There was a time in Henry’s life when the permanent taste of nicotine wasn’t in his mouth and the alcohol still burns as it slides down his throat. But now here he is, chugging down his third bottle of beer and the cancerous stick snug between his fingers. How did it get to this?

Well, Henry knows exactly how.

It all started with a girl.

Henry rather likes partying. He enjoys the music, the dancing and the company, never mind that they peer pressure him into drinking more than his usual one bottle of beer. He’s in that tipsy state of mind and is on his way to the bathroom that he quite literally stumbles into her. However, his gag reflex is quicker than his feet and he ends up vomiting all over her shirt.

She’s kind enough to accompany him to the bathroom after multiple mumbled apologies on his part where he vomits some more and she takes off her soiled shirt. Henry might have said something about her black tank top which he doesn’t remember but he remembers her chuckling before rubbing circles on his back as he vomits again.

It’s on their second meeting that she offers him a cigarette. He was once again peer pressured into drinking more and fighting down his gag reflex, he goes outside for some air and there she was. Given the situation of their first meeting, Henry has an inkling to impress her so even though he has never smoked anything his entire life, he takes the stick. The first drag leaves him in a coughing mess and once again, he hears her laughter beside him.

“Geez, if you don’t know how to smoke, you shouldn’t have taken it.” She says, the remnants of her laughter still evident on her voice.

Still coughing, Henry shakes his head. “I can do it.”

She snorts and continues with her own stick and Henry watches her for a bit before trying again.

“Don’t take in too much smoke, you idiot.” She laughs when his second drag once again reduced him to a coughing fit. “Hold the smoke in your mouth before inhaling and blowing it out.”

Henry obeys. He lets the smoke linger in his mouth. The taste is horrible and he’s very much aware that doing this just to impress a girl that he doesn’t know is ridiculous but he’s already started and there’s no going back now. He has always been annoyingly stubborn.

Once the smoke is settled in his mouth, he inhales gently before blowing it out, surprised that it didn’t trigger his cough reflex.

“I did it!” He exclaims triumphantly, grinning widely at her. She chuckles in amusement, tapping her own cigarette.

“You got a name?” she asks, turning her attention back to him.

“Henry.” He answers, cigarette between his lips.

She snorts. “Doesn’t quite suit you, does it?”

Henry ignores her and tries another drag. Another success. “What’s yours?”

“Amber.” She says, stubbing out her cigarette with her foot.

Henry looks at her, eyeing her tattoos and her obviously worn out Nirvana shirt with the sleeves cut off and chuckles. “I could say the same to you.”

Amber shrugs, chuckling as well. “Well, what can you do?”

Henry decides that he’s had enough of the cigarette and mimics her, stubbing it with his toes quite clumsily, almost tripping on his own feet, the alcohol still taking effect. There’s another laughter from her.

“More drinks?”

Soon enough, along with smoking and drinking, Amber has become one of Henry’s bad habits. He knows he shouldn’t be this attached to someone he barely knew but as his tolerance for alcohol gets higher and as he becomes accustomed to the taste of nicotine, Amber gives him a taste of something more lethal.

The nicotine and alcohol taste a lot better when they linger in Amber’s tongue, Henry concludes - kissing her is another vice that he can’t seem to quit.

“Dude, seriously, you gotta stop obsessing over that girl.” His friend Austin says, drunkenly slinging an arm on his shoulder while the other holds a bottle of beer. “She seems really scary.”

Henry’s not listening anymore as he spots Amber from the corner of his eye, drinking her own glass of God-knows-what, waiting. Their eyes meet and she raises her glass at him and finishes it in one gulp before standing up and leaving. Henry understands and puts his beer down, stubbing his cigarette on the ashtray and stands up, letting Austin’s arm fall on the leather couch.

“I’ll be back.” He says as he hurries down to where Amber went, faintly hearing Austin’s ‘You always say that but you never do!’ over the loud music.

There was a time in Henry’s life when he thought he’d be dating some nice girl with a not too boring hobby who he met at some random cafe. But Amber happened and now he’s borderline obsessed with a girl who ‘doesn’t do relationships.’

“You’re late.” Amber mumbles against his lips, fingers already fumbling with the zipper of his jeans.

“Couldn’t find you.” Henry leans down to kiss her, hand curling on her cheek and pressing her gently against the tiled bathroom wall. He catches her chuckling as he started working on her neck, nipping and , not leaving it unmarked.

“How many girls did you dance with tonight?” She asks, a hand threading through his hair while he busies himself with the buttons of her flannel.

“None.” He bites her earlobe gently and she chuckles again, free hand hitting his chest. “You? How many guys?”

“A couple. I let them buy me drinks, too.”

There was a hint of teasing in her voice and Henry looks up from her neck, eyebrow raised. “Did you let them do what I’m doing now?”

Amber answers by grinning and pulling him down for a searing kiss, hand travelling down to the front of his jeans and Henry’s breath hitches.

“Nah, this is reserved for you.” She whispers, still with the same teasing grin.

Henry wishes she’d stop saying things like that; not when he knows that a) she’s not sober and b) she doesn’t mean it. For once, Henry wants to kiss her without alcohol on both of their systems or touch her without the knowledge that when the tryst is over, she’d be washing him away with some more alcohol or worse, with another guy.

“Don’t say things that you don’t mean, Amber.” He mumbles, slipping off her shirt from her shoulders, biting down her collarbone.

Amber lets out a moan, slipping her hand inside his jeans and rubbing his bulge. “What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

Henry groans, tightening the grip on her waist as her finger lightly forms patterns on his hard on.

“You’re drunk.” He whimpers. “I’m drunk.”

Amber laughs. “You’re drunk. I’m not.”

She teases him again by withdrawing her hand from his pants, eliciting a whine from the back of his throat. She chuckles and her hand moves upwards, tracing lazy patterns on his abdomen.

Henry isn’t drunk. Or maybe he is. But he knows it’s not from the alcohol. Amber has always been more addicting than the vices that he picked up from her.

“Let’s go to my place.” He finds himself saying, lips still littering kisses on her shoulder.

“Hmm, why?” Amber presses herself closer to him, needing some kind of friction. Henry obliges by pulling her closer, rolling his hips against hers. Amber bites back a moan.

“I could cook for you,” Henry continues, breathing heavily on her ear. “And we could watch a movie.”

“Sounds boring.” Amber gasps as Henry squeezes her , thumb running over a .

“Or we could just turn on a movie and .”

“That sounds infinitely better.” Amber grabs him by the neck for a kiss and he responds eagerly, a low growl on his throat as she plays with his hair.

“Will you stay the night?”  

Henry immediately regrets it as soon as it left his mouth. Amber pulls away to look at him, eyebrow raised like he just said something offensive. She never stays, he knows that. Not for him, not for anyone else. It’s too much of a relationship thing, she says, and relationships just isn’t her thing.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget that I said it.” He hastily said, trying to save his because he doesn’t ever want to quit Amber. He kisses her again, tightening his grip on her hips. Amber pulls away once again and Henry fears that he just might have messed this up.

“If the food is good, maybe I’d stay.” She grins and it took a while before Henry realized what she means.

“Oh.” Henry blinks and Amber laughs at him. “Oh.”

“Yes, now go zip up your pants before I change my mind.”

Henry hastily pulls up his pants, almost cutting his finger on his hurry to zip it while Amber chuckles, taking her time in buttoning up her flannel.

“Oh and for the record, this doesn’t mean that we’re in a relationship, alright? We’re just two people having a late dinner and ing afterwards, okay?”

Henry grins at her, unfazed. “Right, of course. Just dinner and . However, since I’m a gentleman, I can’t let a lady go home alone at this late hour so you’ll probably have to stay the night.”

Amber rolls her eyes, shoving past him and opening the bathroom door. “Your food better be worth it.”

Henry grins wider before following her out of the bathroom.

(His grin is still etched on his face when he wakes up with her on the other side of the bed, hair messy, lips still slightly bruised and smelling like his sheets. He ghosts a kiss on her forehead and carefully getting off the bed to make breakfast.

Amber eats without hesitation but tells him to wipe that smug smile off his face.)