A/N: Warnings for strong language. It could almost be M, but I'm rebellious like that. :)
"I've never..." you looked at the bottle of whiskey in your hand. About an hour ago, that bottle had been full.
You were having a shitty day. Something that happened with your parents back home caused you to take refuge in your arch enemy's basement. It was nearing midnight, and you knew he would be home alone.
Apparently, he was having a shitty day, too. Fifteen minutes in, a quick trip to the beer cabinet, and you and Niall were both sprawled on a couch, drunk off your ass.
"Let's play that drinking game... you know, the I've Never one..." he had said, his words slurring. It surprised you that he was the one that brought it up. But then again, Niall was having a shitty day.
You didn't care anymore. You didn't care that you were talking to your enemy, the boy you hated the most.
At this point, your head is foggy and your words are slurring just as much.
You think back to when you watched your friends play at a party, all of those months ago-of course, that was a completely different kind of "I've Never." The whole point of the game was to extract from your semi-coherent friends just how far they've advanced sexually.
But then you decide, fuck it. Might as well throw caution to the wind. "I've never had sex."
You laugh, because it's the only way to break the silence in the basement. Niall is beyond wasted at this point, so you can't tell if the blood running to his face is from whiskey or your confession. Probably a combination of both.
Still, he's coherent enough to raise the glass to his lips and take a drink.
"None of 'em boyfriends was good enough, huh?" he manages, throatily.
You shake your head. "Wasn't that. Sex just freaked me out." You shrug, and then laugh a bit more. Dear Lord am I drunk. "I mean, it doesn't anymore. But too late now, I guess."
He nods, slowly. He doesn't look up at you, and keeps his eyes trained on the bottle he's holding.
After a minute of silence, you go, "At least tell me that I'm not missing much, or something like that."
He snorts. "I'm not gonna lie to you sweetheart."
You nod. "Right." You take another drink, just because you can. "It'd really suck to die a virgin."
Now he looks up. His expression morphs from genuine confusion to sudden realization. He glances you over once, twice, before shaking his head, and bursting into a fit of laughter.
"What the hell d'you think you're getting at?"
"Just being honest. And also-" you burp, and then wave your bottle in his direction-"The whole point is that it's supposed to sexual, for chrissakes."
"Don't give me that," he says. "That's bullshit." He clears his throat, and then raises a finger and feebly points at you. "If that was your idea of a pass, then you'll have to do a little better than that babe."
Your eyes widen. A pass? You open your mouth to say, "God, no, of course not," but shut it. You rack your brain, and think it over.
Alcohol does unkind things to the teenage brain. It took you much, much longer than it should've to answer that question. But the more you mulled it over, and the more you looked to Niall, the more your original answer wavered.
Niall Horan was no doubt rough around the edges, and he was definitely not your type. But you'd be lying if you said that you didn't find him attractive. You refused to - it would only inflate sober Niall's ego.