good guess, but...

“Everyone keeps saying I should dump you.”

After a few seconds of no response, you tilt your head up to look at her. If she heard you, she's showing no indication that she did. She's still cleaning the window like she has been for the past minute or so, wiping with a cloth in one hand and a Windex spray bottle in the other.

It takes a while before she finally asks. “Why?”

“Because… they say you’re a vampire.”

“And?”

“But I know you’re not.”

The wiping stops, she lowers her arms. She doesn’t turn to look at you, just stands there looking at the window. It doesn’t seem like she’s going to respond, so you continue.

“I know you better than they do, Heejin. I know that the reason why you don’t go out in the morning is because you work the night shift and you're sleeping."

She doesn’t say anything in return.

“I know the reason why you always avoid garlic is because you don’t want to have bad breath. Which is considerate, honestly.”

She drops the soaked cloth onto the ground, hitting the floor with a wet slap.

"And okay, yes, I've never actually seen your reflection in the mirror, but that's because… uh, of the angle in my room?"

The silence that follows isn't really reassuring anything for you.

"It's a small mirror," you add quickly. "And, like, the lighting's always weird. You almost never stand in front of it too, which, now that I'm saying it out loud, is its own explanation. So it totally makes sense…"

You clear your throat and continue, “And the whole asking for permission before coming in thing, I’ve always found it really cute! And really sweet. Like, it was a little weird when you just stood there for four minutes refusing to come in that one time I said no as a joke, but I figured you were just being —”

The spray bottle follows the cloth, hitting the floor, this time with a louder smack. You wince and let out an embarrassing eep out of reflex, "…respectful? You were being respectful, just to an extreme degree. Which is a great quality!"

"And, yeah, it's true that I've never seen you eat in front of me. Not once in two months. But you've also never said that you were hungry, so clearly you just — you have a small appetite, and you're also very private about it, which is completely normal, even though I don't support intentionally skipping meals but clearly you're still maintaining a very healthy —"

You realise now that you're just talking. You stop yourself before you offend her, then start again. "The, uh… The thing about you looking young for your age… It's true that Mrs Park downstairs thought you were my younger sister, but she's also like eighty years old with eyes so bad she probably couldn't even —"

Heejin turns around. She stares at you, expression indifferent and unreadable, as she slowly takes one step after another, inching closer to you with no particular rush. You continue with your rambling, because you're not sure what to do if you stopped.

"And the… ah, the thing with the dog. Most dogs just don't like — some dogs are just weird about people, y'know, so it's not entirely —" She's almost face to face. Two, maybe three feet away, and close enough that you lose your train of thought completely. "… dogs are weird." You finish weakly, barely even getting the last few words out. You can practically feel her breath on your skin, ice cool where it touches you.

She stares at you for a long while, and something in her look shifts just barely, just at the edges, like she finds you a little funny, and finds that she doesn't mind. The look sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly your knees feel embarrassingly unsteady.

“Those are good guesses, but…” she starts, and the indifference in her face gives way to something else, the first crack in her stoic look that you've seen since meeting her two months ago. It's something almost hungry, a hunger she isn't bothering to keep in check anymore, and somehow it's the most unsettling thing you've seen.

“I am a vampire.”

You blink. Her skin seems to be, somehow, even paler than usual. There’s some sort of glow around her, almost luminous as the light from the window catches her skin.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “But like, metaphorically, right?”

She doesn’t give you an answer, so you keep rambling, “Because people say that all the time. Like, ‘I could eat a horse!’ when they’re hungry, but they don’t actually —"

"I wouldn't eat a horse," she says. "They aren't my preference."

You stare at her, blinking deliberately and slowly, "…What is your preference?"

She doesn't answer that either. Instead she reaches up and draws her fingers slowly across your collarbone, and the cold of her touch hits you so suddenly that your breath catches and you almost drop to your knees. Her fingers find the collar of your shirt and she plays with it, before moving it aside, her eyes dropping to your neck. The focus in them has shifted, even you can tell, because they look like they've sharpened into something fixed and singular, like everything in the room has stopped existing, apart from you.

Her hungry look morphs into a slow smile, and for the first time since you've known her, you get a good look at her teeth.

Huh. You never noticed that her canines were so sharp.

"Hold up, are those fang—"

She cuts you off with a kiss.

Except you can’t really call it that. For one, it’s not on your lips. The second thing is that she’s really only just placing her lips onto your skin. On your neck.

Then her fangs sink in.

The pain shoots through you, sharp and invasive, a puncture that's making your body scream in protest. But threading through it, impossibly, is a wave of pleasure. A deep and pulling ache that feels like the core of your being getting drawn out through the single point on your neck. Her lips are sealed air tight like a vacuum against your skin, cold and firm.

And you can feel her sucking. You can feel the rhythmic, gentle suction as she drinks and feasts on your blood. Your knees finally give out, buckling against your will, but she holds you up effortlessly. One hand anchors in your hair, pulling you up, and the other wraps around your waist, pressing you against her impossibly cool body.

Through all this, you can't find your voice. You feel yourself go limp and dazed, and your energy seeping away, rendering you completely unable to make a sound. But you're aware, utterly conscious. You don't have the strength to push her off, but somehow in the back of your mind, a part of you is saying that even if you did, you wouldn't choose to. The pain is immeasurable, yes, but the pleasure of having her hold you up by the hair with her freakish strength, the fact that she's got her arm wrapped around your waist as she's literally sucking your blood, it's sending signals down there that you're not sure you can control.

Yes, you're getting a hard on from your girlfriend manhandling you and sucking your blood.

You're not sure if it's the sensation of the icy pressure of her mouth on your neck, or the warm trickle of your own life flowing into her, but somehow someway, you're getting more and more turned on by the situation.

She makes a noise. A soft, satisfied hum that vibrates against your throat. It's the most erotic thing you think you'll ever hear.

Then she finally pulls back, her fangs sliding out with a slick, wet sound, akin to a blade being pulled out of a wound it just made. You slump down with your back against the wall, your knees completely giving up. You finally find your voice and gasp, a ragged intake of breath as the connection between her teeth and your neck breaks. A drop of blood, your blood, beads on her lower lip, and she licks it away with a slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue, and her eyes, now darker than you'd ever seen them, locking onto yours. She looks alive.

"Still think I'm metaphorical?" she murmurs, her voice lower now, thicker.

"Fuck," is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. Perhaps it's the fact that she just sucked away a considerable portion of the blood in your system causing your brain to malfunction, or that another large portion is going straight down to your cock and empowering your boner, or the combination of both, but now you're quite literally only thinking with your dick.

"Fuck, am I a vampire now?"

She laughs, unrestrained. "No honey, you'd need to drink my blood for that."

You sigh in relief, before the whole weight of the situation hits you. Your girlfriend is a vampire. A sexy, hot, freakishly strong, dominant manhandling vampire. You can hear your friends screaming their "I told you so's" but right now, you're not even sure if this is a bad thing.

You gather your strength and look up at her, and she's smiling. It's the same slow, hungry smile, and she steps closer, standing tall over your slumped body. She leans down slightly, pinning one hand against the wall, one on your chest, encasing you.

"You're so sweet," she whispers, her face barely a few inches from yours. "So sweet and warm and full. I've been… restraining myself."

Her hand goes from your chest to your neck, fingers cold and precise as she traces the bite marks. You flinch, but it's not painful. It feels more possessive, like she's claimed you with the bite, and is now deciding what to do with her food. She press down slightly, and you feel a fresh, tiny trickle of blood seeping out. She collects it on her fingertip and brings it to her mouth, sucking it clean with her eyes still locked on you.