The Hue of Autumn is Blood (Frerard)

Chapter 1 - The Nibber and The Staker

A platinum chandelier with hundred and thirty-seven candles dangled from the vampire coven's obsidian ceiling. The thirteen commandments hung engraved in gold above the human skeleton throne. The ninth read: thou shalln'th fucketh thyn enemy.

Or that's what Gerard imagined the vampire bible commanded or what the vampire coven would look like, not that they would know.

No Transylvanian raven flew in the night sky to deliver a scroll written in human blood, congratulating Gerard on their transformation—rather rude of the coven not to invite them to the secret vampire club.

However, as any connoisseur of vampire literature would know all vampires did was fuck their enemies: an intelligent young solicitor invited to stay at their gothic manner, another vampire they despised yet raised a vampire child together, a new teen girl at a high school with an unreadable mind—the usual vampire situations.

On this occasion, Gerard followed tradition. They fell in love with the vampire hunter, Frank Iero, destined to stake them—well, sort of.

The fear of a stake piercing their heart only electrified their love and what homosexual resisted a vampire's charms for long—only a matter of time until Gerard and Frank kissed.

Gerard leaned their head against a paper sign blue tracked to their dorm door which read spell in progress do not enter as if Gerard or Frank had friends to enter. And yes, Gerard and Frank shared a room.

Gerard was so doomed.

Speckles of herbs sprinkled the ochre yellow carpet where Frank's protection spell bags used to slouch. Frank explained to the college cleaner a million times that the bags banished vampires from his dorm. Though the cleaner always smiled and nodded, the next day, it vanished.

The stench of garlic leaked out of the doorway cracks since Frank wore a garlic-infused amulet. Gerard lived on the constant verge of asthma attacks, however, they focused on how the smell reminded them of Frank, it always grounded them.

Gerard turned the metal doorknob, warm against their cold skin. On Frank's shelf, candle flames limboed at the evening hallway air. The light bulb blew months ago. Cardboard duct tapped to the windows. Frank had a light sensitivity because of his autism, though, Gerard wondered who the actual vampire was.

Frank hunched over his desk, rocking back and forth, and poured herbs into a clear spell jar.

He clicked record on his digital tape recorder, "The beast enters the room at eight forty pm. Gone for seven minutes. Acquired a black cloak—illusion? Shapeshifting? Summoning?"

Frank scribed in his red vampire book of shadows, he owned two: one for witchcraft and one for vampires, well, for Gerard—how sweet, one could even say how gay.

Gerard misted—turned into mist—and retrieved their cloak from their college art studio, therefore, provoking Frank to talk into his recorder. Why keep a diary when the love of their life journaled for them?

Metal bats jangled as Gerard stomped one platform boot over the red tape that divided the room.

Frank clenched his wooden stake under his book of shadow, "Stay back, vampire." He pointed it at them and his spell jar toppled, splitting herbs over his book. "Shit..." Frank balanced the stake on his mortar and pestle and scooped the herbs back into the jar.

Gerard smirked, "Hey Frankie." They skipped over to his desk and snatched the wooden stake, twirling it. "Is this new?"

Frank thumped the jar on his biochemistry textbook, "Give it back!"