Antichrist (Frerard)

23: One Big Gay Vampire Shitstorm

Frank was okay, for the most part, at least right now anyway: he hadn't heard from Alex in a few days, and him and Gerard were pretty much fine, well they were fucking on pretty much a daily basis, and therefore, Frank was just left to conclude that everyday fucking was just what fine meant to Gerard: he wasn't the easiest person to date, to say the least, but for Frank, he was the only person worth dating, even if Frank had to put up with stroppy vampire fits on occasion, or well, more than just occasion, he still loved him, and that looked incredibly unlikely that it was going to change anytime soon.

Or at least that was what Frank thought.

And in fact, the nineteen year old was so fucking complacently happy that he had even opted to spend the day fucking baking with his grandmother, who really wasn't actually that bad when his grandfather wasn't around, and as long as the topic of conversation was strictly cookies and nothing else, because goddamn, although she may be nice to him right now, there was no question about the fact that she would kill him if she found out about Gerard and just what they were doing.

Gerard was pretty much the arch nemesis of the Catholic Church: he was like the fucking antichrist. And simply because he was a combination of all things strict, almost scary Catholics hated: a vampire and a homosexual.

And of course, Gerard would be nothing but proud to know this, and would probably end up adding it to his CV if he ever considered stopping being an undead creature who drank blood and instead becoming someone behind the counter at McDonalds.

It was unlikely, to say the least, but whatever.

"Frank, are you listening?" The nineteen year old was soon sprung from a rather 'interesting' daydream involving Gerard killing his grandparents - he wasn't mentally disturbed, he promised. 

"N- sorry, I was-" Frank stuttered out, coming within seconds of letting a sarcastic and generally unwelcomed 'not really' slip in front of his grandmother.

"Daydreaming." She finished for him, sighing out. "I know." And really, Frank didn't know quite what to make of that, and just continued stirring the bowl of ingredients whilst pretending to show at least a vague interest: he was doing alright, he thought, at least.

"Your head's in an entirely different world to your body: I was like you when I was younger." The explanation came after a few minutes of silence, and it caused Frank to stop and pondered her confession for just a second, before turning to make eye contact with his grandmother.

"Why not anymore?" He asked, curious, and to the extent that she'd even begin to regret telling him anything of the like in the first place.

"I grew up." She sighed out, turning away in an attempt to keep the look on her face hidden. "I realised that there's no use in the fact; the real world, reality's down here."

"I don't want to ever be like that." Frank's tone grew quiet, almost awaiting the punishment for saying such a thing, but to his surprise, no such punishment came his way.

"Neither did I."

And then, like nothing had happened, she was back to grease proofing a baking tin, and Frank was left to wonder about the whole world and what could have been.

"Why-" Frank tried, he did, but it was over, and perhaps he just refused to accept as such.

"Leave it, Frank. Please, it's unimportant." And in the silence which Frank struggled to fill, the front door slammed upon and in came his grandfather, and almost in turn, the sinking feeling in the bottom of Frank's stomach: the two didn't get along, to say the least, and to say all that Frank could.

"I wasn't expecting you yet-" Frank's grandmother began, only to be cut off by her husband: face contorted with anger as if it was on fire with rage, and Frank was just frozen upon the spot: eyes widen and open in his grandfather's direction.