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Chapter Text

The dusty loudspeaker in Gravedale High crackled to life just as first period was starting. Headmistress Crone gravelly voice boomed through the hallways like a rusty coffin lid creaking open.

“Attention, students! The Annual Gravedale High Prom is only two weeks away! Remember, this year’s theme is—” A dramatic pause, followed by a burst of feedback. “—Monsters in the Moonlight! Tickets are on sale now in the main office. Don’t be late, or you’ll be… gravely disappointed.”

The announcement ended with a groan-worthy cackle that echoed down the hall, and the students instantly erupted into chatter.

“Prom? Ohhh, this is my moment!” Cleofatra purred dramatically, fluffing her black hair as she leaned against her locker. “Imagine it, me, under the spotlight, wrapped in silk, and every eye on me!”

“Every eye except mine,” Gill Waterman muttered, fiddling with his backpack straps. “Prom’s just a giant dance trap. You get all dressed up, trip on your fins, and bam! Instant humiliation.”

From further down the hall, Frankentyke tore his locker door clean off its hinges and scratched his head with it. “Uh… what’s a prom again?”

“It’s a dance, kid,” Vinnie Stoker drawled, strutting past in his usual dark shades and leather jacket. He leaned casually against the lockers, flashing his sharp grin. “Music, lights, you take a date, you look cool. Pretty simple, if you’re me.”

Blanche, floating lazily nearby, rolled her transparent eyes. “Ugh, Vinnie, you think everything’s about lookin’ cool.”

“Well, what else is there?” Vinnie smirked. He adjusted his collar and caught a glimpse of Reggie Moonshroud a few lockers down, scribbling in his ever-present notebook. The werewolf’s ears twitched in concentration as he mumbled lines of poetry under his breath.

Reggie hadn’t even noticed the commotion. His page already held a scrawled title: A Howl Beneath the Lantern Light. He sighed dreamily. Prom. It sounded so magical, almost like a page out of a poem. The only problem was figuring out who to share it with.

Vinnie pushed off the lockers and swaggered closer, just as Reggie closed his notebook with a snap. For a brief second, both opened their mouths—each intending to say something, though neither sure what.

Then Gill’s backpack burst open, spilling books and dripping water everywhere. “Aw, geez! My biology homework’s soaked again!”

The moment was gone. Vinnie shoved his hands in his pockets, pretending he hadn’t been about to speak. Reggie cleared his throat, adjusting his tie, as though his heart hadn’t been beating like a snare drum.

Down the hall, chatter continued: monsters plotting who to ask, what to wear, how to sneak extra slime punch into the gymnasium. The whole school was buzzing with prom fever.

And though neither would admit it yet, two very different monsters were wondering the same thing:

How do you ask your best frenemy to prom without scaring yourself more than a vampire fears garlic?

Vinnie Stoker didn’t usually get nervous. He was the guy who could waltz into a haunted disco, wink at three dates at once, and walk out without a hair on his slicked-back head out of place. But right now, as he spotted Reggie Moonshroud carefully tucking his notebook under his arm, his throat went dry.

Alright, Stoker, he told himself, fiddling with his collar. Just stroll over there, flash the grin, ask him to prom. Easy. Simple. You got this. Totally got this.

Except, instead of the grin, he felt his fangs chatter. Instead of the strut, his knees wobbled like a newborn bat. And when he finally started toward Reggie, he realized—horror of horrors—he was blushing.

“Uh, h-hey, Moonshroud,” Vinnie stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh, about prom, I was kinda thinkin’, maybe—”

And that’s when disaster struck.

Sid the Invisible Kid chose that very moment to trip over his own invisible shoelaces right in front of Vinnie. The vampire stumbled forward with a yelp, arms pinwheeling, and crashed straight into a passing custodian cart full of supplies.

CLANG! Buckets clattered, mops tangled around his legs, and a can of extra-strength cobweb spray exploded in a puff, cocooning Vinnie in sticky silver strands.

Reggie glanced up at the noise, blinking as he watched his leather-jacketed classmate thrash helplessly inside a webby mop fortress. “Uh… Vinnie? You okay there, pal?”

“Dandy,” Vinnie croaked, cheeks burning even redder under the cobwebs. He tried to stand coolly, but the mop handle snapped against his shades and made him look like a vampire pirate.

Reggie tilted his head, smiling faintly in that quiet, thoughtful way of his. “Huh. Must’ve been nothing.” He tucked his notebook under his arm again, humming as he wandered down the hall.

By the time Vinnie finally yanked himself free of the mops, Reggie was long gone—completely unaware that he’d almost been asked to prom.

Vinnie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Smooth, Stoker. Real smooth. You’re a regular Prince of Darkness… with all the charm of a dropped coffin lid.”

From behind, Blanche’s airy giggle drifted through the hall. “Ooooh, someone’s flustered. What’s the matter, fang-boy? Got a case of the moonlit jitters?”

Vinnie scowled, trying to shake cobwebs off his jacket before anyone else noticed. But deep down, the thought rattled him more than any cobweb ever could:

How many more chances was he gonna blow before prom night?

Reggie Moonshroud walked down the hall, notebook tucked close, pretending not to notice how his tail swished nervously. He’d seen Vinnie in a million scrapes before—falling off his bike, slipping on bat wings in gym class, even once getting his fang stuck in a locker door. But this time felt… different.

The idea of asking Vinnie to prom made Reggie’s stomach twist like a pretzel at the annual Creepy Carnival. He muttered to himself as he rounded the corner.
“C’mon, Moonshroud. Just a question. Just a dance. Just—” He stopped, ears twitching. “Okay, maybe not just a dance.”

Then, there he was. Vinnie, still dusting cobwebs off his jacket, sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose. He looked like he’d lost a wrestling match with a janitor’s closet, and yet somehow—somehow—Reggie thought he’d never seen anyone look cooler.

Reggie swallowed hard, took a step forward, and raised a shaky hand.
“Uh, hey, Vinnie? About prom, I was kinda thinking maybe we could—”

SLAM!

The trophy case beside them burst open as Frankentyke, trying to show off his strength, accidentally toppled the entire display. Trophies rolled everywhere, a golden bowling cup bounced off Reggie’s foot, and a cloud of dust filled the hall.

“Oops,” Frankentyke muttered, scratching his bolts. “Guess I’m not prom king material, huh?”

Coughing in the dust, Reggie rubbed his eyes. By the time the air cleared, Vinnie was already storming toward the bathroom, muttering about “getting this cobweb gunk outta his hair.”

Reggie froze, his heart sinking. The words had been right there—right there—and now they were gone like a howl lost to the wind.

He sighed, hugging his notebook tight against his chest. “Smooth move, Moonshroud. You’re a real Shakespeare… who forgot the last line.”

As he trudged off toward his next class, neither he nor Vinnie knew they were both stumbling toward the same wish.

And with the prom clock ticking, the halls of Gravedale High were about to get a whole lot messier.

Chapter Text

By the next morning, the entire school was drowning in prom fever. Posters with glittering bats and howling wolves covered every wall. A giant papier-mâché moon loomed over the cafeteria, swaying dangerously whenever the air vents kicked in. Even the lunch menu had been “prom-themed”: mystery meat labeled Moonlight Meatloaf and mashed potatoes sculpted into tiny dancing skeletons.

Vinnie slouched at his usual cafeteria table, sunglasses tipped low, tapping a straw against his soda cup. He’d rehearsed the line in his head a dozen times since yesterday. Yo, Moonshroud, wanna go to prom with me? Simple. Smooth. Easy. So why did his stomach feel like it had swallowed a blender full of garlic?

On the far side of the room, Reggie nibbled at a breadstick while doodling verses on a napkin. His handwriting looped nervously:
Would you dance beneath the moon? / Say yes, and I’ll be over the—
“Over the moon,” he muttered with a groan. “Ugh. Too cheesy.”

Their classmates, however, had noticed something brewing.

Blanche floated into her chair with a sly grin. “Sooo, Vinnie,” she cooed, “you look distracted. Planning to sweep some poor monster off her feet at prom?”

“Or his,” Gill piped up with a grin, chomping a soggy fish stick. “You’ve been starin’ at Reggie more than you stare at mirrors, fang-boy.”

Vinnie choked on his soda, sputtering. “Wha—? I—I don’t stare at Moonshroud! I’m just… uh… thinkin’ about, y’know, homework!”

The table erupted in laughter. Even Frankentyke chuckled, though he accidentally crushed his milk carton in the process, spraying half the cafeteria.

Meanwhile, at the werewolf’s table, Cleofatra leaned across with a conspiratorial whisper. “Darling Reggie, are you really planning to sit out prom? With all this dramatic hair and soulful brooding? Please. You’re practically begging for a date.”

Reggie blushed, fiddling with his fork. “I… I might ask someone. Just haven’t, y’know… found the right words.”

“Then let me help you,” Cleo said with a wicked grin. “No one resists my advice.”

And so the scheming began.

⸻

Near-Miss #1: The Locker Ambush

Later that day, Blanche cornered Vinnie at his locker.
“Look, Mr. Cool,” she whispered, “if you want Moonshroud to say yes, you gotta ask him fast. The whole school’s buzzing. Strike before someone else does.”

Vinnie smirked, flipping his shades. “Yeah? Maybe I will.” He spotted Reggie walking down the hall, notebook in hand, and took a deep breath.

Just as he opened his mouth—WHAM! A locker door flew open and smacked him in the face. Frankentyke peeked out sheepishly. “Oops. Wrong combination again.”

By the time Vinnie shook off the stars, Reggie had already turned the corner.

⸻

Near-Miss #2: The Poetry Plan

That same afternoon, Cleofatra handed Reggie a folded note. “Trust me, sugar, write this down word for word and he’ll be yours.”

Reggie unfolded it: Hey, Stoker, prom’s around the corner. Wanna make it a night to remember?

His heart thumped. Direct. Simple. Perfect.

He marched straight toward Vinnie in the courtyard—only for Gill to cannonball out of the fountain mid-practice dive, drenching everyone in a tidal wave. Reggie’s note bled into a soggy blur.

Vinnie shook out his jacket. “Great, now I smell like seaweed salad.”

Reggie stuffed the ruined paper into his pocket, cheeks burning.

⸻

As the day dragged on, the schemes got messier, the near-misses funnier, and both boys got more frustrated.

By the final bell, Vinnie leaned against the bike rack, growling under his breath. “It’s like the universe don’t want me to ask him.”

At the same time, Reggie sighed into his notebook across the lot. “Every time I try, something howls me down.”

Neither realized that half their classmates were now actively plotting to shove them together before prom night.

And if the monsters of Gravedale High had anything to say about it, Vinnie Stoker and Reggie Moonshroud were going to that dance together—whether they liked it or not.

That night, the moon hung fat and glowing over Gravedale, spilling silver light across rooftops and graveyards. Inside his gloomy mansion, Vinnie Stoker sprawled dramatically across a velvet couch, groaning like the undead.

How’s a guy supposed to ask his best pal to prom without lookin’ like a total dork? he thought, twirling his sunglasses in his hand. C’mon, Stoker, you’ve got charm! You’ve got style! You’ve got… stage fright.

“Vincent, my boy,” came a deep, rolling voice from the grand staircase. Count Dracula himself descended, cape billowing as if he had a permanent wind machine. “Why do you sulk as though your coffin has a squeaky hinge?”

Vinnie bolted upright, cheeks pink. “Nothin’, Pop! Just, uh, thinkin’ about algebra.”

Dracula raised an eyebrow. “You, thinking about algebra? Please. I know the look of a tortured heart when I see one. Who is it?”

Vinnie fiddled with his collar. “…It’s Reggie. I wanna ask him to prom, but every time I try, I trip, choke, or end up covered in janitor goo. It’s like I’m cursed!”

Dracula’s stern expression softened into something almost… paternal. “Ah, the moonlit agony of young love. Vincent, confidence is good—but honesty is better. Tell him what you feel. Simplicity can be more powerful than a thousand bats.”

He swept toward a cabinet, pulling out a velvet box. With a flourish, he opened it to reveal a sleek black rose corsage, elegant and sharp, just like its owner. “This was meant for your mother once, long ago. But it is yours now. Offer it with sincerity, and perhaps the night will belong to you.”

Vinnie stared at the corsage, wide-eyed. “Whoa. Thanks, Pop.” For the first time all day, he smiled—a real one, not the practiced smirk.

⸻

Meanwhile, across town in a cozy den lined with paw prints and family photos, Reggie Moonshroud sat hunched at his desk, pencil tapping against paper. His notebook was a battlefield of scratched-out verses.

Your eyes are like stars—no, too sparkly. Your smile makes me—ugh, too corny. Prom is around the—nah, sounds like a weather report.

He groaned, burying his face in his paws.

A heavy knock rattled the door. “Son? You okay in there?” came the gruff yet warm voice of Mr. Moonshroud, his dad. The burly werewolf poked his head in, mane shaggy, plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves. “You’re lookin’ gloomier than a silver-bullet factory.”

Reggie hesitated. Then he sighed. “It’s… it’s Vinnie. I wanna ask him to prom, but I keep freezing up. Every time I get close, something goes wrong.”

Mr. Moonshroud stepped inside, resting a massive paw on his son’s shoulder. “Reggie, you don’t need fancy words. You don’t need fireworks. You just gotta be yourself. If Vinnie’s worth the howl—and I think he is—he’ll hear the truth, not the poetry.”

He rummaged through the closet, pulling out a small box. Inside rested a black rose corsage, nearly identical to the one Dracula had shown his son. “Your mom made this for me once. I’ve kept it all these years. Guess it’s time to pass it down. Prom’s about memories, son. Make yours howl-worthy.”

Reggie held the corsage carefully, his chest swelling with a mix of nerves and hope. “Thanks, Dad. I… I’ll try.”

⸻

And so, in two very different homes, two very different fathers handed down the same token: a small black rose, shimmering faintly under the moonlight.

Neither Vinnie nor Reggie knew it yet, but the stage was being set. For the first time, asking didn’t feel impossible.

It felt… inevitable.

The next day at Gravedale High, the halls were louder than ever. Posters, chatter, and Cleofatra boasting about her “grand gown reveal” filled the air. But for two certain monsters, the world had narrowed to one mission.

Vinnie marched down the hallway, black rose box tucked carefully under his arm, determination burning in his crimson eyes. That’s it, Stoker. No more tripping, no more mop-bucket disasters. Tonight, you’re askin’ him. Period.

On the opposite side of the building, Reggie adjusted his tie for the fifth time that morning, clutching his own corsage box. This is it. No excuses. No distractions. Tonight, I’m gonna howl it straight.

The universe, for once, didn’t get in their way. They spotted each other at the same time—right outside the gym doors, the banner for Monsters in the Moonlight fluttering overhead.

“Moonshroud!” Vinnie blurted, striding up fast.

“Stoker!” Reggie said at the same time, ears twitching.

They both stopped, stared, then nervously chuckled. Students passed around them, curious, but for once neither noticed.

“Listen,” Vinnie said, fumbling with his shades. “I, uh, kinda wanted to—”

“No, me first,” Reggie interrupted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been meaning to—”

“No, no, I gotta say this before I chicken out!” Vinnie waved his hands.

“Fine!” Reggie said, exasperated. They both sucked in a huge breath—

“Would you go to prom with me?!” they shouted in unison.

A beat of silence. Then they both blinked, stunned.

“You—wait, you were gonna ask me?” Vinnie sputtered, his fangs showing as he grinned nervously.

Reggie’s ears flushed pink. “Well… yeah. I mean, who else would put up with me scribbling bad poetry all night?”

Vinnie barked a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Ha! And here I thought I was the sap with the crush. Guess we’re both saps, huh?”

Reggie smiled sheepishly, then held out his box. “I, uh… I got you something.”

“Me too,” Vinnie said, popping his open at the same time. Two identical black rose corsages gleamed in their hands.

The hallway burst into laughter and cheers—Gill whistled, Cleofatra fanned herself dramatically, Blanche sighed dreamily, and even Frankentyke clapped so hard the lockers rattled.

Vinnie and Reggie groaned, covering their faces, but when their eyes met again, the embarrassment melted into something softer.

“So… is that a yes?” Reggie asked, smiling shyly.

Vinnie slid the rose onto his wrist with a smirk. “Moonshroud, it’s the easiest yes I’ve ever said.”

The crowd howled and clapped, and for the first time in weeks, both boys felt the weight lift. Awkward? Definitely. Cute? Absolutely. But finally done.

Prom was on.

Chapter Text

After the chaos of the hallway and the double-yes, Vinnie Stoker and Reggie Moonshroud spent the rest of the week in a daze. Every time they passed each other in class, every time they bumped shoulders at their lockers, they broke into sheepish grins. The big hurdle was done. They had dates.

Now came the next crisis: what in the Underworld were they going to wear?

At Castle Stoker

Vinnie sprawled across his coffin-shaped bed, staring at his reflection in a cracked mirror. Black jacket, black pants, black everything. He groaned. “C’mon, Stoker. You can’t wear the same leather jacket to prom you wore to detention. Gotta be somethin’… flashier.”

From the doorway, Count Dracula swept in, cape billowing. “Ah, my son, the eternal dilemma: what to wear to enchant the night. Fear not! Tonight, we conquer the mortal enemy of young monsters everywhere—retail.”

Vinnie smirked. “Retail, huh? Guess even creatures of the night gotta shop.”

At the Moonshroud Den

Meanwhile, Reggie sat at his desk surrounded by discarded bow ties, half-written poems, and a pile of secondhand jackets that didn’t fit his lanky frame. His dad poked his head in, wagging a shaggy brow.

“You look like you’re tryin’ to wrestle a scarecrow, son. No good?”

Reggie sighed. “Nothing feels right. Prom’s supposed to be special, and all I’ve got are old choir uniforms.”

Mr. Moonshroud chuckled, clapping his son on the back. “Then it’s time for a Moonshroud tradition: hittin’ the shops till we find somethin’ that howls.”

And so, two fathers and two sons ended up at Midnight Threads: Formalwear for the Fashionably Freaky, the most prestigious boutique in Gravedale.

⸻

The Fashion Montage

The shop was a kaleidoscope of shimmering fabrics, stitched bones, and neon cobweb lace. Ghoulish mannequins modeled gowns with bat wings and tuxes that glowed under moonlight.

Vinnie grabbed a blood-red velvet suit jacket first, but Dracula wrinkled his nose. “Too loud. You want to dazzle, not blind.”

Reggie tried on a mossy-green three-piece with leaf-pattern embroidery. His dad tilted his head. “You look like a shrubbery, son. Nah.”

Cue the montage:
• Vinnie in a glittering silver suit, spinning dramatically, only for the sequins to shed like dandruff.
• Reggie in a ruffled poet’s blouse so big he tripped over the cuffs.
• Both boys emerging from dressing rooms at the same time in completely mismatched neon nightmares, sharing horrified looks before laughing.

Finally, inspiration struck.

⸻

Vinnie’s Look

After much trial and error, Vinnie stepped out in a tailored midnight-black tuxedo with crimson lining that shimmered like fresh blood when the light hit. The jacket’s lapels were etched with subtle bat-wing embroidery, and his bow tie was made of glossy leather. To finish it, Dracula draped a thin, stylish capelet across his shoulders—just enough flair without being a full cape.

Accessories:
• Polished fang-shaped cufflinks.
• Shades that glittered faintly with ruby lenses.
• A single black rose pinned to his chest, perfectly matching his corsage.

“Now this,” Vinnie smirked, striking a pose in the mirror, “says dark, mysterious, and dangerously dateable.”

Dracula clapped proudly. “You look like the prince of the night you were born to be.”

⸻

Reggie’s Look

Not to be outdone, Reggie emerged a few minutes later in a suit that was pure moonlit poetry. His outfit was a deep navy tailcoat with silver-threaded stitching that shimmered like starlight. The vest beneath was pale gray, patterned with subtle crescent moons, and his tie was a long flowing scarf of sheer fabric, trailing like mist. His slacks were slim-cut, ending in polished black boots with silver buckles.

Accessories:
• A pocket watch shaped like a wolf’s paw, dangling from a chain.
• Moonstone cufflinks that glowed faintly under light.
• A black rose tucked neatly at his wrist, matching Vinnie’s.

Reggie blinked at his reflection, ears lowering. “It’s… kinda dramatic, isn’t it?”

“Dramatic?” Mr. Moonshroud grinned. “Kid, you look like the leading man of a gothic romance. That’s exactly what prom calls for.”

Vinnie appeared beside him, giving a low whistle. “Whoa, Moonshroud. Gotta admit—you clean up good.”

Reggie blushed, but his tail wagged behind him despite his best efforts to stay cool. “You too, Stoker. Guess we’re gonna turn some heads.”

Their dads exchanged a knowing glance—two proud fathers, satisfied that their boys were finally ready.

⸻

As they left Midnight Threads, the boys walked side by side, each carrying the weight of nerves and excitement. Prom was only days away. The suits were perfect. The corsages were ready. And for the first time, both Vinnie and Reggie believed it might just be a night to remember.