I Fell In Love With A Girl Who Died Before I Was Even Born

Shion doesn't do small talk.

She does long silences and razor-sharp glances that make you wonder what sins she's clocking you for.

Or she flirts like a maniac with a razorblade and god-tier charisma.

The movie hadn't even started, and I was already on the edge of my seat thanks to her.

Meanwhile, she leaned back casually and slowly, deliberately crossed her legs as though she didn't have a single care.

"So, how's that popcorn, Blondie?" she asked with a wicked smirk.

Right.

I hadn't had a single bite. Probably because my mouth was desert dry.

So I reached over for my Question Mark soda, and of course her hand was right there on the armrest.

She didn't jump.

(I did. Her hand was ice cold.)

She tilted her head slightly, in this weird robotic pose, and raised an eyebrow.

"You wanna hold hands?" she asked flatly.

I blinked.

"Do I what?"

She took a breath and sighed.

"Do you want. To. Hold. Hands?"

She said it like she was reading instructions off a cursed board game.

I started to stammer something, but she didn't wait. She just laced her fingers through mine like it was a challenge. Like she was daring me to flinch.

And here's the worst part:

I didn't.

Because her hand in mine felt like static and silk and secrets.

Because pulling away would've been the same as surrender.

So I held her hand.

Like a lunatic.

Like a man standing in front of a runaway train and pretending he could stop it with charm and a root beer.

Shion turned back to the screen. "Good boy."

I was going to die.

And then she leaned in close, just enough for her breath to brush my cheek like a promise.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I'm left-handed."

I had no idea what that meant.

But my fight-or-flight response just gave up, sighed, and let me toss some popcorn into my mouth.

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"You can totally relax," she teased.

Then I felt it.

Her thumb, brushing against the back of my hand.

Cool and smooth.

Like highly polished glass.

And when I turned, she was smiling at me from behind her jet-black hair.

"You'd make a good boyfriend," she said, voice low and giggling, "but you're so nervous."

I almost choked.

"Oh my god, don't die on me!" she said, alarmed but still grinning. "Are you okay? Here."

She handed me my soda like she was offering a holy relic.

"That's it. Wash it down."

I nodded, coughed, and forced a sip past the panic.

"Thanks," I managed to say.

"Yeah," she said casually, rubbing my back like we'd been dating for three years.

"Don't choke to death, Blondie. I need to drink living human blood."

I gave her a look.

She stuck out her tongue.

"You're no good to me dead," she teased, all sing-song menace.

And that was it.

That was the moment I knew this had been a mistake from the beginning.

The lights dimmed. The previews rolled. I leaned back in my seat.

And then the screen lit up with blood, fangs, and George Clooney.

From Dusk Till Dawn.

Of all the Tarantino scripts in the universe… I invited a vampire to watch this.

I froze.

Shion didn't.

She turned toward me like a shark catching the scent of panic. Slowly. Deliberately.

That smirk blooming like a time-lapse of oh no.

"You brought a vampire girl… to From Dusk Till Dawn?"

I felt her look before I saw it. One slow, deliberate turn of her head. I could feel the threat before it even formed.

I glanced over.

Her expression was lethal. Raised eyebrow. Fangs—fully out. Not in the cute little "oops, I forgot to retract them" kind of way. No. These were "I'm going to drink your blood and post about it on a message board" fangs.

I swallowed.

"I—I didn't know what movie it was!" I hissed, whisper-screaming. "They just said it was a Tarantino marathon!"

She blinked. Once.

She leaned in slowly, voice like a knife sliding across velvet.

"You've got some balls, Ryu," she murmured. "Inviting a vampire to a vampire movie…"

She paused. Closer now. Close enough I could feel the words on my neck.

"…I like that."

And then she laughed. Oh god.

It started low—just a breath through her nose.

It spread. Her shoulders started shaking, and she had to put her hand over her mouth. Like she was trying not to break herself in half.

I didn't breathe for the next ten minutes of the movie.

"Oh my god," she finally whispered after an eternity. "You. Are so stupid."

Was she still on this?

"I didn't know!"

"I know you didn't!" she wheezed. "That's why this is perfect."

Then leaned close again. Too close.

On screen, Salma Hayek was pouring tequila down her leg.

Then I felt her hand on mine, and I gasped.

"What're you doing?" I asked, voice tight.

She looked up at me, innocently.

"Sorry," she said. "During my laughing fit I dropped the keys to my bike."

Her hand traveled across my thigh.

"Don't make this weird," she said. "I'm just trying to find them."

I stared straight ahead. Rigid. Motionless.

On screen, someone was screaming. A vampire exploded into guts and latex.

"I… thought you rode a bicycle," I said.

She blinked up at me. Innocent. Almost offended.

"I do ride a bike, Blondie. What do you think I use? A dreamcatcher?"

Her fingers brushed my pocket.

I flinched so hard I nearly dumped my popcorn.

"Oh, sorry," she said, smirking. "They might've fallen in here."

I turned to her, finally, whispering: "You're seriously doing this right now?"

She smiled sweetly, like she was offering communion.

"Do what? I'm just looking for my keys."

I didn't buy that for an instant.

"Shion—"

"Shhh." She pressed a finger to my lips. "Quiet. You'll miss the plot."

Then I felt her fingers slide effortlessly into my pocket and I almost passed out.

She leaned in again, slow and smug, lips near my ear.

"You can yell at me later," she whispered. "If you survive the movie."

Then she kissed my cheek.

Just a ghost of a kiss.

My foot moved back and forth nervously, and then they bumped against something and we both heard a metallic jingle.

Of keys.

And then—just like that—she went back to her seat, folded her hands in her lap, and acted like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, I was sitting there with blood in my ears, popcorn in my lap, and the full emotional stability of a dying raccoon.

"They're by your foot," she said a moment later. "Can you grab them for me?"

I looked down, knowing where they were,

"You knew damn well they were there the entire time!" I said through clenched teeth.

She casually shrugged.

"Prove it."