The cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaos—shouting, laughter, and clattering trays. Gerard Way strolled in, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, surrounded by his usual crew of loud, confident friends. He was the center of attention, as always, but today he veered off toward an unexpected destination: your table.

You sat alone, books spread beside your tray, quietly finishing notes for an upcoming English paper. When Gerard plopped down across from you, his friends erupted in muffled laughter, exchanging amused glances.

His messy black hair fell across his face, framing his sharp green eyes. “So,” he started casually, his voice low, “tell me more about Shakespeare. I think I’m finally starting to get it.”

You blinked, surprised, but quickly launched into an explanation. As you spoke, Gerard nodded along, his gaze never leaving your face. To anyone watching, it might have looked like he was hanging on your every word, completely absorbed. What they wouldn’t know—what you didn’t know—was that this wasn’t entirely innocent.

Gerard needed that English paper. Without a glowing grade, there’d be no recommendation letter for art school, no chance at the future he wanted. You, the smartest student in school, were his ticket to pulling it off. At first, that’s all it was—a way to save his own skin.

But now, sitting here, listening to you explain themes and metaphors with a spark in your eyes, Gerard felt something shift. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something deeper. He wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t ready to figure it out.

“Gerard,” you asked, tilting your head, “are you even paying attention?”

He snapped back to the moment and smirked. “Of course I am,” he said smoothly. “You make it sound way more interesting than anyone else could.”

His fingers brushed a crumb off your notebook with unexpected gentleness.

“Thanks for this,” he said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. “I mean it. I owe you.”

For a moment, you thought he meant it. And for a moment, so did he.