Devil's Work (Frerard / Priest!Gerard)

One

Oh hey, happy Christmas, here's a gift from me in the form of re-uploading this story and its sequel, which are now both completed! If any of you still remember this from when it was first up on here, thanks for coming back! I finally got some inspo to finish it and I hope you enjoy it! 

DISCLAIMER: In this fan fiction i do NOT mean to insult anything to do with the church, christianity, religion in general or any other sort of offence really. This is just a fictional story. I know not everything is factually accurate so if you're religious and I got stuff wrong sorry! 

One

Some people just didn't see the beauty in graffiti.

Luckily, i was not one of those closed-minded people, who thought that the only sort of art was the type you saw framed in a gallery. Whereas they would go on about Leonardo DaVinci, my favourite artist would always be Banksy. Whereas they would sit back in a fancy conservatory and paint on their high-end easels, i would do quick doodles on the sides of buildings with my spray can. And guess who got more fun out of it?

Maybe it was because i loved the adrenalin. The fear that would pump through me as i was chased through alleyways and down streets, my bag of spray cans banging and clanging against my hip as i sprinted away from trouble.

Of course, trouble had a habit of following me around. Or rather, i had a habit of chasing after trouble. Call if neglect from my parents, a need to be rebellious to replace my low self esteem or whatever else a councillor would say, but i loved nothing more that to dive into trouble. Not even for the attention, but just as a 'fuck you' to the big society.

My record was... colourful to put it lightly. Frank Anthony Iero, a delinquent seventeen year old who had been expelled from two schools and suspended once from his third. My record contained an array of offences, from setting fire to a caretakers shed, to throwing paint out of a first floor window and then laughing as it hit my old headmistress, covering her in the gloopy mess. And those were just some of the accounts where i was caught.

It was a thursday afternoon, and from what i can remember it was mildly cloudy, maybe a little sun here and there as i crouched down in the pedestrian underpass that lead under one of the big highways leading into Belleville. Nothing seemed unusual about that day to me at the time, but then i wasn't exactly paying much attention to anything except the paint spraying out of my can as i worked away at my piece of art.

"What are you going to call this one?" my friend Pete asked as he lit his cigarette, lips curling around the stick with such ease that you could easily tell he'd been addicted to the killing-device for at least a year. It tempted me, seeing him take a long drag, but i was otherwise preoccupied with my 'street' art.

"I'm thinking either 'The Kid From Yesterday' or 'The Kids From Yesterday' - can't decided weather to go singular or plural" i gave way to a small frown as i thought it over. In fact, i drew back, sinking onto my knees as i took in my latest piece - a hooded boy in scuffed trainers and jeans that were tearing at the seams as he turned his back on a pile of old toys, and instead lit a cigarette. I wasn't sure who it was suppose to be, the idea just came to me the night before and ever since i had had an urge to paint it in large scale. My fingers had practically itched all day to be able to get spraying onto the clean white wall.

"I really don't know why you give so much thought to it" Pete chuckled between drags "it's only a matter of time before they paint over it and it's lost."

Pete had never really understood why i didn't just settle for canvases. I couldn't quite explain why, but the adrenalin and the fact that we could be busted at any moment, accompanied with the cold Jersey wind in my face, made my art the best. It just wasn't the same when i was at home with a sketchbook in front of me.