Growing up, you always believed that the old tales of dangerous vampires were about as real as unicorns. 

That is to say, you have lived your entire life believing that vampires are simply tall tales, rumours from long ago that have since transformed into myths, into religiously followed cautionary tales, into paranoia and whispered warnings in the streets. And if they are real, somehow, then you don't believe they're as common as they are rumoured to be.

But you're not stupid. So when you needed to, you listened during lessons about them.

They'll bleed you dry, you were taught. They'll take your blood until there's none left.

And though they aren't able to turn you into one unless you let them, just as they can't enter your home without invitation, they have their own ways around that.

You were taught to have fear. To know that they can twist your mind, that they can bend it to their will, that they can manipulate you until you believe you truly want to be one of them.

Nobody seems to have a straight story as to what they can and can't do, with the exception of entering a person's home and turning a human into one of them. Some claim to have met one who could be seen in mirrors, or one who could retract their teeth to look normal, or even one who could change their appearance entirely. There's no complete knowledge on their possible mutations or individual abilities; all that is known is that the species itself, alluring and kindhearted as some may be, is one of the most dangerous things to come across.

A few people you know claim to have encountered one; your friend, Nayeon, always tells the story of the one she just barely escaped as a teenager. When you were younger, kids used to pretend to be one. And you would take part, of course, because you were a child, and make-believe was a good pastime.

But you're an adult now, and still, you have never encountered a vampire.

Over the years, this has lulled you into a false sense of security. You believe that you are safe.

You, as you eventually discover, are not.

-

In your first year of university, you meet a kind girl named Hirai Momo. She has a raspy voice and an infectious smile and dark, beautiful eyes.

She's a good friend. She buys you snacks, and takes you out for coffee in the mornings, and walks with you when you travel somewhere. She treats you well.

She is, as you would expect her to be, completely normal. She's funny. She's nice. She sends you funny videos at two in the morning, and goes over hours' worth of material with you when you need to study for a big exam.

But there are… flaws. Things that don't quite add up.

Her eyes, beautiful as they are, can sometimes seem endless; dark pools with no end, no escape, no light catching them. Far too captivating. She never likes to take photos with you, and she avoids mirrors like the plague. Sometimes, when she smiles too wide, you catch quick glimpses of teeth just slightly too sharp, of canines pointed further than yours.

There's explanations, though. She gives them every time you point something out.

Her eyes are just… like that. She was just born that way, and her bangs usually leave slight shadows over them, anyway.

She claims that mirrors freak her out. Not even she knows why; she just doesn't like them. And you have an irrational fear of certain bugs—though that's more common—so you really don't feel like you have a place to judge.

She sharpened her own teeth when she was younger, in a dumb attempt to look cooler. She's told the story more times than you can count; a child with a fascination with vampires, a nail file, and lots of pain. She claims to shudder at just the thought, but you've caught her beaming with pride over them more times than you can count.

Are her stories questionable? Sure.

Should you be questioning this more? Maybe.

Do you? No.

She's just so kind, too kind to possibly be a vampire. She treats you so well.

And whenever you ask, there's something in her voice—something in that familiar rasp, in the low tones of her words—that stops any further questions before they even have the chance to form in your mind.

-

You like Momo.

Your parents like Momo.

Nayeon does not.

"Something's not right," she tells you, a few months into knowing Momo. "I can't prove anything, but she's a vampire. Didn't you see the teeth?"

"She made a dumb choice as a kid to try and sharpen them," you counter, feeling the urge to defend her while she isn't around. "Don't you think it's rude to make assumptions about people? You don't know her like I do. Momo's not a vampire."

"You may not believe in them, but I've seen this before," Nayeon insists. "Just listen to me. I almost died to one of those things. I don't want the same to happen to you."

You scoff. "Nayeon, seriously. She's not like that. If you're just going to sit here and tell me that one of my best friends is evil and trying to kill me, then I'm going home."

Nayeon's eyes are full of concern as you leave, but you hardly see it.

-

Spending nights with Momo is wonderful and exhilarating, you come to learn.

About six months after first meeting her, she kisses you. You kiss her back, overwhelmed by the crush that you've acutely been feeling for a while. 

You aren't quite sure how it escalates, dazed in the feeling of her lips on yours. All that you know is that she guides you to lay on her bed, and then she's leaning over you with that smirk that always gets to you.

The night that follows is a blur of laughter, sighs, and teeth grazing your shoulder. To you, there is nothing more than Momo. All that exists is her, and if anything else exists, then it doesn't matter to you. There's only her hands, and her lips, and her chest against yours, and her low voice in your ear.

"Beautiful," she calls you.

"Good," she praises you.

"Perfect," she mumbles to you.

And you melt beneath the affection, beneath her skilled fingers taking you apart piece by piece, so wonderful and yet so rough.

Though, you suppose that fits.

When it's over, you find yourself laying quietly next to her while you try to catch your breath. She mumbles something about cleaning up in a bit, her hands cold as they pull you into her.

She traces absentminded shapes into your abdomen as the two of you lay together, comfortable silence lingering between you. Both of you are tired, your bodies completely relaxed, trusting in the softest way.

"I really like you, you know," Momo eventually murmurs, leaning down once more to press a kiss to the stinging point in your shoulder. You think you remember her biting it in the heat of the moment. You smile at the memory. Maybe she was muffling a moan into your skin; you know you've done that in the past.

You tilt your head as her lips move to your neck—she seems to have an odd fascination with your neck, but, hey, at least it's not a weirder part of your body—to allow her better access. "I like you, too," you reply warmly, your arm coming to brush through her hair.

She looks up at you through her bangs. There's something a little off about the way she smiles; you can't quite place it, but it almost looks… teasing? Playful, perhaps?

…No, that's not right.

The best way to describe it would be the type of look you'd give to someone if you knew something they didn't. Which is odd, because you're pretty sure you and Momo might know each other inside and out by now, having spent the majority of your time together over six months.

You feel her teeth graze over the skin of your neck, closer to your throat, and a shiver runs down your spine. The sharpness throws you off momentarily, but you simply hum and blink down at her. "You know," you mumble, "if I didn't know you before this, I'd think you were a vampire."

You feel her stiffen, for just a moment. "Why's that?"

"Well… just based off of tonight," you start, "you've been all over my neck. But I think it's the teeth."

"My teeth are just—"

"Just sharpened from when you were a kid, I know," you interrupt. "But there's… rumours, y'know? Pretty girl on campus. Dark eyes. Avoids mirrors. Sharp teeth. If I didn't know you, if this was just a one night stand… I don't know, maybe I would've fallen for it."

The tension quickly leaves her body, and then she's speaking. It's that familiar tone again; deep, soothing. "But you didn't, right?" she asks, each word sounding carefully selected. Her words are slow and melodic, just the right speed to catch your attention and hold it. "Fall for it, I mean."

Your body relaxes further against her bed, and against her body. You let your eyes fall shut, combing slowly through her hair. "No, of course not," you mumble. You don't even need to think about the answer, really; you know her, maybe better than any of the other people around here, so why would you have fallen for it?

You feel her smile against your skin. "Good," she whispers.

And then, after a moment of quiet…

"…You can just fall for me instead."

You flick your heavy eyes open, your laugh coming out as a half-hearted snort. "That's so corny. You're not funny at all."

"But I'm hot," Momo reasons, grinning up at you.

You sigh, relenting. "But you're hot," you agree in a mumble, relaxing back into her hold.

And in her hold is where you stay for the rest of the night, her hand tracing up and down your arm, the touch featherlight. You don't know when you fall asleep, but you do know that you feel safe and content.

-

There's no label on it, on the two of you. It simply exists.

You and Momo, individually, become one. Some call you clingy. Others call you codependent. But where one of you goes, the other tends to follow.

You and Momo are just that; you and Momo. You feel no need to put a label on it immediately, not when you can just be.

Neither of you ever correct anybody. You're friends to some people, girlfriends to others. Friends with benefits is the label that your friends unofficially give you, but even that doesn't feel right.

You pretend not to notice when Nayeon side-eyes you worriedly. You always see it, of course, but bringing it up will only bring drama.

Days off turn into coffee dates with Momo. Lonely nights turn into curling up in her arms on her couch or in your bed. Dreary mornings turn into sleepy mumbles of appreciation, into her arm around your waist, trying to convince you to stay in bed longer.

And the crushing silence in your apartment at night slowly, slowly turns into listening to her deep, slow breathing, and thinking, This is it. This is what I want.

She's what I want.

-

You wake, one morning, to her nails tracing over the slopes of your face reverently.

You don't force your eyes open; they're heavy, and she's so comfortable to lay with, and you're perfectly happy staying just like this.

Just like this, with her fingers etching constellations across your skin, and her chest rising and falling gently against yours, and your legs tangled with hers. Just like this, with the early dawn atmosphere around you, with the troubles of the day unable to reach you.

You'd like to stay just like this, with her voice murmuring soft words into the empty air, words that you assume she did not intend for you to hear.

"I think I like you too much," you hear her whisper. "I didn't mean to fall this hard. I shouldn't have let myself."

Part of you wants to reassure her, but you're… confused. 

And you're a little worried, honestly, because… because what if she doesn'twant this? What if she doesn't see you like you see her? What if this really is just a friends-with-benefits situation, to her?

She sighs. "I made a dumb choice. I didn't leave when I should have. And now it's— now I think you'll haunt me forever, when this is over."

When this is… over.

Over.

So there's an end planned. There's an expiration date to this love, to these soft mornings.

But there's longing in her voice. A trace of melancholy, like she doesn't wantthere to be an end.

Maybe it could be prevented. Maybe you can keep her in your life. Maybe you can keep this.

…Or maybe that's wishful thinking.

-

A few hours later, you manage to find the strength to ask her what she meant. What it meant.

The way she looks at you when you summarize the sentiment makes it clear that you were never meant to hear it. Her face looks unreadable on the surface, but you know her. You know how to read her. 

There's a muted kind of devastation, of yearning, that you can't ignore.

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. "But I'm just… I'm worried. You sounded like you knew when this was going to end, like— like it's been a planned thing."

She shakes her head slightly, but doesn't say anything.

"I like you," you confess. "A lot. I want to be with you. I want— whatever this is, I want it. And if there's a reason that you want to end it, then I want to know. Is there… can I fix it? Can I do anything?"

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"I don't want an apology." There's no venom in your voice, though the statement is typically paired with it. "I just want you, Momo. I don't want to lose you."

She glances away. She leans on your counter, biting her lip. "You don't understand."

"Then tell me, let me understand," you beg.

There's a beat of silence, tense enough that you're sure you can both feel it.

She takes slow steps toward you, feet dragging with each one. There's a shine in her eyes that you've never seen before, not even once; something sad,something… something guilty.

"I didn't mean it," she breathes out. Her hands find your shoulders as she reaches for you, one of her thumbs flicking back and forth over the skin. "Just… just forget about it."

You scoff, feeling frustration begin to bubble up. "Are you serious right now? Forget about it?"

She nods. "Please."

You groan sharply, shoving one of her hands off of you and allowing the other to stay. "You can't be serious!" you huff, hurt and now angry. "I'm trying to communicate with you, to— to keep you in my life, and you're just brushing me off! You can't just—"

Your words are cut off as her other hand finds its way to your cheek, cupping it so softly. Just as softly as she always holds you.

You look up, tears welling in your eyes, but—

When you come face to face with her, you find that Momo's dark eyes have been replaced with new, irresistible pools of crimson.

Oh, is all you can think.

"Forget about it," she urges again, voice deep and alluring and dizzying.

Oh.

As she brushes a hand through your hair and sighs deeply, you do.

-

You wake the next morning to a very clingy Momo and a twinge of pain in your neck.

Momo, your oh-so sweet… whatever she is to you, is happy to massage it and fetch you an ice pack when that doesn't work. She actually does it herself, without you ever asking.

"You're being awfully sweet today," you comment idly, fetching the sweater that she hung up… at some point. Whenever she left it here. You're not quite sure when it was.

"Thank you," she murmurs as you hand it to her, flashing you a grin. "And, really, I'm just giving you the treatment you deserve."

You smile. "You're such a flirt."

"How could I not be?" she rasps. One of her fingers traces from your collarbone to your jaw, nudging your head to tilt up without even really trying. "You're too pretty to not flirt with."

You blush, leaning up and capturing her lips in a kiss. "Go," you laugh. "You'll be late to meeting— who was it, again? I know you told me, but my memory's being so weird today…"

"We drank last night," Momo reminds you, tapping at your forehead gently. There's a teasing smile on her face. "I'm surprised you don't have a wild hangover right now. That's probably why you aren't remembering, though."

You hum, nodding thankfully at the explanation. "Right. Now go. See you later."

She squeezes your shoulder once, and then she's out the door. You sigh, half-dreamily and half-pathetically, a lovesick smile on your face.

Momo is just perfect.

-

The seemingly random gift arrives three hours later, in the gap between her returning and her leaving to get drinks with two old friends.

"Oh!" you exclaim. "Momo, this looks so expensive… it's not even my birthday!"

She shrugs, hands shoved in her pockets. "Just felt like getting you something nice. You know money's not a problem."

Her hands are cold as she slips the necklace over your neck, the chill of the chain sending a shiver through you.

You admire it in the mirror.

She admires you in the mirror.

You don't see the guilt on her face.

-

She doesn't come back to your apartment that night—she texts you an hour or so later to let you know that she's just going home—but you doopen the door the next morning to find a delivery for a ring you distinctly remember mentioning you liked.

"Am I crazy, or is this a proposal?" you joke, phone pressed to your ear. "You know, I'm really not sure if you should be trying to marry a girl not even two years into knowing her."

Momo's laugh comes through the call. "No? What if I've already fallen head over heels for her?"

You place a hand over your heart, though she can't see it. "Well, you definitely shouldn't propose to someone who isn't even officially your girlfriend," you counter playfully.

"Says who? The same old fucks who say you shouldn't have sex until you're married?"

"Hirai Momo," you mock-gasp, scandalized. "Are you implying that you, a young, attractive, unmarried woman, have had sex? Don't you know you're supposed to waste all your good years before trying it?"

"Well, I think I know a better person to ask whether or not I've had sex,"she teases. "Are you not the one with about five hickeys right now?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

-

You don't think you've ever been happier than when you're with her.

You and Momo just compliment each other so, so well.

You run hot, and she runs cold. She strongly dislikes having pickles on her burgers, and you're always willing to eat them for her. You're a bit of a pushover sometimes, and she's always ready to come to your defense when you won't do it yourself. 

You're each the absolute best at cooking each other's favourite meal. If that doesn't make you soulmates, you don't know what does.

Soulmates, you think, one day. Isn't that romantic? What a nice concept.

And then you glance over at Momo, brushing her teeth in your bathroom with the spare toothbrush you keep for her, and you think, I must have already found mine.

-

Nayeon tries to warn you, a couple more times. Tries to tell you what she sees.

You get into an argument on the two-year anniversary of you meeting Momo.

"She has you wrapped around her fucking finger," Nayeon insists, frustration and concern and some other emotion that you can't even identify all swirling in her eyes. "That girl is a vampire."

You shake your head angrily. "Aren't you tired of making accusations against her? You didn't even give her a real chance."

"I don't have to. I know she's a vampire. Why can't you just trust me?"

"I love her, Nayeon," you snap. "Why can't you just trust me? I'm the one who knows her. I'm the one who spends almost all of my time with her."

"That's exactly the problem. You spend so much time with her that she's getting into your head. You're not looking at this logically!"

"You're just paranoid."

"Yeah, for a good reason!"

You grit your teeth. "You're unbelievable. Can't you just be happy for me? I found my person. I found the love I've been searching for."

"I'm just trying to make sure you're safe," she counters.

"No, you're trying to take away the one girl who's stuck around for me," you scoff. "I don't want you getting involved anymore, okay? Just let me have this. Just let me have her."

"She's the one who has you."

You stare at her for a few moments, incredulous. And then you huff frustratedly, turning away.

"I'm going home."

-

The very next night, you vent your frustrations to Momo.

You only mean to tell her that Nayeon isn't listening to you, and keeps thinking she's smarter than you. That's all, because, frankly, the rest probably isn't her business.

But as soon as you start to tell her how upset you are, she fixes you with that look. With the eyes so dark and deep that you could get lost in them easily, with the quiet focus in the set of her brows, attentive and persuasive and gorgeous.

And she asks, "What are you… fighting about?"

And before you know what you're saying, it all spills out. The wholestory; Nayeon being convinced that Momo is a vampire, and her not listening to you when you defend Momo's name, and her bringing it up again. Everything. You can't stop yourself, once you've started.

Momo just nods, thoughtfully. Then she sighs. "I mean, there are a lot of people who apparently think I'm a vampire. I can't exactly blame her."

"Yeah, well, I can," you huff. "I've been telling her for two years now that you aren't. Giving her reasons and everything. She just… I don't know."

Momo rubs a hand over your back, firm and comforting. "I wouldn't worry too much about it," she says, sounding just a tad guilty. "I don't want you to lose one of your friends for me. Especially someone that you've known for longer."

You sigh. "I don't want to lose her as a friend, either," you start, "but it gets to a point, you know? I can't keep telling her the same things over and over again. She thinks you're… dangerous, so she's sticking to that no matter what I say. I think I just need a bit of space."

You tilt your head to rest it on Momo's shoulder, blinking up at her through your lashes. "And a distraction, maybe?"

Momo giggles, one hand cupping your cheek and pulling you into a slow kiss.

"I think I can name one pretty good distraction," she murmurs. "Think I can give it to you, too."

"You think?" you breathe.

She nods, grinning widely at you.

And you lean into her easily, letting her take away your worries and your self-control for a blissful little while.

-

One spring morning greets you in the form of birds chirping outside your window, an awkward sleeping position, a strand of hair that isn't yours tickling your forehead, and Momo's arm around your waist.

You groan quietly as you stir, stretching out your legs beneath the covers. "Morning," you mumble, shifting around a bit before planting yourself against Momo's side. "How long have you been up?"

"Oh, just an hour or so," Momo replies, one of her hands coming to brush through your sleep-tangled hair. You wince as her fingers catch on a knot, but she's quick to murmur apologies and correct herself.

You yawn, resting your head in the crook of her neck. "You could've woken me up."

Momo shakes her head. "Why would I do that?" she asks. She presses a kiss to the crown of your hair. "No reason to disturb you."

"You must've been bored, though."

"I've been scrolling on social media." She shrugs against you.

You hum, fumbling for your phone, but Momo's hand catches yours. "I plugged your phone in after you fell asleep," she explains, lacing her fingers through yours. "It's on the nightstand."

"What time is it?" you ask, blinking harder to clear the lingering blurriness from your eyes.

"A little past eight," she says. "Go back to sleep, yeah? I know you don't have class today."

"I thought you had a class, though?"

"I'll skip it for you." She lowers her voice, the edge of her nail scratching just right against your scalp. "Go back to sleep."

"Only if you do, too," you murmur.

She pauses for a moment, likely considering it. And then, with a sigh, she allows you to tug the blankets further over her. "Fine."

You give her a satisfied smile, and then rest your head once more against her shoulder.

-

You wonder, sometimes, whether you look at Momo through rose-coloured glasses.

You think it would make sense. You've never found a problem with anything she's done, no matter how questionable. Everything she says sounds absolutely perfect to you.

Sometimes, you feel the slightest bit worried about it.

Most of the time, just her smile is enough to ease any further thoughts.

-

Following two years and five months of knowing Momo, and having spent nearly all of your time with her, you think that you know almost everything there is to know about her.

You never, not even once, could imagine an entire second life that she's kept hidden from you.

And you never could imagine that everyone else's suspicions would be completely true.

-

Momo's touch is all you feel.

Her hands, running weightless lines up and down your sides. Her lips, kissing up your neck, her lipstick leaving marks that you'll probably be very reluctant to wash off later. Her legs, straddling your hips, keeping you pinned to the bed. Her body, pressing into yours.

"Prettiest girl I've ever seen," she rasps out, nipping the side of your neck. You sigh, your voice high and airy, your hands resting on her lower back.

You shift beneath her, hips pressing up into her about as well as they can.

Momo hums as she feels it, feels you, sounding all too satisfied with herself. "You want it?" she asks, one of her hands raising up to instead trace around your breast.

"Yes," you breathe out. "I want it, Momo. I want you."

A low noise reverberates from her chest, her eyes half-lidded as she pulls her head up to look at you.

And you're sure you look like a mess; hair ruffled from her own hands tangling in the strands, face flushed from her heated motions, pupils dilated with want.

All you feel, all you know, all you see, is her. Her, and her proud smirk, and her endless eyes, and her hand, and her teeth, and your wrist being lifted to her lips—

…What?

You blink at her. She holds eye contact as her sharp teeth graze at the skin, the points pricking around your veins, never once looking away from your eyes.

Your brows furrow. "Momo, what are you—"

And then her eyes are, once again, red.

"Don't worry about it," she purrs, every word formed against the soft skin of your wrist.

You're mesmerized by the sight before you, even as you feel the sharp sting of her fangs sinking deep, deep beneath your skin.

And you're still mesmerized as she lays you back against the bed, her mouth never moving from where it's connected to you, her free hand drifting down to press between your thighs, already teasing just where you need her.

And still, you're mesmerized as she pulls away to press a kiss to your wrist, and warmth rushes up from where she just was.

-

You're left feeling dazed and dizzy once the two of you are done, both from how hard and how many times you came and from…

From…

…Hm. You don't really remember. Your memory's a little bit clouded.

Momo breathes deeply beside you now, fast asleep beneath your covers. Soft snores escape her mouth every now and then, her hands twitching slightly. Rain patters gently against your window.

You sit half-up, wincing at how lightheaded you feel.

That's… probably not so good.

You take a minute, blinking in the dim light of your bedroom. You try a few deep breaths, thinking that maybe all the gasping you did could be the cause.

You sit there for four whole minutes, just… breathing.

It doesn't help.

…Maybe you should wake Momo. This is getting concerning.

You turn your head to the side, but falter. Your eyes are immediately stuck on how peaceful she looks; her lashes fluttering just slightly against her cheeks, her brows relaxed, her mouth half-open in unconsciousness. It's so achingly peaceful; the sound of the rain outside, the sound of her slow breathing, and the sight of her beside you. You melt a little at the sight, one of your hands moving to gently brush her bangs away from her closed eyes.

Momo, you think fondly. My Momo.

My Momo.

…That is the last thought that you think before it happens. Before you see it.

Your eyes flick down, just slightly, as you notice something dark near the corners of her lips. Your brows furrow in confusion.

You lean closer to examine what's there, and maybe to press a soft kiss to her face. It's hard to tell what it is, with how dim the room is.

You sigh quietly, leaning in. You intend to kiss the tip of her nose.

At that exact moment, while your face is close enough to see details, lightning strikes somewhere. Through the gap in your curtains, there's a strip of light in your room, and by pure coincidence, it lights up Momo's face just enough to inspect the dark spots.

You pause, your face hovering inches from hers, as you process the sight before you; Momo, sleeping peacefully, the corners of her lips speckled with dried blood.

There's a long moment in which all you can do is just… stare. Your eyes are stuck on the blood surrounding her lips, stomach churning.

("Didn't you see the teeth?")

No. No, it can't be. There's another explanation, there has to be. There's no way.

("She has you wrapped around her fucking finger.")

Your memory is hazy, but you can kind of recall a pain in your wrist. If you focus, if you think about it, you can still feel the echoes of it now.

("That girl is a vampire.")

My Momo.

You're half-stuck in your own head as you slip out of bed, careful not to wake her. You're praying that this is just a misunderstanding, just paranoia; maybe she bit her tongue in her sleep. Maybe her sharp teeth scraped the corners of her lips. There has to be another explanation.

Not this. It can't be this.

You stagger into the bathroom, head spinning, and flick the light on. You're quick to shut the door behind you, in case the light rouses her from sleep, and lean heavily against it.

You almost don't have the strength to look down, but you know that you have to.

It's okay, you tell yourself. She's not— this isn't that. She wouldn't. She's not.

You take a deep breath, just to steady yourself. You raise your arm slowly, shakily, and turn it over.

And, just as you feared, the soft skin of your wrist is marred with two tiny, messy puncture wounds, the evidence of a fresh, unhealed vampire's bite unmistakeable.