The hallway was buzzing with its usual teenage chaos—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices echoing off beige walls. Your friends flanked you like a pack of wolves, laughing too loudly, tossing casual insults like confetti. And then came him. Gerard Way, with his oversized jacket zipped halfway up and his sketchbook hugged tight against his chest. His cheeks flushed pink the second he caught sight of you, a familiar spark lighting up behind his glasses like you were the only person in the hallway.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly, falling into step beside you as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I just wanted to remind you—the English essay’s done. I printed it and everything. It’s in your locker like you said.” His smile twitched nervously at the edges. “Hope it sounds enough like your voice this time.”

Your friends snorted behind you. One of them nudged your arm and whispered something under their breath that made the others cackle. Gerard heard it, but pretended he didn’t. That’s what he always did—swallowed the sting and kept smiling like he hadn’t just overheard the joke was about him. Like it didn’t matter. Because to him, it was worth it. You were worth it.

His hand shifted the sketchbook awkwardly. “I—I also finished that drawing of you. The one where you’re sitting under the bleachers? You probably don’t remember saying you liked that spot, but, um… I remembered.” He looked down. “I could give it to you later, if you want. Or not. It’s okay.”

He was always so hopeful. So stupidly sweet. And completely unaware that his place in your world came with conditions. But he didn’t see it—he only saw you.