"Mr Urie I would literally pay you to let me skip maths class."

"Ryan, that's not quite how school works, unfortunately."

Ryan Ross had found himself in Mr Urie's office again: something to do with flooding the boys' bathroom that totally wasn't his fault. It wasn't like Mr Urie had ever given much of a shit anyway.

"I wasn't sure you were aware of how school worked at all." Ryan cracked a grin, watching the headteacher's expression for signs of a sudden explosive reaction. "You literally have no idea what you're doing."

"Who told you?" Brendon exclaimed, somehow deadly serious, which was genuinely the most hilarious thing Ryan had ever witnessed in his life, and he'd watched Jon Walker walk into three closed doors in a row last October, granted, Jon had been incredibly drunk, but still, it had been priceless.

"It's kind of blindingly obvious." Ryan added, raising his eyebrows a little in something like disbelief, because there was no way Mr Urie was being serious there, but he was.

"Shit." He snapped, slamming his fist down against the desk, and causing a shit ton of probably vaguely important paperwork to fall onto the floor as he did so. "How?"

"You know... swearing in front of students, the fact that I haven't been expelled yet, the lack of paperwork, all the teachers fucking students that everyone just knows about, the fact that no one learns anything ever, you're generally incompetent, and it's quite obvious, but I like you, Mr Urie, so you know- oh yeah and also that blowjob, because that's all kinds of illegal, and the weed you confiscated and smoked yourself-"

"Ryan, shut up right now." Mr Urie quickly began stressed, running a hand back through his hair as he got to his feet. "Maybe I should expel you."

"What?" Ryan exclaimed, getting to his feet too, "that's fucking bullshit!"

"Language, Ryan." Brendon narrowed his gaze, before shaking his head in disbelief, "I give up, I'm such a crap teacher, I hate this office and this school. I wish I could just leave, you know? Not like my job, because I do get paid a shit ton to do pretty much nothing, but you know, just right now."

"Well, do it: you own this school, well technically the state does, but you're in charge - no one's gonna tell you not to!" Ryan added in wild encouragement.

"I want Starbucks," Mr Urie groaned, glancing at the clock on the wall, "but I can't just let you walk off, because I'm supposed to be 'disciplining you', like actually talking some sense into you, but I really can't be bothered, but I've got to at least pretend, so... you're stuck with me, and we're stuck here-"

"Well, I do fancy a Starbucks, Mr Urie." Ryan smirked at his headteacher, "you could take me, and maybe that could persuade me not to cause anymore trouble for the next week or so... what do you say?"

"Fine... but not a fucking word of this to anyone!" Brendon grabbed his jacket from his chair, cursing under his breath as he did so, "and no one outside of school should know that I'm your teacher, okay? So call me Brendon."

"Brendon." Ryan repeated, just testing the name out, "Brendon," he repeated, only to be cut off by Brendon himself.

"Outside of school. We're in school right now, so it's Mr Urie, got that? Keep to it, Ryan, or the deal's off. You got that, Ryan?"

"No, in school it's Mr Ross." Ryan mimicked, and Mr Urie looked he genuinely was about to slap him.

-

"Why are those old people staring at us?" Brendon looked up from his coffee; the two sat a booth tucked away in the corner of the Starbucks in town, as Brendon prayed that no one would recognise them or notice that his office was empty. Well, he had locked the thing, and he doubted that anyone would be eager to see him so much that they were prepared to climb in through the window, so they were safe on that front, but still, this was all around a stupid fucking idea.

Ryan followed Brendon's gaze across the room, and burst into a fit of laughter as he turned back to Brendon.

"What?" The older man exclaimed, his tone stressed as he quickly became nervous and oddly serious considering just who he was.

"Oh, they just think we're on a date." Ryan explained, like it was the most casual thing in the world, "they're homophobes, so, yeah. I could punch them, if you want, but I think it's bad karma to punch old people-"

"Karma?" Brendon retorted, looking at Ryan like he was clinically insane, "you believe in karma? And what did say- a date? No, no, no, people can not think that-"

"What are you a homophobe too, sir- Brendon? Because you're not that old, so I could totally punch you in the face without much bad karma." Ryan completed that sentence with an oddly warming smile, which had thrown Brendon off completely.

"I'm not a homophobe." He let out a sigh, groaning as he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, "do you think I'd let you suck my dick and enjoy it if I were a homophobe?"

"Point." Ryan nodded, again writing it off like it was nothing.

"We should stop talking about the whole..." he lowered his tone once again, "blowjob... thing... you know?"

"If you want." Ryan shrugged, his gaze fixated off elsewhere.

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, Ryan, I'm your teacher, and I'm not acting much like it, I know, I like you, Ryan, I think you get that, but I don't quite know what to do with myself."

"There are like a thousand different meanings to the word 'like', Brendon, you should probably specify just what the hell you mean." Ryan's tone was monotone, with a facade of disinterest, as he made a point of avoiding the older man's gaze.

"What are you talking about, Ryan?" Brendon asked, the point having flown right past his head, and well, with Brendon being Brendon, Ryan didn't know why he hadn't just expected it.

"What do you think of me? Because you don't treat me like I'm just some student, some kid. It's confusing, Brendon, and okay, I don't want you to treat me like a kid, because... I don't know, I like you too, I guess, but... set it straight, please. Or have I just got it all wrong?"

Brendon swallowed, hard, "fuck... I... I don't know how to put this into words, but... I... I'd return the favour if you let me. I want to."

"What favour?" Ryan exclaimed, however he received little but silence for several minutes.

Until, as Brendon had finished his coffee and Ryan had given up hope entirely, "the favour I don't want us to talk about anymore. The thing that we can't do... that shouldn't happen. I wish you weren't seventeen, Ryan." And with that, Brendon got to his feet, "we should get back to school before people notice we're gone."

-

It was so blatantly obvious that Frank may as well have just said it himself, because the majority of the class were still dim enough for it to not reach their brains.

Green hair guy who always sat at the back would consider himself an exception, but intelligent as he would make himself out to be, he was still useless when it came to what he was actually supposed to do in regards to the 'secret' that he found himself with the newfound burden of, because it wasn't his secret, and in fact, it shouldn't have been a secret at all, but he knew better than just to scream it from the top of his lungs.

Maybe he should just talk to Frank about it, in private, tell it to him straight: that he knew and that he wanted to help in whatever way he could, because he wasn't exactly number one on the teacher sympathy list, but he gave enough of a shit, and at least knew that no one should go home to some asshole who did that to them.

But green hair guy, who went by the name of Mark, did neither of those two things, because maybe he was just as stupid as the rest of the class, but just in his own special way. His plan was seeming to work though, at least, because there really weren't that many people in the phonebook with the name 'Frank Iero', were they?

And it had perhaps only dawned upon Mark that he was doing something kind of illegal once he found himself stood outside his English teacher's house; he still wasn't exactly sure as to what good he intended to achieve from breaking in and dealing with the asshole himself, but it'd certainly settle his conscience a little.

And yeah, he was maybe just a little bit high, so maybe it'd work out, maybe it wouldn't - he could at least say he'd tried, and if things went so wrong that Frank's boyfriend was telling him about the kid with the green hair that had stalked his house, then at least Mark would have one hell of an explanation, and it wasn't like he was doing this with anything but good intentions; he just wanted to help, however the fuck he was going to manage that.

He decided that the doorbell was as good a place to start as any, as he didn't really see this having the best of results, but he was determined to try nonetheless, perhaps just scare the guy a little, perhaps just enough to make him rethink his fucking life, because it wasn't like bruises were a frequent feature on Frank's face, but of course, that was only Frank's face, wasn't it?

He cursed to himself, reassessing his life completely as he rang the doorbell, wondering just what kind of asshole he'd find on the other side of the door.

"Can I help you?" This 'Max' was taller than he expected, and seemingly angered by Mark's very existence, which of course put them off to a wonderful start.

"You're Max, aren't you?" His tone was stern, adjusting his posture in order to make himself appear just that little bit taller.

"Can I help you?" He repeated, growing more impatient with every word.

"Yeah, you can." Mark met his gaze: full of confusion, and this guy, all in all, had very little to say for himself, however Mark doubted that he was stupid enough to scream and shout about how he'd hit his boyfriend.

"How so?" He continued, his eyebrows raised, "I'm sorry but if you're just messing around then-"

"You fucking stop it, okay?" Mark's words caught the older man by surprise, leaving him wide eyed and stood frozen in the doorway.

"Stop what?" He dared to ask: the words stumbling from his lips with an absence of eloquence.

"You fucking know what, Max." His tone was just as stern as it had been before, and his words just as meaningful, and he was just quite honestly shocked that his words were resonating in even the slightest way with Max. "Your fucking 'secret'. He doesn't deserve you: not when you're going to be such a fucking asshole-"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Max took a step forward, things seeming to take a sudden turn for the worse with the raising of his voice. "Get the fuck off my property, alright, kid?"

"Just be fucking glad I'm coming to your sorry ass and not the police, because all the evidence is there: it's obvious, and I know, and you better fucking pull yourself together and stop it if you don't want me to change my mind about showing up at yours instead of the police station."

"What the fuck are you talking about, you stupid fucking kid?"

"That bruise on his face: you know, the one that's your fault. The one everyone saw; the one he lied about, but I know, it was obvious, the world is just stupid, and he doesn't want to talk about you... it's like he's scared of you, and I fucking wonder why with that fucking shit on his face-"

"Get the fuck off my property or I'm calling the cops!" Max snapped, reaching into his pocket for his cellphone.

"Fucking great idea, asshole, I'll just tell them that you hit your boyfriend-"

"I'll fucking hit you if you don't leave now." And perhaps that was something Mark should have listened to, as the older man stepped forward and grabbed him by his shoulders, before throwing him down to the ground, and locking the front door behind him.

"Fuck." Mark cursed aloud, stumbling to his feet: all battered shoulders and regret as the soles of his shoes scraped across the concrete. Maybe it hadn't been such a great idea after all, but it had felt like he'd done something at least, because maybe Max had became just a little more apprehensive, and behind the facade, just a little more reluctant to be such an asshole, but of course, Mark could only hope.

-

The bruise had been entirely insistent on staying put, as if the concept of healing and fading was unbeknownst to it, and it fucking sucked, because Frank had spent the past few days with his cheek against the wall, not looking anymore in the eye, and avoiding Gerard, which really put a downer on his life, and that said a lot: a lot more than it should have.

But Frank knew how stubborn Gerard was, and he knew that Gerard just wouldn't let it slide, and Frank knew that he couldn't afford to catch himself up in bullshit like that - it had been a mistake, Max had even apologised, and that was that, but no, Gerard was going to get all self-righteous about it, and make things out to be how he wanted them, and Frank just wasn't in the fucking mood at all.

And that was exactly what had lead to him leaving school in his lunch break, and just sitting in his car, smoking, like the fucking loser he was, but maybe he just needed to drown himself in nicotine and listen to whatever came up on his iPod, just for the sake of removing himself from reality until the bruise faded, or his hair grew over it, of which the latter seemed more likely, considering his luck as of late.

And Frank had reckoned that he was safe there, in his fucking car, in his own fucking world, with the mess that was the outside world and reality elsewhere: it was temporary, but it was effective, of course, until the unthinkable happened, and the car door opened beside him, and without a word, without a fucking question, Mr Way sat in the passenger's seat.

And Frank thought of killing himself: right then and right there.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Frank let out a sigh, groaning as he threw his head back against the headrest.

"Could say the same for you." Gerard added, shrugging a little as he did so. "I haven't seen you in like three days, Frank, it's fucking weird: what's up? And like you're hiding from the world, from me, in your fucking car, come on, Frank, you want to have a smoke, come have a smoke with me-"

"You're fucking here now aren't you." Frank snapped, throwing the packet of cigarettes into Gerard's lap, because maybe this would work out okay as long as he was careful never to turn his head, and never to meet the gaze of the man in the seat beside him.

"You don't seem happy to see me." Mr Way added, words muffled and spoken out of the corner of his mouth, with a cigarette in the other, "have I pissed you off or something? Come on, Frank, talk to me." He turned to face the younger man, as he reached out to hand the packet back, but Frank simply took it back without a movement nor a word.

"It's not you." He added a few moments later, his words coupled with a sigh, "I don't hate you at all, you've done nothing, it's just... it's hard to explain, and it'll all be fine soon and we can forget about this and just be normal again, but..." Frank groaned, leaning back once more. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I promise."

"Kids are saying you've been acting weird, you know?" Gerard continued, taking a drag of his cigarette as he did so, "they're not really saying anything in particular, but you're different, quieter... you know? And they asked me, because they reckoned that if anything's up with you, I should know, but I don't know... and I quite honestly hate that, Frank-"

"Well, they all fucking think we're fucking and we're not, and since when the fuck did you listen to sixteen year olds? They're just making up bullshit, it's like the rumours about us: everything's rumours, and I just needed some alone time-... and..." He trailed off shaking his head, "I'm sorry, you hate me now, don't you? This is why I didn't talk to you, because we'd argue and I don't want to argue, I really don't."

"You're obviously not fully okay, Frank." Gerard told him straight, as it was, his tone stern, and succeeded in unnerving the man beside him. "You won't even look at me." He added, quieter, perhaps as an afterthought.

"What does that matter?" Frank retorted, his words quavering a little as he did so.

"Everything." Gerard promised him. "I'm worried about you, just fucking smile at me, Frank, okay?"

Frank shook his head, turning further away, only for Gerard's patience to dissipate, and the older man to reach out and grab his arm, effectively turning him to face him, and in circumstances in which Frank had made such a point of hiding his face, there was no way he could play the bruise off as nothing.

"Who hit you?" Gerard snapped, growing angry, as he tightened his grip on Frank's wrist. "Fucking talk to me, Frank-"

"Stop-...." Frank pleaded, tears forming in his eyes, "please just stop shouting at me, I..." he stuttered, pulling his arm away from Gerard's grip, but remaining facing the older man, "I... I... I just... it's nothing... I promise..."

Gerard was all kinds of unconvinced. "If it's nothing then why are you hiding it?"

"Because people make assumptions, especially you, Gerard, you're fucking stubborn and you don't let things go."

"Nice to hear what you think of me then-" He cut himself off mid-sentence, "fuck, Frank, I'm sorry, I'm not angry at you, I'm really not... I'm angry at whoever hit you, please just talk to me."

"I don't have to say anything." He added, sliding down in his seat.

"No, you don't, but..." Gerard exhaled, "but the less you say the more worried I'm going to be, you know that, don't you?"

"This was a... it was a mistake." Frank began, his voice quavering as he did so, "he's sorry, he's said so, he's apologised so much, and I wish it could just stop being made into something, because I want to forget about it and just carry on like normal... I mean I do love him, I just... he made a mistake, people make mistakes, don't they? And I don't think I should break up with him for a mistake."

"Boyfriend." The word seemed to burn through Gerard's tongue as he forced it through his lips. "Your boyfriend did this to you?" Frank nodded, "that's fucked up: if you love someone you, you don't fucking do that, Frank, I don't give a fuck if it's a mistake - once is already more than enough, but... look, I don't know him, but... if it happens again, Jesus fucking Christ, I will not let him get away with it, and I will not let you stay with him, and I fucking mean that."

"And it was a mistake: he means that."

"He fucking better, for his own fucking sake."

-

hey buds!!! how are you? im very dead i hope ur ok!!! votes and comments would make me less dead i promise!!! i !!! love !!! you !!! guys !!!