The Hue of Autumn is Blood (Frerard)

Chapter 2 - Nightclubbing Alone

The odour of garlic trailed behind them. Frank spied on them, in the hopes he'd catch them in a vampire act, whatever the fuck proper vampires acts were. Murder humans homoerotically? Fuck virgins as they drink their virgin blood? Commit evil gay sins? That's what they learnt from the extensive amount of vampire literature they read.

Frank scribbled notes and spoke into his recorder as he crept. However, they couldn't hear him—vampirism only heightened some senses—Frank never stopped vampire hunter activity.

Other humans might think of this as Frank stalking Gerard, though, they thought of it as a date. Sure, Frank hadn't agreed to the date, but, they walked—somewhat—together to a gay nightclub and how was that not a date. As Gerard lingered on this thought, the romantic it became: the love of their life followed them around everywhere they travelled. How was that not true love?

If only they did while they held hands and Gerard would sneak a kiss on his neck and Frank would complain, nervous a stranger saw, and Gerard would giggle and call them their silly little boy and...

Perhaps, Gerard shouldn't linger, arriving at a gay nightclub weeping was never a good look for a goth.

The bouncer, a tall tough masculine woman, stood arms crossed, which Gerard head cannoned as a butch lesbian—this was a gay nightclub after all. The queue to enter the nightclub travelled around the block, yet the bouncer always let Gerard in first. How peculiar...

When she entered within sight, Gerard possessed her.

Possession was instinctual. In the same way, one never thought about how to walk or open a door. Though Gerard didn't know formally how vampires categorised possession, this possession is what they called the first stage—not a complete withdrawal of will— a simple suggestion of the mind.

Remember the goth femboy enters first, managers orders, Gerard suggested.

She untied the rope, nodding. Gerard strutted down the club stairs at the protest of the people behind them—they must wait for their mortal turn.

Rave music devoured out all other sounds in the club. Strobe lights drowned out all other colours. The reek of vomit, sweat and cigarettes overpowered all other odours, except for Frank's—nothing competed with garlic.

The first order of action: possess the DJ to play music less dreadful and stopped the migraine-inducing flashing lights. They wouldn't have that on a blood-sucking night.

At Gerard's suggestion, the DJ changed the lights from neon colours to a transition through the muted hues of the rainbow and Just Like Heaven by The Cure blasted from the speakers. This was more like it.

Gerard shoved past ravers, passing a joint, and sloped against the bar. The bartender poured a drink for a woman with blue hair and wiped the beer taps.

The hot goth is checking you out, give them a mango cocktail on the house, Gerard suggested.

The bartender winked at Gerard and poured rum and vodka into a cocktail glass. Gerard smiled, they loved receiving free alcohol.

He handed them the drink, "What's a pretty girl like you doing on her own?"

Horror stabbed their heart. Why did the male bartenders always have to misgender them? If only the testosterone gel fucking worked.

They are not a fucking woman! Gerard didn't suggest, they commanded.

And this is what Gerard called stage two of possession.