FicWad

I knew I liked him from the moment I saw him. I also knew he was a student, a junior in my art class, and I was twenty-seven. He wasn't even eighteen yet, but the attraction stood for no reason at all. The others had been giving him a hard time because he was different. The teen barely uttered a word, never tried to defend himself.

Of course, it had only been my first day teaching here, but I noticed these things and couldn't help it. His eyes were a deep honey color, almost amber. The way his lashes looked over his cheekbones nearly made me shiver for absolutely no reason at all. I couldn’t help but stare at him, mouthing nearly gaping as I took a deep breath.

"Iero, Frank?" I called from the roster form on the computer, snapping out of my thoughts. It was an interesting name.

The shy, dark-haired boy raised a hand, never taking his eyes off the ground. He refused to look anywhere else but there. Frank could have burnt a hole with how intense his gaze was. His face was burning red, and I knew then that something was wrong.

"Here," he said, voice soft as ever. But I could tell there was so much more to him.
The other students started snickering, and Frank lowered his head. A sick feeling set in my stomach. I know what it was like being that kid. My heart went out to him instantly.

“Did I say it right? ‘I-air-oh’?” I asked curiously, leaning over my desk as I gave him my full attention. Frank shook his head slowly, inhaling deeply.

He pointed to his eye, then his ear before forming his mouth in an ‘O’ shape. “It’s pronounced ‘Eye-ear-oh,’ Mr. Way,” he murmured, and I barely heard him over the sound of the teenagers’ giggling. What was so funny to them? A senior in the class, Peter as I later found out, kept poking his friend in the ribs. His lips were moving, but I didn’t know what they were saying. Once I turned back to my computer was when I heard it. That word, the one that I held a deep hatred for.

“Iero’s a faggot, what do you expect?”

I whipped around on my heels, slamming my palms on Peter’s desk. "Excuse me?" I questioned darkly, seeing tinges of scarlet in my vision. “I do not tolerate slurs in my classroom, especially that idiotic word. The next time I hear it used, you will be sent to the office, never to return to make up your credits here.” Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I looked up with a serious expression on my face. “Do I make myself clear?” Peter didn’t seem too intimidated by me, but I didn’t care, not even a bit. I got my point across.

“Yes, Mr. Way,” the class said, almost in unison. Catching a glimpse of Frank, I saw him smirking at me. He averted his eyes when my gaze met his.


I took a seat at my desk after handing each of them a piece of sketching paper. "Class," I said firmly, gaining attention. "I would like each of you to draw where you would like to be right now. This isn't for a grade, so don't worry about presentation. Just as long as you try to capture the image you think of."

I once had to do this while I was in art school. The teacher considered it a filler project, and she didn’t expect much detail to be put into it. But that didn’t matter to me. Each bit of artwork I did was special to me in some way, and I put as much effort as possible into it. I thought it turned out pretty good. What I drew was a picture of my grandmother and I eating dinner, and I made it look like we were both laughing.

Everybody got to work. As I walked around the room, I saw that a lot of the students were drawing a television set, a computer, and a bed. Their bedrooms looked the same to me. Out of anywhere else in the entire world, would everybody rather be in their bedrooms? I thought to myself, adjusting my tie. My converse were scuffed, but I didn't care; I liked it that way.

Frank kept his arms around his paper, a secret to everybody but himself. He didn't look very happy; he looked tired, in fact. Eyes red, puffy, almost looking like he was about to cry or had just been crying. I felt bad and I wanted to ask him what was the matter, but the bell rang. The noise was shrill and so high-pitched that it hurt my ears. The students started to scramble around the room like honeybees.

"Please leave your papers on your work spaces!" I shouted, standing on my toes to project my voice. Frank was the last one in the room, and he looked at me as I collected everything. When I got to his desk, he looked me dead in the eye. I broke the gaze painfully. He hadn't drawn anything but a single word on the paper.

Away, it read.

When I looked back up to say something to him, Frank was gone, and I was left alone in this cold room.

"Me, too," I whispered to myself. And it seemed like my words were sucked up by the atmosphere.