Follow me home (Frerard)

I did it all so maybe I'd live this every day

Gerard's POV

"Are you going to get up?" Bob wondered from the doorway. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, scrutinizing me with an arched eyebrow.

I don't even bother returning to glance, all of my attention focused on the sketchpad in my lap. I move the pencil across the paper, the dark granite immediately smearing against the smooth white and leaving a messy streaked path where my hand drags. "Nope. Busy." Is the only response I manage. I take a second to erase a few badly placed lines and retrace the torso of my newest creation.

"Gerard, it's already almost two," Bob repeats. "Your Philosophy class starts in like ten minutes and it will take you that long just to get across campus."

"I'll be there in time..." I mumble, but the words aren't registering. Fuck... I flip the pencil around and scrape the pink eraser across the page, quickly brushing the shavings off onto the bed. I make another oval over the one I just erased, bigger than the last, and start defining the jaw line.

"Gee?" Bob's voice pulls my attention to him once again and I sigh exasperated, looking up at him. He smirks. "Okay. Now that I have your attention. You're going to be late for class."

"Oh..." I mutter, and this time the words really do register. "Oh!" I jump up off the bed, closing the sketchbook and shoving it, along with the pencil, into my backpack. Throwing the bag over my shoulder, I'm completely prepared to race out of my bedroom and sprint across campus, but Bob remains in the doorway, watching me with an amused expression. "What now?" I demand.

The other man bites his lip and points a single finger downward, his gaze not once leaving my own. "Gee, you're not wearing pants."

I look down, my face heating up

when I realize I'm standing there in nothing but a pair of Star Wars boxers and a loose Tshirt. I groan and drop my bag, taking the time to throw on a pair of- hopefully clean- jeans and shoes, before I grab my pack once again and I'm out the door.

Class is, no surprise, useless. I spend the entire time with my head down, hunched over my sketchbook with a pencil working away on my newest masterpiece. Shading, refining, adding and erasing. When Philosophy finally ends, I shuffle out of the building behind the others, my sketchbook clutched tight in my hands. I keep my head down, black hair falling into my face and shielding me, if only a little, from the harsh wind that whips around me. Snow is starting to settle in a thin layer on the grass, no longer melting as soon as it's touched the ground. I scuff my shoes along the white, leaving streaks in the untouched snow.

I don't see the other figure before I walk directly into them. A shoulder hits mine, pain immediately surging up my arm and causing my book to drop to the concrete path beneath me. I instantly look up, prepared to mumble a "sorry," but before I even have the chance to speak, I'm met with an angry glare set under furrowed and bushy eyebrows. "Watch where you're walking, faggot," The boy snarls and then continues down the walkway.

My stomach twists and clenches uncomfortably and I move in a mechanic motion to retrieve my sketchbook. I flip through a few pages, frowning slightly when I see the edges of some pages are wet and crinkled. I sigh heavily and roll my eyes, trying to brush off the entire incident, but the name still rings out in my head. Taunting, patronizing, just plain cruel.

When I finally reach my destination, I push the glass door open, enjoying the small ding that sounds when I enter the heated building, as if they're welcoming my arrival. I quickly make my way across the carpeted floor to the front counter of the comic book shop, dropping my sketchpad on the counter and stepping behind the desk. No one is seated in the uncomfortable looking chair, as they usually would be, so I abandon my backpack on the floor and go into the back room instead. Gabriel is sorting through a few comics when I step up behind him and grin. "Just the man I wanted to see."