroom, read of a sheet of paper then leave. Probably to cry over their masters degree.

To be honest I'm glad Mr Dolton's gone. First of all he was a murderer, but that was only one part of the problem. See, I'm not bad at art. I do my work, complete it on time but I'm not good either. My lines are always a bit off, my face is uneven, my fish looks more like a flattened shark.

Mr Dolton always spent time with the good artists, the ones with the real talent. Once he told the class 'if your not good at art, why did you take it?' Well, it was to improve, to become a good artist but he never gave me the time of day.

What's worse, a boring, disinterested substitute or a stuck up teacher come part time murder? Yeah. I'll take the sub, Less chance of getting stabbed. I shrug as I turn town the art corridor.

I don't really know anyone in my class. Except from Olivia. She's nice, has a GREAT taste in music and helps me out with my average drawing skills. People say I should ask her out. I would....but I'm gay, vaginas scare me. A LOT.

I get to the blue door and take a breath before walking in and sitting down in my seat that's way to close the the store cupboard/ corpse hiding place. I feel cold sitting there. Looking around though everyone looks either sad, scared or confused. One girls even crying.

Olivia pokes me on the shoulder and I turn around to face her desk behind me. 'Im creeped out. It's so quiet.' Her green eyes darting around a bit. No one was talking, there was no teacher either. 'I know right. It's also comfiting to know Mrs Dolton was laying dead 2 meters away from me.' I point to the dark door.

Olivia places some of her dark brown hair behind an ear, sighing and tapping a familiar tune on the desk. The crying girl has stopped crying but looks scared as hell. Like Mr Dolton is going to jump through the door and kill them all. But I doubt that, apparently he's behind bars already. Pleaded guilty. Poor dickhead.

Suddenly the door flings open and the girl screams. But of course it isn't sir, holding a bloody axe and his victims crimson remains running down his shirt.......it's a tall man who looks extremely stressed and holding thousands of folders in his hands, pencil in his mouth .

The first thing I notice about him is his bright red hair. It literally looks like his head is on fire. The second thing I notice us that he's pretty young, I would say 23 at best. And god he's fit.The third thing I notice is how tight his jeans are. And the fourth thing I notice is how tight MY jeans are. Fuck.

He quickly places all the papers and folders onto the desk and removes the pencil from his lips. 'Sorry I'm late, this whole thing is a nightmare!' He has a strong Jersey accent, nasally but cute. 'My names Mr Way and I will be taking you for the rest of the year.' He smiles and I think that my heart just exploded.

See, this is why I'm gay. Mr Way sits on the edge of the wooden desk, slightly leans over and scans the room. 'I know this must be extremely weird and stressful for you so I'm here if you ever need to talk, art related or not.' Slowly he tucks hair behind his ear and coughs uncomfortably.

'This lesson I want to get to know you all, I think you deserve an ok teacher for once.' He looks at the dreaded door then me. I fidget and smile awkwardly, burning under his gaze. He seems to take an interest in me. 'You! What's your name?' 'Um Frank... Frank Iero.'

'Cool name....any hobbies, facts, opinions?' I think hard about what to say. I'm not an interesting person. 'Um. I play guitar in a band and like rock music.' Gerard grins. 'You and me are gonna get along just fine.' I'm NOT screwed. And that's the problem.