I was seventeen, a senior attending Pallet Town High School and living with a single mother, when my entire world was flipped on its head.

Pallet Town was a generally quiet, unassuming place, one of the smallest towns in the entire Kanto region, and we liked it that way. Everyone and his mother knew what your favorite color was, what you had for breakfast, and what song was stuck in your head. Everyone knew everyone, and no one trusted newcomers any more than a creaky fishing rod. I supposed we were elitist in that way small towns were wont to be, despite being otherwise pretty down-to-earth folks.

The high school, whose acronym was too close to PTSD to be a coincidence, was like any other: brick, medium-sized, faintly reminiscent of prison. The student body was homogeneous but relatively clique-y, which, in my humble opinion, just made it easier to avoid the idiots and the psychopaths.

...Or not.

"Hey, Leafy." The voice came from right behind me, making me jump in my skin. Not exactly the best thing when you're sitting on a wobbly lab stool and trying to adjust your microscope.

Gary Oak had a habit of doing that. Despite knowing him practically since we were born, I still got freaked out when he popped up so suddenly from behind me. It was definitely not one of his most endearing qualities.

Gary Oak was attractive in a t-shirt. Gary Oak was attractive in sweats. Gary Oak would have been attractive in a hazmat suit, for God's sake.

And Gary Oak was definitely devastatingly attractive in those green lab goggles that bit into your forehead and cheeks and looked ridiculous on everyone but him.

Of course, I'd never admit that out loud to him. He didn't need anyone, much less me, to stoke his ego. So I bit the inside of my cheek and settled for discreetly staring at him and his gorgeous jawline and long eyelashes while we continued prepping for the lab.

This week we were looking at bacterial colonies, which meant the back-of-the-classroom brain trust was trying to experimentally determine who could inhale the most noxious cheese fumes from their Petri dishes. It almost made me miss last week's project, when they were stabbing one another to get samples for blood typing. I'd been paired up with Marie, who at least had the sense to only do it once and get it over with. The downside was that she wouldn't shut up about how great her date last Friday had been. Gary wasn't even in class that day and I still couldn't get away from him.

For the cool, confident guy image he liked to project, Gary was certainly a baby when it came to anything about blood. He refused to look at me when I got so much as a paper cut, and I'd always teased him about it when we were kids, in that kid sort of way. Then he'd pinch his nose, whining about the smell in a nasal voice.

He pushed the Petri dish around with his pencil, leaning over the lab bench. "You almost done with that?" he asked.

"Nearly." I plucked the dish away from him and set it on the microscope stand.

"You want me to help?"

"No."

"Are you su—"

"Mister Oak."

Hardass Herriot's voice rang out through the classroom, slicing through conversations in that way only his voice could.

Mr Herriot had grown up in Dendemille Town, a small place in the backwaters of Kalos, a fact to which his accent attested. He was refreshingly young and attractive in a way that made the girls at school twitter in the halls after he passed, but he was a demanding teacher and refused to take shit from any of his students. I could respect him for that.

"What was it?" I asked when Gary sat back in his seat beside me, openly looking at my paper and copying my sketch so far. I strategically rested my forearm across the written work, so he'd have to do at least something on his own. Not that he'd have a problem; thanks to his big-shot scientist grandfather, biology was virtually inscribed in his genes.

"Nothing too big," he said with a shrug. "Just stepping up into my ass for ditching club to hang out with my best friend."

Oh. Club. Right. I should explain.

Since the beginning of our high school careers, Gary had religiously attended after-school meetings of what I referred to as The Club. Probably because I could never remember what it was actually called or what it was even for. It was always "I've got to go to club" or "Club meeting today". On several occasions he'd had to cancel or simply ditch a date for The Club, which was really something considering his affinity for the ladies.

I suppose it made me a bit pleased to know he'd skipped a meeting for me, especially with Hardass Herriot in charge. It hadn't even been anything exciting, just a walk around the neighborhood and a cheesy 80s movie that we ended up ignoring and instead having a tickle fight on the couch.

He started it.

I'd been hoping, as we looked at each other breathlessly for a moment afterward when time stood still, that he would kiss me. Maybe not just a kiss, but one of those teenage sofa snog fests, our tongues intertwined and his hands up my shirt. He certainly looked like he'd been considering it. But he hadn't, and my mom had walked in, and she'd made me get up and set the table.

We—I—made quick progress through the sketches we were assigned and could spend the remainder of the class period goofing off. At least he was going to. I pulled out the Calc homework that had been assigned this morning instead.

"You're a real drag sometimes, Leafy," he said. "Don't you know there are more important things in life than homework?"

"Right now I'd consider it pretty important," I snapped. "Why don't you go distract Marie again? Or hell, just leave class and go to lunch early with Dawn."

At the sound of our mutual friend's name, he looked over to her lab bench. I was sure her head was still slumped over the black counter, as bored as I'd seen her earlier. Biology wasn't really her thing, but she was still wicked smart and was always one of the first ones done.

"She's not as fun as you are," he said.

"I thought I was a real drag?"

"You can be." He grinned. "But we've had some great times, wouldn't you say?"

I didn't dignify that with an answer. Interpret the definite integral as the limit of a Riemann sum. My pen slid across the page impotently, and I fished through my bag for another one.

I was halfway through the exercise set when Gary took a strand of my hair and twirled it around his finger to give it a tug. "Hey, listen, I was wondering if—"

The sound of the end of class bell ringing interrupted him, and he seemed all too willing to leave that thought unfinished. Ooh. Mysterious.

—

"My mom wanted to know if you and your grandpa wanted to come over for dinner tonight," I said on our short bike ride back home. The autumn leaves, pretty oranges and reds and yellows, crunched beneath our wheels, and the sky was a clear cerulean above our heads.

"Can't," Gary said as he rode off the pavement for a second and expertly hopped back on. The show-off.

"Hot date?" I guessed, and he confirmed with a "yup", popping the p. "Who is it this time?"

"Uh, Emma O'Malley." I was surprised he remembered the girl's name, given how many he went through in a month. Emma was pretty, in that high school girl kind of way with her lined blue eyes and skin tanned from cross country practice, but a talker. Nasty talker. Legend had it that she could talk a grown man to death with only one topic of discussion (this would usually be the latest episode of Gilmore Girls or the way Brett was totally staring at Alyssa's butt yesterday in History).

As soon as I'd stepped inside my house, I pulled out my assignments for AP Biology, AP Calculus, and AP Lit. I'd done AP Statistics and World History sophomore year, and AP Physics junior. In this way I was a glutton for punishment. If I didn't have homework or studying to do, I felt empty.

I finished up before dinner, which was a quiet affair. My mother was disappointed that the Oaks wouldn't be blessing us with their presence tonight—I didn't tell her why—but I assured her we'd get them over sometime soon. At least the professor. In a stark contrast to his grandson, if Samuel Oak had a flaw, I hadn't found it yet.

Evenings in early October were still warm enough for a stroll to let my mind wander, so while my mother assumed her position in front of the television with her knitting, I pulled on my jacket and trainers and stepped outside. I headed toward the town park in my usual loop. Although it was pretty dark, the path I stuck to was well-lit. Not that I had a problem with the dark. In quiet little Pallet Town, there was nothing to be afraid of in the dark.

But you know, even when I go for walks at nine in the evening, there's still a couple necking on a park bench. I wouldn't doubt it if it were Newton's undiscovered fourth law. I didn't mean to look, but I did, and I stopped cold in my tracks.

There are some things I've never liked talking about. It was now, when I recognized Gary Oak drawing away from the shadowy mess that was a clearly unconscious Emma O'Malley's neck, that I realized I wouldn't like talking about this part of my life.

"Shit," he hissed. "Leaf!"

I was off like a shot, fast enough, I imagined, to leave one of those outlines like in the cartoons. My feet smacked against the pavement uncomfortably hard, my breath coming rapid and pulse pounding in my ears. One step came down wrong and sent a jolt up my ankle, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The street was a hundred feet away. My legs pistoned on. Fifty feet.

I felt a hand grab onto my arm and jerk me back, its grip bruisingly strong and my arm almost popping out of its socket.

"Let go of me," I snarled, but faced with him and the blood, oh, God, the blood dripping down his chin, my voice came out far less intimidating than I'd hoped.

"If I let go, you won't run away?" he asked. I could only look at him, equally horrified and mesmerized. There was something like concern in his expression. No, not concern. Pity. And I hated it.

I wrenched my arm away, and for some reason, I didn't run. I turned up the collar of my jacket, to protect against the intermittent breeze or his lingering gaze, I couldn't tell. Of course, I'd interrupted him halfway through his meal, who was probably still slumped over on that park bench. Tonight could only get better, right? Gary was silent, staring at me intently.

"What?" I snapped. "Sizing up dessert?"

He blinked rapidly, as though I'd interrupted a deep thought, and swiped a hand over his mouth. It didn't do much but smear the blood into a dark streak across his jaw. He pulled his lips back to bare his teeth, but I realized it was just a smile, his usual white one if a bit grotesque.

"I wouldn't be joking about that if I were you," he said, his voice an almost hypnotizing murmur. A chill ran down my spine, and I took a step backwards, away from him.

"Y-you wouldn't dare!" I sputtered, but he let out a laugh that echoed across the silent park. His expression suddenly turned serious, all traces of a smile vanished.

"Please, listen to me, Leaf. I didn't want you to find out like this."

"Oh, and how would you have wanted me to find out? You sucking me dry?" I ignored how blatantly sexual that sounded, and for some reason Gary did, too. "Next thing you'll be saying is that Dawn's a vampire, too." He seemed to enjoy some sort of private joke at that.

"What's taking so long?"

Oh, shit was my first eloquent thought upon realizing the disembodied voice was too masculine for one of Gary's dates. There's another one. He seemed to materialize out of thin air beside us.

He was just about an inch shorter than Gary's 6'1 and had a head of impressively green hair that I'm sure would have been even more impressive in the light. He was dressed far too formally for a nighttime stroll. Crisp white shirt, tie, jacket, the whole nine yards. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"...You didn't," he said, looking between us. He seemed unsure of whether to yell or laugh.

"It was an accident, Drewy," Gary snapped, definitely more likely to yell. "Drewy" rolled his eyes.

"Grégoire is going to have your ass for this."

"No, because Grégoire is not going to know."

At this point I was still very confused, and the headache that had begun to pulse at the edge of my brain wasn't making the situation any better.

"We'll see. You're going to have to come with us," the green-haired guy said. He loosened his tie. "And we're going to have to blindfold you."

"B-blindfold—"

"Sorry, Leaf," Gary said. "It's just how it's gotta be. I trust you, but they certainly don't."

—

I was tempted to bolt, but I had a few things working against me. One, I was blindfolded. Two, at this point, I wasn't totally sure where we were walking. And three, they were obviously faster and stronger than I was. I tried to keep track of the turns and distances, but I quickly lost track. Within what felt like fifteen minutes Gary was warning me about some porch stairs, and we entered a house that smelled and sounded old enough to be knocked over by a small breeze. Finally, the blindfold slipped off my eyes, and I squinted in the low yellow light of a hallway.

An interior decorator clearly hadn't set foot in here since at least 1905. Despite the smell and the obvious age, it wasn't shabby by any means. In fact, it was rather well maintained. No cobwebs or dust in sight, no rats or other undesirable critters scuttling around and eating through furniture. The wooden railing of the staircase at the opposite end of the hall shone even in the dim lighting.

"Wait here," Gary said, gesturing to an ornate little chair set against the wall. I took a seat without comment, although for a second I was convinced the rickety thing would fall apart underneath me. He and the other guy entered through a door farther down the hall, toward the staircase. They didn't bother closing it behind themselves, and I could hear the mutterings of others who were already in there.

I couldn't tell how many were in this monster house besides me. At least five, including Gary and his green-haired friend. Generously, one of them was on my side. Definitely not the time to fight my way out. I sat stock still, trying to catch any distinct words.

"I say we turn her," came a sharp voice that chilled me to the core. "We don't need her blabbing."

"She's not going to tell anyone, trust me," said Gary, and I was relieved to know the Oak fanclub still had my back. Silence for a moment from the room, then Gary's voice again: "Red, that's disgusting. She's my friend."

"Shouldn't we consult Grégoire first?" A younger girl, unfamiliar. "He would know what to do."

This was getting to be too much. I glanced at the front door, fifteen feet away. Those fifteen feet of maroon rug looked like fifteen miles. There was no way the door was locked. I hadn't heard them lock it when we'd come in. I didn't trust that creaking wooden floor. I'd have to crawl. I looked back at the open doorway to that room of murmuring monsters and slowly began to slide from my seat. I looked back at the door.

A young man was in front of me, and my breath left my chest. His mouth was set in a stern frown, his nostrils flaring, as he glared at me with gunmetal-grey eyes. His hair, a violent crimson, reminded me of the blood on Gary's face earlier, and I tried not to gag.

"Going somewhere?" he asked coldly, and I realised with terror that this was the one who'd suggested turning me before. He didn't seem any less keen on the idea now than he had two minutes ago.

"Fuck off, Silver," came a beautifully familiar voice from behind me, and I was relieved to see Gary himself approaching us. There was a tense moment before the guy, Silver apparently, scowled and stalked off back down the corridor with hands curled into fists.

I couldn't tell if Gary was disappointed that I'd tried to sneak out, but I felt my face heat with embarrassment anyway. "So what?" I said.

"We're letting you go," he said, much to my relief. "I managed to convince them that you're not a liability." He cleared his throat. "You're welcome," he added meaningfully.

"Right." I shook my head. "Thanks, Gary."

"But I need you to forget this ever happened," he said. "Seriously."

"That's a big ask." The gory scene from earlier floated up in my mind, and I tried to push it back down. He just frowned.

It was something like one in the morning when I finally collapsed onto my bed, too tired to even bother pulling a blanket over myself, much less change into pyjamas after stripping down to my underwear.

But regardless of how exhausted my body felt, my mind wouldn't shut the fuck up.

What was someone's usual thought process after finding out not only was her best friend a bloodsucking creature of mythology, but there was a whole horde of them in her town?

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.

I assured myself anyone would have thought the same in my place.

For a second I contemplated pulling the sheets over my rather exposed self. What if he could have climbed up to my window or something and watched me in my sleep? That would've been pretty creepy.

At some point, I fell into a restless sleep.

A/N: Okay. so. I have a plan. Naturally.

This is (more or less) the start of my attempt to clear out all of the old stories I've been sitting on for years. This one was from *checks notes* May 2016. So that's cool. Hopefully I can match the tone and language from my bloody junior year of high school so that it's not too disjointed an experience.