Chapter Text
Frank has never, for one single second, given a shit about what he looks like in the comfort of his own car.
He’s got restless energy in general, but it triples the second he has to wait for anything. Red lights? Torture. Like the one he’s sitting at right now, on the way to the apartment he and Mikey are renting. So naturally, the volume in his shitty Mazda is cranked so loud the whole car rattles like it’s trying to shake itself apart. He’s drumming against the steering wheel and screaming along to Black Flag like he’s auditioning for a job that doesn’t exist. Same shit, every time. Nothing to see here.
But today, as he’s thrashing around, he catches someone looking at him.
He stops moving and, yep. There’s a guy staring directly at him from the car in the next lane. He freezes, hands hovering in mid-air like he just got caught stealing. He makes direct eye contact.
The guy’s driving a Camry that is only slightly less shitty than his Mazda. He’s got his hands on the steering wheel and he is not even pretending not to stare. Not embarrassed. Not looking away. Just…watching. Which, okay. Rude. People are supposed to respect the sanctity of Car Time.
But Frank’s not looking away either. A little bit because this has become a staring contest and Frank is not losing, but mostly because holy shit. This guy is hot.
His black hair is sticking out in a million directions, but it looks weirdly intentional. He’s got sharp eyes and a pixie nose and a leather jacket and a smirk that hits Frank’s gut like a ton of bricks. There are obviously details missing - they’re looking at each other through car windows - but Frank is at least 80% sure he’d let this guy ruin his fucking life.
He has no idea how much time they spend just gawking at each other, but he knows neither of them notice that the light turns green until someone behind them honks. And then the guy looks ahead, breaking the spell, and drives off.
And so does Frank, because what the hell else is he supposed to do.
He makes it to the apartment five minutes later. Mikey’s already there, and he helps Frank drag his shit in from the back of his Mazda. They talk briefly about their summer before they start making plans for the apartment, how they’re going to decorate it and how many parties they’re going to have.
Frank hates college. Everyone knows this. He’s not shy about it. He doesn’t even have a major yet, mostly because the only thing he wants to major in is music and he doesn’t want to have to justify the choice to his parents until the absolute last second, which happens to be at the end of this semester.
But Rutgers has its perks. It’s not his parents’ house, they don’t require students to live on campus, and they made Mikey his roommate last year.
The two words Frank would use to describe Mikey are: lanky and aloof. He and Frank didn’t have a full conversation until last November, because Mikey didn’t seem interested and Frank was, honestly, a little intimidated. Mikey always looks vaguely pissed off, and Frank assumed he was a man of few words, so he mostly tried to keep out of Mikey’s way. Until the day Mikey came home from class and Frank, who had lost track of time, was blasting Misfits and cutting the sleeves off of one of his shirts. You know, for fashion.
Mikey immediately started talking Frank’s ear off about music, which led to a conversation about movies, and then television.They realized that they were from the same hometown but they hadn’t met because Frank had gone to Catholic school and ran with a completely different crowd than Mikey. And after that they just… never stopped talking. Turns out that Mikey actually talks a whole fucking lot when he wants to.
At the end of last year, they decided to go for it and get the apartment, which wasn’t a hard sell for either of their families because they promised they’d pay the rent themselves.
The apartment is, quite honestly, a shithole. Tiny bedrooms, questionable bathrooms, no separation between kitchen and living room. But it has two very important things going for it: it’s off-campus, and it’s in their price range. Frank loves it the way you love an ugly dog: defensively, and with full commitment.
“If we ever need alcohol or anything, Gee can get it for us,” Mikey says as they collapse on the maroon couch Mikey picked up from the local Goodwill.
“Sounds good. Am I ever gonna meet him or is he just gonna drop alcohol off on the doorstep like a booze fairy?” Frank has known Mikey for a year, has known about his brother for almost as long, but has never seen the guy. He’s allegedly an MFA student at Rutgers, but he never came to their dorm last year. When Frank and Mikey hung out at Mikey’s this summer, he was either at an internship in the city or in his basement, as Mikey put it, “avoiding people and responsibilities.” At this point, Frank is like 30% sure Mikey made him up.
Mikey laughs. “You’ll meet him. He’s excited I’m in an apartment now, he hates the dorms. He’s got this thing about how he’s a real adult since he has a degree and worked for Cartoon Network for a summer.”
“Well, tell him to come over, then. I’ll roll out the red carpet for such a prestigious adult.”
“Maybe tomorrow. I’m fucking wiped.”
*
The next day is Wednesday, the first day of the semester, and Frank already wants to quit. His alarm goes off at nine and he smashes snooze four times like he’s personally fighting a war against it, because he is. Summer trained him to sleep until the afternoon and live like a raccoon, so having to get up before ten for Intro to American Literature feels like cruel and unusual punishment. He finally drags himself out of bed at 9:30, brushes his teeth, wrestles his hair into “not completely feral,” throws on whatever’s clean, and speeds ten minutes to campus. The only silver lining is that Past Frank had the foresight to build a schedule with just one class on Mondays and Wednesdays. Bless that guy.
He slides into the lecture hall at 9:58 and immediately heads for the back. The place is crawling with students, close to a hundred of them. Most of them are probably freshmen, because sane people knock their gen eds out in year one. Frank, on the other hand, waited until now because he hates English classes on principle. Reading books written by dead guys just because some other dead guys decided they were important is a massive waste of time. But, as his parents like to chant in unison, he needs “a fucking degree,” so here he is.
At the front of the hall, there’s a late middle aged guy wearing khakis and a bowtie and a fucking tweed jacket like a neon sign that says I AM YOUR ENGLISH PROFESSOR. He’s chatting with four people who are clearly not freshmen, maybe not even undergrads. They look older, confident, smug in that “I survived and now I own you” way. Frank squints at them, mostly bored, until one of them shifts and… holy shit.
Car Guy.
Leather jacket, messy black hair, smug face. The guy from the red light. The universe apparently decided Frank deserved a treat. Thank you, universe. Sincerely.
He’s thinking about how to introduce himself when the professor starts talking. “Good morning,” he says from the lecture podium. “You can probably guess that I’m Professor Grant. Welcome to Introduction to American Literature. I’m sure that many of you are here to fulfil a gen ed requirement, and that’s fine with me. I only ask that you keep yourselves open to fully receive the material. I understand you’re all busy, but giving literature the time and space it deserves will strengthen your convictions, expand your worldview, and might even be fun.”
Frank decides that he fucking hates Professor Grant.
A syllabus gets passed around, and Frank looks through it to realize that Introduction to American Literature is just High School English Again. He’s read (or been told to read) basically all of these books. He rolls his eyes as Professor Grant walks through the syllabus and discusses due dates, the cheating policy, and how they’re graded.
“The structure of this class will be a little different than a typical lecture, because it’s important that everyone be able to discuss the works that we’ll be reading,” he says eventually. “Every Monday, we will meet here for a standard lecture. Every Wednesday, you will meet with one of the TAs -” Professor Grant motions behind him at the four people he was talking to earlier. They’re sitting in the front row, and Frank can’t see their faces. “- and participate in a discussion of that week’s text. We will also have reflections and essays in this class, and the TAs will grade them and be available for feedback and questions. They have all taken this class, and many others with me. I trust that they will lead you well. I’ve split this class into four groups. The TAs will call out your names. If you hear yours, please head with the TA to the area they tell you.”
A girl named Leann gets up first. She seems… suspiciously peppy. She calls about twenty kids and tells them to meet her in the classroom next door.
They all file out. Then Car Guy gets up.
“Hey,” he says at the lecture podium. His voice is nasally and sharp, like he’s making fun of something whenever he talks. “I’m Gerard. Uh, it’s a nice day, right? So we’ll meet outside, in the courtyard by the front doors. Okay, James Matthews?”
He starts reading names, and Frank’s stomach is doing this dumb fluttery thing, like he’s twelve and about to get picked for dodgeball. The more names Gerard calls, the antsier Frank gets, begging the universe for another miracle.
And then: “Frank Iero?”
Frank stands, actively reminding himself to breathe. Gerard looks up from the podium and their eyes meet. Nothing changes on Gerard’s face. No flicker of recognition, no change in his smile. But Frank knows that he knows.
He wanders out with the others into the end-of-August sun and hovers at the edge of the courtyard group, buzzing with stupid energy. His brain is spinning through scenarios: Gerard saying something, Gerard asking him out, Gerard maybe pushing him against that tree over there.
When Gerard eventually does join the group, he throws on aviator sunglasses. They’re a little polarized, so Frank can’t see where he’s looking. Which, actually? is probably for the best, because the entire fantasy he’s building in his head is ridiculous. They stared at each other at a red light. That’s not the basis for a crush.
Although, Frank thinks as he watches Gerard pull a cigarette out of his back pocket with a smirk, Frank would probably be into him at this point regardless. He’s got that leather jacket on, and his jeans are tight around his legs and ripped at the knees. Predictable but devastating. The group of girls nearby are already swooning. Figures.
“Does anyone mind?” Gerard asks, waving his cigarette as he steps in front of everyone. No one says anything, so he pulls a lighter out of his front pocket. “Cool. Everyone sit.”
Once everyone is sitting in a little group on the grass, Gerard sitting in front of them, he starts in on introductions. “Alright guys, I’m not gonna keep you today because it’s the first day and I don’t actually have a lot to say right now. I’m Gerard, like I said. Uh, I’m in the Visual Arts graduate program, but I minored in English in undergrad, so I took a lot of classes with Professor Grant and he’s really cool.”
Frank notices that Gerard talks out of the side of his mouth. That’s cute. What’s not cute is that Gerard seems to be avoiding looking at Frank, although maybe he’s just imagining it.
“Let’s see,” he says after taking a drag of his cigarette. “Oh, I have office hours. Mondays after class, noon to two. If you want to talk any time outside of that, just shoot me an email. I’m always around. I have my own schoolwork and shit, but, uh, I’ll pencil you in. This is my first time as a TA, so I’m honestly just gonna wing it for the first few weeks. Bear with me.” He honest to god giggles, and Frank is so into it it’s sickening. He’s already planning his fake reasons to “drop by” office hours every single week.
“Also, whenever the weather’s nice I’m going to do discussions outside so I can smoke. If you’re a smoker, go ahead, I obviously don’t mind. Okay, that’s it. Uh, if you have any questions or anything, just let me know. My email’s on the syllabus and I’ll hang out here for a minute. Class dismissed, I guess.”
Gerard finally, finally turns to Frank, and there’s a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Frank thinks about staying back for one single second. But then a group of five girls rushes up to ask about the class or the English department or who cares what else, and Frank decides against it. He’ll see Gerard again. He’ll have his chance.
Which doesn’t mean he’s going to be chill about it. Frank is not a chill guy. Thankfully Mikey knows this, so he doesn’t even flinch when Frank bursts into the apartment to declare, “I’m going to fuck my English TA.”
He just pauses whatever he was watching on his laptop and says, “It’s good to have goals.”
“He’s so hot,” Frank whines as he flops onto the couch, swinging his legs so they’re in Mikey’s lap. “I was being a fucking dork in my car on the way here yesterday and this guy was staring at me from inside his car. Like a creep, right? But also gorgeous. But I was like, whatever, never gonna see him again. Except I did. He’s my TA for English. And he’s beautiful and has this leather jacket and this hair -”
“Oh no,” Mikey deadpans, but he’s grinning.
“What?”
“This is painfully like you,” he says. “A hot older guy into, like, literature and shit? Let me guess, is he broody?”
Frank thinks. “Probably,” he says finally. “Actually, he’s a little awkward.”
“Dark hair? Smokes?”
“Yes to both.”
“You’re so predictable.”
“I am not!” Frank lies, badly. Gerard does mark all the boxes. Older, artsy, pale, dark hair, dark clothes. Objectively hot, but also a little cute.
“He’s going to fuck me up,” Frank groans. “And I’m going to let him.”
“Please don’t,” Mikey says dryly. “You let Anthony fuck you up last year and I had to listen to you moan about it for three months.”
“Not like that,” Frank assures him. “I’m not dating anyone this year. I told you that once I got over Anthony and I fucking meant it. I’m just going to let this guy have his way with me. I bet he’s amazing in bed. Like, I would let him do unspeakable things to me. Unspeakable.”
Mikey quirks an eyebrow. “Wow. Inspirational. You should take up poetry.”
“Shut up. You’ll understand when you see him.”
“Can’t wait. Speaking of meeting, Gee’s coming over tonight.”
Frank lifts his head to squint at Mikey. “For real?”
“Yeah, he’s bringing beer. And maybe food. He asked if we needed snacks or whatever and I’m not turning down free food. I told him all about your various restrictions.”
“Well, I can’t wait to meet the mystery Way.”
“Hopefully he lives up to the hype. I was watching Spinal Tap. Want me to start it over?”
“Yes please.”
They get comfortable on the couch to watch the movie, and afterwards Frank decides he needs a nap, because 9:30 is way too early in the morning. He sleeps for way too long. Mikey is slamming on his door around 6, telling him to get the fuck up because Gee’s here and neither of you think the other one exists.
Which Frank can’t argue with.
He stretches and rubs sleep out of his eyes, runs his fingers through his hair and hopes it looks decent, and wanders into the living room still half-asleep.
But he wakes up pretty fucking fast.
Because while Mikey is putting beer in the fridge, Gerard - TA Gerard - Car Guy Gerard - is sitting on his couch, a cosmic joke in the flesh.Gerard is lounging on their couch like he owns it, legs spread, one arm draped lazily across the back cushion. When their eyes meet, his mouth curves into that smirk, the one that feels like it was made specifically to fuck with Frank.
And Frank? Yeah, he’s dead.
“Frank, this is Gee. Gee, Frank,” Mikey says, chipper, as he gives Frank a can of Bud Light.
Gee. Like, G. Like, G for Gerard.
Frank is fucked. He prays that the universe is still on his side and Gerard doesn’t mention that they know each other.
“Yeah, we know each other,” Gerard says, because Frank’s luck has run out.
“Oh?” Mikey says, handing Gerard a beer and sitting next to him on the couch while Frank sits on their ratty recliner. “How?”
“Weird coincidence, I’m his TA for English.” He grins like the motherfucking Cheshire Cat, like he knows exactly how unbearable this is.
As Gerard takes a sip of his beer, Mikey turns to Frank with an expression that could actually kill a person. “Big coincidence,” he says slowly, still staring at Frank, who immediately remembers his declaration that he wanted Gerard to do unspeakable things to him and tries to melt into the couch. He looks into his beer can, wondering if there’s a way he can off himself with it.
“Yeah, hey man,” Frank manages, and kudos to him for sounding even a little bit normal.
Gerard looks infuriatingly comfortable. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your name on my roster.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, but your brother has literally never once called you ‘Gerard.’”
“Oh, yeah,” Gerard laughs. “He only does when he’s really pissed off at me. Which happens more often than you’d think.”
“Yeah, well, you steal my shit all the time,” Mikey says flatly, finally looking more like his normal self. But Frank isn’t fooled. He knows this isn’t over.
“What’s mine is yours, baby bro.” Gerard ruffles Mikey’s hair, and Frank is struck by how different he is here than he was in class. He’s not awkward at all. He’s confident, magnetic. Incredibly hot. And it’s clear that he and Mikey are best friends. Which is nice, except Frank’s pretty sure he can’t fuck his best friend’s best friend.
“That’s not how it works,” Mikey pouts. “What are you up to tonight?”
“Probably going to Pete’s. It’s the first day of the semester and I just have studio time tomorrow so I'm pretty ready to have a night out.” He winks at Frank and says, “Don’t tell any of my impressionable students.”
Frank just nods.
“What are you doing in that class anyway?” Gerard asks. “It’s basically all freshmen.”
“Yeah, I just didn’t want to take it last year,” Frank responds. “Not really a literature guy.”
“I’ll make sure to change your mind,” Gerard smirks, and then he fucking winks again.
Mikey doesn’t miss a beat. “Is something wrong with your eye?”
Gerard grins. “Nah,” he says simply before standing up and downing the rest of his beer. “I should run. Just wanted to say hi and meet your roommate. Don’t think this means I’m giving you special treatment, Frank.”
And there’s a tone there. A very specific fucking tone that shoots down his back. He almost says something like what kind of special treatment? But Mikey is, unfortunately, right there and, more unfortunately, related to Gerard.
So he just says, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Gerard breathes a laugh, then says his goodbyes and he’s out the door.
It takes Mikey .2 seconds to round on him.
“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god!”
“I didn’t know, Mikey, okay?” Frank says. “I’m not gonna do anything.”
“But you want to! You told me! You told me he was going to fuck you up. My fucking brother, oh my god!”
“Mikey, I didn’t know. Obviously I’m not going to fuck your brother.”
“I don’t believe you. You are insatiable. You’re famously terrible with self-control.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never wanted my best friend’s brother, so there’s that.”
“Frank, I’m not telling you not to. It will be extremely weird for me, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“The first time - what?” Frank asks. He can’t mean that Gerard has hooked up with Mikey’s friends before. Can he?
“Everyone has a crush on Gee,” Mikey answers, which seems like a confirmation of Frank’s suspicions. “Just - he might fuck you up. I know you and I know Gee. And he doesn’t date.”
“Okay, I understand,” Frank tries to joke. “Your brother is a slut.”
“Yeah,” Mikey says seriously.
“Oh,” Frank replies, taken aback.
“Look, I love both of you. I can’t stop you from doing… whatever. But just be careful.”
“Haven’t we gone through this?” Frank asks. “I’m not even dating anyone this year anyway.”
“Right,” Mikey mutters, rolling his eyes as he heads to the fridge for another beer.