Adulterer.

Detention is almost seen as a welcome to Frank, and he revels in it's easy mindlessness. At first, he thinks he's safe, sitting in the detention room with his overdue homework spread over his desk. But he is very, very wrong about that. Apparently, the school's funding got cut last year, and they had to fire a few janitors – so, what better way to put the late-to-homeroom, sassing teenagers to use than by making them work?

Ten minutes into detention, his monitor walks in, followed by that kid he saw walk out of the office yesterday – Brian, or Schechter, whatever. They're given two mops and led into the gym, then the monitor is gone, beeping incessantly on her school's walkie-talkie.

“There should be laws against this,” Brian says, sighing as he lifts up the mop. Frank rolls his eyes in agreement as they start mopping up the floor, dirty water getting splashed all over the even dirtier wooden boards.

Frank remembers Brian being a pretty cool guy (minus the drinking incident), so starting up conversation doesn't seem like a bad idea. “So, what are you in for?” He jokes, flashing Brian a smile. He shrugs, pushing the cloth across the large 'Blue Devils' logo in the center of the gymnasium.

“A kid called me gay, and I punched him. And he punched me back. Then I called the principal a sodomite, so he'd know how it felt.” Frank shakes his head – because seriously, what the fuck was with all the sodomy talk lately? But he gives an understanding smile, as if to say 'oh yeah, that shit happens all of the time'. It really doesn't happen at all at Belleview, at least not in school.

“I called the Rabbi a twat,” Frank says, almost flushing with pride. Brian gives an impressed click with his tongue, and they empty their buckets into the drain behind the boy's locker room. He's sure that it's probably a heating vent, but neither of them care. They've still got the boy's bathroom to take care of.

They're scrubbing at the graffiti in the stalls when Brian speaks again, voice sounding unsure. “I've hear that you've been … uh, getting acquainted with your sexuality.” Frank snorts, inhaling the cleaner fumes.

“You could say that, I guess,” He says, focusing intently on the black, Sharpie-colored penis on the plastic frame.

There's a slight pause before Brian continues. “I'm bi, too, you know – it's fucking making me crazy though. I mean, at least you're getting some.” He hears the sigh coming from the other side of the stall and he cringes.

“Honestly, dude – I'm not. It's just a rumor.” Frank takes extra care in scrubbing the head of the dick drawing, coaxing it off. “I've just been … perpetuating it, I guess. I really am bi though, but I'm not really getting all this said action.”

“That's an interesting way of going about it.” Brian says, but doesn't seem judgmental. “I guess it's better than living like a nobody though – or getting your ass handed to you, in my case.”

Frank is taken aback, maybe wanting to be hurt that someone recognized the fact that he was totally invisible before his fake virginity loss, but doesn't let on. “It just sort of happened, I guess.” He says finally, scraping the last of the Sharpie penis with some Fantastik and a prayer.

“I wish something like that would happen to me,” Brian says, and Frank's heart lurches at the wistful tone of voice. He really understands the feeling of just wanting the fuck out of high school, the fuck out of feeling so goddamn worthless.

They spend the rest of the time cleaning in silence, a few exchanges back and forth about bands and newer artists – what records were better than what and all of the rest. Brian seems a little withdrawn though, his thoughts preoccupied. It's not until Frank's about to drive home that he says anything, taking Frank by the wrist.

“If I asked you to go along with something, if it really helped me, would you?” He asks, looking pleadingly into Frank's eyes. Frank pauses and stares, trying to turn gears in his head. Something in Brian's eyes makes him falter.

“Yeah – okay, what is it, man?” He asks, hoping that it's not what he's thinking it is.

It is what he's thinking it is.

“Well,” Brian starts, his proposition sounding weak. “I was wondering if you would maybe pretend that we did a little more than cleaning today – in the bathroom, I mean.” Brian runs a hand through his short hair and tugs on his shirt, waiting for a response.

It takes Frank a minute to form a semi-legitimate reply. “Brian, I just – I just don't know how that's really going to help, or how that's going to work.” He says quietly, feeling so guilty that he can't even look Brian in the eyes.

“It could though, Frank. People would believe that I scored with you, and nobody would believe me if I made up some chick or guy. Or whatever. Please,” Brian forces Frank's chin up, to look him in the eyes. “I really, really don't want to keep fighting half of Belleview to prove a point.”

Something softens in Frank, and he curses his heart for having a bit of empathy. “Yeah … that's okay. I can do that,” He says, grinning at Brian's face as it lights up.

“But you owe me fucking convert tickets or something, dude. Big time.” Because this is Frank's ass they're talking about, and as much as it's been cheapened in words, Frank is still really sensitive about the whole 'first time' thing. Secretly, he wants it to be with Gerard – and really, really special. And memorable. Sixteen Candles memorable, with shit eating grins and Asian boys dating girls twice their size. That seems good to Frank.

Frank finishes half of his undone homework, and it's not even nine pm before he starts receiving texts from Ray, Bob, Mikey, Quinn, Brian, Jepha, and all sorts of others, questioning him (and, in one case, thanking him) about detention, and what the hell happened. Frank's responses are ambiguous, not having any idea what exactly Brian is describing over on his end.

He eats corn chips and vacuums his room as he texts, occasionally sticking post-it notes on his chihuahua when the mood calls for it. His dad comes in to talk about the 'twat calling' situation, and it's awkward because Frank literally had never gotten into trouble. So, Frank's dad talks about his first sexual encounter with a guy, and Frank guesses that Ray's mom probably heard about the rumor, too. He just stands there and cringes as his dad gives him graphic logistical detail about having sex between two men. He's sure he's asexual by the time he leaves the room, a new package of condoms lying accusingly on his bed.

It's not too long before a rumor breaks out that Frank is having sex for money, once someone sees Brian handing off Frank a small white envelope during their free period. Maybe if the exchange hadn't been so sketchy, it wouldn't have been thought of as anything, but the two boys looked like they had came out of the matrix, with different swapping moves and really paranoid over-the-shoulder glances. Plus, the grateful hugs and new-found friendship between the boys is totally noticed by everyone, so that doesn't help.

And then that's when it becomes a new underground – a Frank Iero agency of gay and straight people who really, really need the popularity boost. It does help that Frank – although he hardly thinks so – is almost femininely gorgeous, and really nice (also known as someone who gives in easily to people who give him puppy dog eyes and gift cards to Carvel), so business soon becomes booming.

And suddenly, there's no longer just five gay kids out of a thousand, because everyone has apparently gotten at least to second base with Frank Iero. And although Mikey and his friends are pretty accepting and not totally weirded out, there's a whole hell of a lot of people who aren't totally chill with the idea – that namely being Rabbi and the Torahs, as Ray affectionately calls them.

“Hey,” Boy says, looking at an old issue of Rolling Stone. “At least they're not Jehovah's Witness or something, because I can't deal with people protesting my Winter break.”

They stare at Frank as he passes by, as if he's the ruin and the fall at school, and Frank totally feels like he is. And it's weird, because when he goes home at night, he actually feels dirty – and he's not even doing anything with these guys (and girls, who gives great gift cards and baskets). They sing chants under their breath during class and Frank feels like he's getting attacked by a cult, and they've even got some sort of forum on the internet, trying to petition to get him saved. The whole situation strikes him as odd, because his uncle is Jewish, and he's living with his boyfriend of six years. Frank's mom tries to tell him that they're wolves in sheep's clothing.

Frank doesn't understand what animals have to do with this.

What upsets Frank the most is that although everyone wants to say that they fucked around with Frank in a back alley, or maybe got sucked off by him in the English room, nobody actually wants to date him. Besides transactions and business, they're not all that interested. And Frank is taking multiple showers, trying to rid himself of a dirty that really isn't real … that it's totally made up in his mind. But every time a crazy story about how hot Frank is in bed comes out, Frank just smiles and waves awkwardly, but goes home and plays more thrashing music on his guitar than ever before. And his parents just exchange worried glances, and he's gotta scram before his dad tries to explain a blowjob to him.

The next time he sees Gerard, he's pressed up against the wall of his school, breathing out smoke to the afternoon sky. “Hi,” Gerard says, smiling down at him. It's freezing cold outside, and Gerard throws him a pair of fingerless gloves. Frank puts them on, looking relieved.

“Hey,” He says, offering Gerard a newer cigarette. He fishes out a stale from his pocket and throws it to him, letting Gerard light himself up. “Mikey isn't here right now – he went home an hour ago, I'm just staying to avoid homework.”

Gerard smirks at him, then takes a long drag. “I get it – it's not homework until you're home, right?” Frank nods and blushes hard, looking at Gerard through his eyelashes. He feels stupid, and then he comes to a weird thought – that maybe he knows about Frank's sexual exploitations, or lack thereof.

“I came to grab Bob, actually – his car is still in the shop, so he needed a ride.” Gerard says, easy conversation rolling careless from his tongue. Frank's breath is hitching and feels tight, and he remembers how much time Gerard still spends with people at Belleview. He's got to know about Frank by now.

The Rabbi chooses that time out of all to show up, pocket-sized torah in hand. He passes by Gerard and Frank, giving them horrified looks. “Smoking on campus is one thing,” He states flatly, staring Frank dead in the eyes. “But underage prostitution is illegal.” Rabbi cuts his eyes in shame at both of them and walks away, and Frank can't decide if he wants to burst out laughing, or maybe just cry.

“Hey, hey.” Gerard says to Frank, as if to greet his distress. “Fuck him, Frankie,” Gerard says softly, staring at Frank with a certain intent that makes his cheeks burn hot red.

Frank snorts, bitter and afraid. “Didn't you hear?” Frank says, turning to face Gerard. “I probably already have.” And with that, he pushes past Gerard and into his car, not bothering to give back the gloves as he drives away.