I was riding the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair, spinning and spinning, the relentless tug of gravity pinning me back against the car, making it an effort to move my head. I wanted to get off, wanted my dad to make it stop. But I could hear him laughing, not understanding how terrified I was to keep spinning, spinning, spinning.

Ever since then, I've hated the feeling of getting dizzy, that stomach dropping, world turning vertigo that won't let you go.

Right now, I just wanted to make the spinning stop.

I reached out, trying to steady myself against the smooth steel walls of the tilt-a-whirl, and blinked in surprise when I instead I felt cool cotton sheets under my hands.

The spinning stilled as I blinked my eyes open to see a white ceiling above me, light streaming in across my belly, and the rumpled sheets around my waist.

In half a second it all became clear to me what had happened. I'd had too much to drink and now I was hungover.

"She's awake," chuckled the voice from the corner.

I sat up, and when I saw Niall sitting in an easy chair on the other side of the unfamiliar hotel room, my brain shorted out.

How many times had I been exactly where he was right now? Sitting there waiting, warily watching the person with the hangover, wondering what happened next. Would they lash out? Would they vomit and need you to hold back their matted hair? Would they curse you and berate you, then sob with how sorry they were?

I'd been where he was a million times, but right now I was over here and I hated myself for it.

How had I gotten completely drunk off of only three beers?

Oh right, because I'd shotgunned them in an effort to show that I was one of the guys.

Mortification took hold, pushing away the other competing emotions, and I grabbed the sheets and yanked them up to my chin.

He chuckled again, and I waited for the shaming. The shouts, the how-could-yous. It was what came next in this sequence. It's what I'd done in his shoes so many times before.

But his face just settled into softly worried lines. "You're probably needing something for your head, hang on." He stood up, and disappeared into the en suite bathroom, returning with a white pill bottle. "How many?" he asked.

No shaming.

"Three," I croaked.

"Ah, built up a tolerance, yeah?" he asked, shaking out three pills and then handing me a glass of water.

I knocked it back, and then drank, feeling the water it hit my raw throat. It felt like my cells were opening back up again to receive the moisture.

Already I was feeling better, but also confused.

I looked up at Niall, and saw that he was fully dressed, still in his clothes from last night. I did a quick mental check. My body still felt the same. Nothing that would indicate that we had sex last night, nothing to indicate we weren't still just friends.

"Hey, uh. I didn't... I mean we didn't..."

He shook his head. "You just passed out. Hey, you've got a cute little snore, you know that?"

I could feel heat rising up to my cheeks. "This is your room?"

"Where else?"

"But you slept in the chair? We've... you wouldn't let me do that," I told him. "Last time."

"Yeah well, that time we were both awake. I asked you to and you said yes. Didn't seem right this time, you know?"

Kindness. It was there shining out from his face. He was kind, and he'd taken care of me and expected nothing. This wasn't charity. This truly was friendship.

All at once, I had to blink away tears that came hot and prickling in my eyes. "You okay, Angel?" He asked, sitting down at the edges of the bed next to me.

I let my head fall to the side until it rested on his shoulder. Something was bubbling in my chest, about to boil over. "Niall?"

"Yeah darling?"

"I love when you call me that."

"I know. I can tell. That's why I do it."

"Niall?"

"Darling?"

I tilted my chin up to look at him. "If I asked you to kiss me right now, would you do it?"

His eyes darkened. "I suppose," he said slowly. "I'd be a pretty shitty friend to ignore a simple request."

"Niall? Kiss me?"

All at once I was on the tilt-a-whirl again, spinning and spinning but this time I was dizzy because Niall was doing what I'd asked - nearly begged - for.

He let his lips brush against mine, so soft and sweet it made my heart hurt before sighing a little. It sounded like a sigh of relief. It sounded like the noise my heart would make if you hooked it up to a speaker right now.

I moaned a little, parting my lips for him, letting him sweep his tongue against mine. An ache inside of me, so deep I'd been able to ignore it for weeks now, suddenly flared to life, twisting my stomach around itself to squeeze out a slow, melting heat.

I slid my hands up to cup his face, needing to hold him now, needing to feel him real and raw under my fingers. The rasp of his stubble against my skin was like music to me, a song I'd hummed the melody to but was finally able to make out the words.

When I pulled back, breathless, I pressed my forehead to his, the way he had done to me. "I have to tell you something."

"Please do." I loved how hoarse his voice was. Like he was still trying to hold back for me.

I was done with that.

"I wanted to tell you I think we're pretty bad at being friends."

He was silent for a moment. "Funny," he said, sounding a little hurt. "I think we're pretty great at it."

"No," I said, kneeling up to straddle him. "Friends don't do this."

I pressed my hands to his chest and pushed him back onto the bed.