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“I watched you through your window, I was wearing that dumb sweatshirt, I looked like a girl. I was dressed for winter even though it was the middle of June…”
You're at the Shadyside high school, on what might be the last day of your life. You and your friends are completely surrounded by cursed monsters, all of them hellbent on killing you. You had made a plan to try and survive, but there's no way to be sure it'll work.
Your hands shake as you pick through a box of clothes, looking for something clean. They all smell musty, and some of them have random stains, worn down from years in the lost and found.
Everyone's terrified, you can see it in their eyes, feel it in the air. The impending threat of death hangs over you all, and it makes it hard to take a full breath. Your friend Simon offers you a smile, which fills your stomach with butterflies. It helps to calm your nerves. Sort of.
After a while, you find a ratty red sweatshirt with holes in the sleeves. Even though it’s old, it doesn't smell like puke, and seems to be your size. You grab a pair of joggers that you find in the bottom of the box, and call it good.
The group divides up to go change while you're still sifting through the clothes, so you wander around a bit looking for a place to change. You spot the boy's bathroom, poking your head inside just to make sure it's empty.
“I watched you get undressed. I must've turned bright red ‘cause I couldn't stand to face you; ‘cause I liked what I saw. Maybe we should just stay friends…”
You notice his hairy chest, his soft stomach. You feel your face burn from embarrassment, and you freeze in place. You know you should leave and give Simon his privacy, but you feel rooted in place. Your heartbeat pounds in your chest, your stomach doing somersaults.
Simon trails his hands down his chest, running his hand over the bulge in his boxers. You wonder what it would feel like to touch him, to feel the weight of him in your palm. Slowly, agonizingly, he puts his hands in his underwear and wraps his hand around his dick, groaning. He begins to stroke himself, moaning and whining softly, bucking his hips into his fist.
You slam the door to the bathroom shut and walk away as fast as you can. Your face burns and your legs feel like jelly, your heart beating a mile a minute. You find a dark corner to sit down in, your head in your hands.
“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, your hands shaking. You've had a crush on Simon for awhile, and had always thought about asking him out, but this was a new level. You feel horrible for invading his privacy, and yet you can't ignore the fact that seeing him like that did things to you.
“Tell me how you feel about me, do you like or likelike me? Tell me what you really feel, do you like me? Just say you do…”
“What do you think our odds are?” you ask with a shaky grin.
“‘Never tell me the odds’,” he quotes Han Solo, smiling back.
He breaks off from you, giving a brief tour of the store and prepping Sam for her death-defying stunt. You pick at the dark gloss which Simon had painted on your nails last time you hung out. That felt like a lifetime ago, when all that mattered was the way your heart fluttered as he held your hand and the thought of whether or not he liked you back.
Now, you may both die without him ever knowing the truth.
You sigh. If you two survive the night, you'll tell him everything. Your crush, catching him jerking off, everything. If you die, you don't wanna die a pervert. "I climbed up your front porch, and I doorbell ditched you, and I felt so bad. Couldn't cop to what I did, so I laughed myself sick all the way to my car…”
Monsters are closing in around you, undead assholes back for revenge. A really hot girl with a razor whistles as she stalks you down the aisles. You see Simon running from a man with an axe, and you call out to him.
He turns in your direction, and is distracted just long enough for the axe to come down on his shoulder. The blade sinks deep into his flesh, almost cleaving into his torso and undoubtedly hitting something important. You scream, rushing towards him as he collapses. You gather him up in your arms, his breath coming in jagged gasps and his blood staining your fingers. The axe man draws back for another blow, and you brace yourself for impact.
Just when you think you’re going to be separated from your head, the man stops. You turn to Deena and see her gathering a shaking Sam into her arms, both their faces pale and wan. Your friend group rushes to the ambulance parked in front of the store, turning on the sirens and speeding to the hospital. Kate drives at breakneck speed while Simon fades in and out of consciousness in the back.
“Tell me how you feel about me, do you like or likelike me? Tell me what you really feel, do you like me? Just say you do…”
The hospital smells sterile and unfamiliar, a threatening presence all around you. Nurses rush your friends away, and you’re left searching for them in the impossibly large building. You’re running on adrenaline and panic, desperate for a familiar face.
It’s pure luck that you find the room where Simon lies, too-pale on an operating table. His blood covers the surgeon's hands, a gaping wound being slowly stitched up his shoulder and to his neck. You watch the heart rate monitor carefully, counting every beat of his heart.
Someone tries to get you to sit down, offers you a cup of water. You don’t take it, afraid to take your eyes off him for even a second. Hours pass by painstakingly, the pauses between beats of his heart seeming to last as long as a lifetime.
When Simon is moved to a recovery room, you follow close behind. Doctors and surgeons give you frustrated glances, but you don’t notice. All your focus is on Simon, and the way his closed wound shifts with every breath he takes.
“Tell me how you feel about me, do you like or likelike me? Tell me what you really feel, do you like me? Just say you do…”
You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake up to the sound of Simon's hoarse whisper. You stand on shaky legs, rushing to his bedside. Without a second thought, you grab his face and press a desperate kiss to his lips. He holds you with his good arm, not wasting a second before kissing you back.
“Oh fuck,” your voice breaks as hot tears cloud your vision.
“Hi,” he croaks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Hi,” you say, sobs and laughter bubbling out of you. You’re both laughing, shock and relief flooding your systems. You beat the witch, you survived.
“First you spy on me while I'm jerking off, then you almost get me killed,” he rasps, a tired grin on his face.
“I didn’t think you saw me,” you laugh, embarrassed at having been caught.
“You could’ve just told me you were into me,” he teases. “You didn’t need to do all this.”
“Yeah, well,” you sigh, “when you get out of here, we’ll go on an actual date.”
“Deal,” he takes your hand. When you squeeze, he squeezes back.