A Bump in the Dark

"Bored?" 

Her soft voice startles you. The pencil you've been carefully balancing on your upper lip for the past minute — her pencil — tumbles off the edge of the table and rolls onto the floor. You click your tongue with a sigh and get down to grab the pencil before it disappears and becomes one of the many permanent fixtures in the dull library.

Looking up, you're greeted by the sight of your table mate.

Winter — real name Kim Minjeong. You were the one who gave her that nickname ever since you found out she was born at the very end of the year. It's a cute nickname. Fitting, given the girl herself is the platonic ideal of cuteness — large round eyes, an adorable slight nose, plump round lips, not to mention the shoulder length dirty blonde hair framing her mochi-like cheeks.

Your best friend, Winter, whose face is scrunched up in silent laughter. You chuckle alongside her, a bit too loudly because she does her best to shush you while looking around guiltily as if she was an accomplice to a murder. The two of you have been holed up in the library for the better part of the day to rush an essay that's due this very night, and the light moment was just what you needed to slow your descent into academic madness. 

Who the hell still assigns essays in the age of AI? You wanted to say fuck it and toss the prompt into your LLM of choice, but Winter — your conscience, the angel sitting on the right side of your shoulder — would kill you (translation: puff her cheeks out indignantly) if she found out. So, instead of committing academic sin and the greater crime of letting down your best friend, you've been bashing your head on your laptop for days in a row, cracking your brain to think of halfway-decent arguments for the essay.

Normally you would have given up on day two of working on the essay and hide in your room playing your nth speed run of Donkey Kong Bonanza, but working with your best friend has kept you honest and diligent. Winter is a comforting presence, the slow methodical scritches from her pen (yes, this angel in human form prefers to write out her assignments on paper before typing it) filling the silence while you stare blankly at the word editor on your laptop screen. 

Sensing your focus fraying on the edges, Winter caught your attention and jerked her head towards the back, a meaningful look in her eyes. You nod and hastily pack your belongings before walking briskly to the library entrance, Winter skipping ahead of you. She looked so happy, so carefree. You don't know how she does it — she's a dean's lister two semesters in a row while looking like the troubles of the world doesn't weigh a damn thing on those slight shoulders.

As you speed up to catch up to your best friend, a group of boys intercept you. A mob of jocks, led by none other than Wonbin, the alpha jock on campus. You sigh as you slow down, giving them a cursory "what's up". 

For some reason, this group of meatheads have adopted you as one of your own. Maybe it's because of your clean cut looks or the muscles you've put on after gymming consistently for the better part of two years. It's not necessarily a bad thing — these guys are relatively harmless. But they did have a propensity towards frat parties and other similarly loud and jock-ish activities. Something you've been trying to avoid because you know Winter wouldn't approve. Not that you've ever asked her. You just assumed.

"My guy," Wonbin drawls with an easy smile, wrapping his muscular arms around your shoulder. Your nose twitches at the scent of Old Spice and Axe body spray, truly a horrendous combination. "Down to join us for the Last Dance?"

Ah yes. The Last Dance. Also known as the final campus-wide party before the semester ends. Think lots of booze and bad decisions. Coincidentally, the party happens on Friday night. Tonight. It literally starts at the same time as the deadline for the damnable essay.

You glance at Winter up ahead. She's staring pensively at the ground, thumbs twiddling as she bounces lightly on the balls of her feet. Maybe you could half-ass the rest of the essay and make it for the party. After all, you've been so stressed out about the damn assignment. Maybe some booze is in order. Never mind the fact that you've never even been to a party, let alone drink at one. 

Wonbin wiggles his eyebrows at you expectantly.

"Yeah, see you there," you mumble hesitantly. The mob of jocks slap their approval on your back. Wincing apologetically, you jog over to the waiting blonde. Winter's face breaks into a warm smile and for a moment you feel absolved of your guilt, forgetting about your promise to the jocks as you follow your best friend out of the building and across the campus plaza.

The two of you make your way to a grassy knoll overlooking the bay. The sun is a deep orange, sunk halfway into the horizon. Winter settles down on a comfortable bit of grass and pats on the spot to her right. You plop yourself down and stretch your hands out expectantly. The blonde fishes out a wrinkled paper bag from her duffel and tosses a hot cross bun in your direction. You catch it with practiced ease, sighing in pleasure as you take a huge bite of the bun. 

It's a ritual that the two of you have developed early in your friendship. Catch the sunset by the bay while eating some snacks. There's not a lot of talking during these moments. Winter silently munches on the bun while staring intently at the orange rays of dying sunlight bathing the waves in the bay. 

You place your left hand to your side on the grass as you lean towards the blonde. She does likewise, settling her right hand close to yours as your shoulders touch, supporting each other's weight. It's one of the many things the two of you have never really talked about. The light physical closeness. The hours spent in each other's presence. 

Finishing up your bun, you turn your head to look at Winter. Her side profile takes your breath away. Skin glowing gold with the setting sun, baby hair floating gently in the late afternoon breeze. Crumbs dusting the corners of her lips, cheeks bulging as she chews on the bun. Sometimes you wonder what goes on in your best friend's mind. 

What is she thinking about at this moment? 

Would she be okay with it if you wiped the crumbs from her mouth with your fingers?

Shaking your head, you turn back to cast your gaze on the rapidly darkening horizon. 

You might never know what goes on in that pretty little head. Mostly because you're too much of a coward to ask Winter about it. Too scared to properly define the space that exists between the two of you. Dancing around the issue is infinitely more comfortable when the alternative is potential rejection. It's laughable, but that's how you've lived your life so far. Go with the flow, try not to ruffle too many feathers. It'll work out in the end. At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

You're also too scared to let her down, even as you plan to go to the party later tonight. It's definitely not your scene, and you doubt Winter would want to go with you if you asked. Not that you ever would. 

As if reading your mind, the blonde pipes up. "Are you going to the Last Dance tonight?" You tense up briefly before turning to her.

"Nah. I'll finish up that essay. Then catch up on some sleep. Are you thinking of going?" 

Winter shakes her head gently before placing her palm on top of your hand, a tiny smile gracing her crumb-coated lips. You feel warm and tingly inside, though there’s a tiny bit of guilt too for lying to your best friend. 

Well, not a tiny bit. A lot. You usually make it a point to be truthful to Winter. It's what she would want, you think to yourself.

You twist your hand upwards to meet her palm to yours, grasping with your fingers. You squeeze tight in a silent — selfish — apology. The two of you stay seated side by side, hand in hand, until long after the sun has set.

Your first thought was that this was a bad idea. The dull, thudding bass fills your ears as you down a shot of vodka — your fifth of the night. The clear liquid burns your throat as the gaggle of party-goers around you cheer on, and the medley of liquors in your stomach start to roil. All that booze is starting to affect your motor functions: the way your vision tilts ever so slowly on its axis, how your legs wobble like jelly under your own weight. 

Rows of shot glasses line a makeshift table set in a living room. A motley crew of men and women surround the table. You’re one of them, consuming enough alcohol to give you the mother of all hangovers come morning. Not that you'd know. This isn't really your scene — you turned up only because you thought it was a good idea to unwind and let loose. Goodness knows you need to de-stress after working on that fucking essay for so long. Usually you would be snug in bed by this hour, scrolling through an endless feed of cat videos before you fell asleep.

Wonbin (the alpha jock) is among the group egging you on, whooping obnoxiously after you down each shot. You don't know how he does it — the alcohol burns as it makes its way down your gullet — but he's eight shots deep and nowhere close to stopping. Completely tracks with his reputation for being a party animal though. The cocky bastard smacks your back hard before leaning in and shouting in your ear.

"Come on, let's make some memories before the semester ends!" If that isn't the most cliche feel-good thing you've heard all year. Wonbin has his hands wrapped around a very pretty girl, her head resting on the crook of his neck as they toast to everybody within their general vicinity. At least someone will be making good memories tonight.

Sober you might cringe at that. But at this point, a cozy blanket of happiness has wrapped around your head. It started around the second or third shot, give or take. Everything seems funnier, even the ramblings of a frat bro, and you start to revel in it, giggling at nothing as you look forward to the next shot. Anything to keep the vibes going. 

As you start to sway around, bumping into others, you feel a soft pair of hands push and prod you away from the crowd. You make a token effort at resisting, whining as you're parted from the table of alcohol. However, the resistance was short-lived because all that vodka (and soju and tequila) has made you agreeable. Pliable. 

Small, cool hands grip you more insistently, fingers surprisingly strong as they steer you through the throng of bodies. You catch a glimpse of short blonde hair from your 'captor' before they turn you to face away. The heavy bass pulses like a heartbeat in your ears, the mood lights blurring into streaks, and you laugh, thinking it's just another party-goer dragging you to more fun.

Heck, there could be more drinks wherever this person is taking you to. Sure, they're being a bit too pushy, but drunk you prefers to go with the flow. Like always.

You’re shoved into a small dark room with a bed by the corner. A guest room you think — an incredible feat given your brain is marinating in booze. A tiny window framed by small curtains at the far side lets in a bare sliver of moonlight, bathing the room in a dim, ethereal glow. Not enough to make out fine details, but enough to see silhouettes and shapes. A thin bed by the corner rounds out the furniture. 

Your legs give way and you sink to your knees, staring blearily at your surroundings. The slam of a door and the plink of a latch makes you turn around sluggishly.

A woman stands in front of you. You hesitate to assume though because all you can see is a figure wearing a long dress shirt and a denim skirt. The figure approaches you and gets on their knees as well. Your nose twitches as you catch the scent of baby powder and vanilla, your mind dully noting that it smells very similar to the lotion Winter uses.

But that thought is wiped from your mind as the figure presses a pair of soft lips against yours. Which is a surprising development, to say the least. Here you were, hoping that you would be led to a place with more alcohol. Instead you're now making out with some rando you 'met' at the party. 

Your heart jumps at first — are you getting lucky tonight? But something feels wrong about this. All they're doing is mashing their lips onto yours and twisting their head with no rhythm, all while making exaggerated kissy noises. Think "mwah mwah" and such. Occasionally they would stick their tongue out hesitantly, then draw it back real quick. So you take charge, but even that isn't going so well. When you opened your mouth and tilted your head to one side, they decided to tilt their head in the same direction, completely defeating the purpose of an open-mouthed kiss.

Feeling very ticked off, you pulled away.

"Damn, you suck at this huh?" Okay, that probably came out a lot harsher than you intended. Drunk you is pretty judgy.

"Err … excuse me?" the person gasps, indignation clear in their feminine, high pitched voice. Why does that voice sound so familiar?  

Right as you were about to complete that thought, you hear a deafening crash from outside the window. And then silence, save for the ragged breathing from the person before you. Your heart slams in your chest and you feel the mystery figure jolt in shock too — their hands clutching at your shirt in surprise. 

You turn your head to the side to try and peer out the window, but your kissing partner takes the opportunity to nibble at your exposed neck. You roll your eyes — at this point anything they're going to try is definitely not doing it for you. You shiver as their cool breath fans around your neck. The mysterious figures moves from spot to spot, nibbling, sucking, then kissing the bruises sloppily. You drum your fingers on their shoulder, impatient for this weird encounter to end so you can go back out to the party and get more alcohol.

"Oookay, you've had your fun," you slurred as you shoved the person away by their shoulders. But they didn't budge. If anything, their lips start latching even more firmly onto your neck, their arms now wrapped firmly around your waist like a koala bear hugging an Eucalyptus branch. What the fuck is going on here? You push and prod more insistently, but the mysterious figure keeps sucking away at the side of your neck, your pulse point throbbing against their lips. 

Then you feel tiny pinpricks of something breaking through the skin on your neck. A biter huh, kinky. You start shivering uncomfortably as the warmth leeches out from your body, seemingly through your neck. You shiver dully at the exquisite sensation, your limbs covered in pins and needles as if you sat on your arms and legs for hours.

A stray thought bubbles up to the surface of your alcohol-impaired awareness — what if they’re drinking your blood? There's no way that's actually happening right? Vampires don't exist!