The Hue of Perception (frerard, petekey)

An Uncrackable Bath Bomb

He knew the boy living across the streets with the afro was hiding an online music career from his parents. He knew the tall boy living at the edge of town with Lindsey was the brother his mother disowned. He knew the short fifteen year old wasn't what he was said to be.

Gerard knew things.

He knew about secrets, about things not yet happened, about things unknown. He knew people, he read them, but not as anyone else would, he read people with a glint in his eye, he read people, not just their personalities, but he read their feelings, their secrets, their past, their present. Their intentions, their deepest darkest demons.

At least, that was what Gerard wanted to believe. But he also believed that, if you believed enough, a platform could magick from your feet as you walked off a rooftop. Gerard believed that, if you broke the boundaries of belief science made, you could do anything you wanted.

Anything.

Gerard knew that there was, truthfully, no magic in this world of realities and no imaginations. But there was a basic power in each person that even science admitted existed. A power whose strength just depended on how much one tried to believe it.

Gerard knew it was always a matter of perspective. Fear, love, hatred... Perspective.

You find dogs scary? The kid living next to you loves them. You hate the girl Lindsey who's too cool for you? Gerard is her best friend. Different people, different perspective. Different perspective, different things you can do.

And it was exactly what Gerard could do. He believed that he could know everything. Truthfully, he was afraid of not knowing. So he believed that he could do anything, read anything, be it a book, a person, anything.

Secrets were nothing to him. Riddles were elementary math. Illusions and mind tricks were like taking candy from a baby.

Every nut could be cracked, every maze run out of.

Except for Gerard's own head.

"146," the man had stated to his mother when he was eight. "He has frightfully high I.Q, m'am, and not schizophrenia as you may think." His mother had sighed in relief, but he himself had seen the look in the doctor's eyes.

Perspective.

He'd read about it online, 'geniuses', as they called him, had high chances of developing disorders such as autism. For his mother, not having a schizophrenic but genius son was good. That was one perspective. For the doctor, it meant he had a larger chance of these mental disorders, however much the chance of him having schizophrenia was diminished.

For Gerard himself, it meant he was set away. The perspective people had of him differed. From mocking sounds of 'nerd' it became hushed words of 'genius'. From whispers of mothers saying 'Mrs Way's son? Show-off.' he became what mothers called 'you should aim to be smart as him.'

Perspective.

And Gerard could not understand his own perspective of it all. He could understand his perspective of Halsey: queen. He could understand his perspective of Bert: don't go near. He could understand his perspective of Frances: Frank.

But his perspective of Gerard Way, seventeen year old 'genius', also known as 'smartass art fag'? He didn't know. What was his deepest secret? How did he get his 'power'? How could he control it?

Gerard Way knew many things, Gerard Way had cracked many nuts, but himself was one nut he could not find a way to crack.

---

Frances could not imagine another worse life to live in.

She was 100% done with herself, 100% done with her school and about 200% done with her parents.

"Frances," her mother kept telling her. "You're so short compared to others, and since you want short hair, why don't you do sports? Like basketball?"

Frances had just rolled her eyes and flicked the short bangs out of her eyes. "Mom, please," she'd muttered into her guacamole. "You know every single sport training clashes with band practice schedule, right? And you know how serious I take Pencey Prep, right?"

Her mother just sighed and waved the conversation away.

Frances knew that she was short. She was superbly short. It also didn't help that she looked as much of a tomboy as a butch lesbian could be. It also wasn't really consoling that her only friends were either the people in Pencey Prep or Ray Toro.

Ray Toro was friends with everyone in town, so he didn't exactly count. He was a literal ray of sunshine and literal guitar hero. He was the well-know 'queen' of the 'fro who no one really knew well enough to hold a conversation with him for more than a polite word of 'good morning, how's everything going?' 'oh it's going fine. see you.'

So Frances' only friends were a few people that only put up with her for her punk rock attitude and voice.

And well, Frances didn't exactly love or believe in herself, in her selfie, in whatever. Firstly, she 100% detested the lumps of fat sat stubbornly on her chest. It would be better if she could saw them off, but no, that wasn't an option, because a single phone drop onto those spawn of Satan boobs would hurt as much as a stubbed toe and trust me, stubbed toes hurt.

The only 'good' part of Frances' life was Bert McCracken, her 'boyfriend' ie. drug dealer, whom she paid with A+ dick sucking abilities. She could probably make a good prostitute if she tried, but with what example Mikey Ballato's mother set for her, she decided not to.

Mikey Ballato wasn't exactly Mikey 'Ballato', but Mikey 'nobody-knows'. His mother had dropped him on Lindsey Ballato's doorstep on a September morning when Frances was still young. Her mother and father had told her from that day on that Mikey's real mother must have been a massive slut to have an unwanted baby.

Those were Frances' 'ditch school, be a whore instead' not-quite-daydreams dashed.

So, as she sat in 5th period class with a half yawn on her face and thoughts in her head she looked around the classroom of half-asleep people.

As her eyes rested onto the image she saw outside the window, she felt a wave of shock going through her. The colours around her seemed to be brightened from the figure in the image like colours leaving a bath bomb even though her head was as woozy as ever. The dreary winter morning seemed to jump out of its monotone haze and turn into a cold but pretty scene.

The image Frances could see from the window was just a teenager walking across the field, to the toilet, as an early leave, whatever they were doing.

But she could feel a chill run through her body as she saw the person from the window, a brightening of the colours as she saw them. She didn't know what it meant, but she could vaguely recognize the person. She'd only heard of people describing him but he knew this must be him in person.

As her friends called him, this was the world-renowned art fag Gerard Way.

(ayyy guys new story!!!111 idk if this will be good but since i based this off halsey's colours and control this should be v good indeed!!! to support my bad lifestyle of bingewatching gundam and bingewriting and bingedoingstuff please vote and comment!!! ilyasm!!)