The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead.

It rains and it pours when he's out on his own, and if he crashes on your couch then he sleeps in his clothes. You spent the night dancing, he's drunk, you supposed. If it looked like he was laughing, he was really just asking to leave.

When a group of vampires got caught in a gunfight, in the center of a restaurant, all but you and Gerard stood with their arms raised high. Of course, you two ended up on the death bus straight to Hotel Bella Muerte. Go figure. As it turns out, only two people were evil enough to be the next grim reaper and fallen angel mercenary themselves.

"Ever think about life up there? How prison is treating those fuckers?" Gerard sighed, tossing his scythe onto the alter of the cathedral. "I mean, it's not like what we did was intentional. But they couldn't have taken me out of this vampire form bullshit? Now I have to be death with fangs. God forbid I be a normal grim reaper." He muttered, running a hand across his face.