Sincerely, Sinclair || Sinclair Bryant x Reader ||

Chapter 9: Sunday Morning

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"I...I hope I didn't overstay my welcome. I truly don't usually drink like that." 

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The moment that my eyes opened, I immediately regretted it.

I had a splitting headache, the kind that throbs in the back of your skull and creeps its way towards the front. It was, without a doubt, one of the worst headaches I had ever endured in my entire life. Like I said, I'm not much of a drinker. All I could imagine to describe it would be a circus monkey going bananas (I know, I'm hilarious) around my head cavity while banging a pair of cymbals. It didn't help that rain was drumming on the roof, creating lots of monotonous noise that only further aggravated my head.

I came to terms with my headache, accepting that I'd very likely be taking as many aspirin as my body could physically handle before doing absolutely nothing around my apartment for the rest of the day. That was, until, I realized I wasn't even in my apartment. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to discover that the bed I was curled up in wasn't my bed at all. The sheets were supple and warm, yet as cozy as they were, I sat up instantly. I had absolutely NO idea where I was.

It was a very elegantly decorated room, with lots of space to spare and nothing of any real personal value. In hindsight, its a bit sad that the fact that there weren't any personal photos or items that made me realize it was Sinclair's bedroom. His home didn't have much that showed off his personality, which was a shame since I found him so incredibly interesting.

That thought didn't last long, because then something bigger dawned on me. I had spent the night in Sinclair's home after a long night of drinking. Now it was the next morning, I was in his bed, and wearing a shirt that most definitely wasn't mine. 

Had we slept together?

Suddenly, my headache was the last of my problems. That was extremely out of character for me to have done such a thing. I wasn't the kind to jump into bed with someone just because the circumstances were appropriate. I was more of a "genuine" lover. I always wanted to know the person well before taking that step. While I was steadily learning and growing to care about Sinclair, I wasn't to that point yet.

I was on the left side of the bed, and I took the time to note that the right side was untouched. It looked as if Sinclair hadn't even been there. There were several questions that begged answers, so I tried to stay calm until then. I glanced around the room until my gaze set on the nightstand, where I saw a heartwarming sight. A glass of lukewarm water was neatly placed, along with a bottle of some kind of medicine and a folded piece of paper. I plucked the note from where it was sitting, opened it, and read it.

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[Y/N], 

I hope you rested well after last night. I left you a glass of water and some aspirin. I'd go ahead and take two, because I'm sure your head is pounding something awful. No rush on getting up, I'll likely be in the kitchen when you're ready to face the day. We can chat whenever you come downstairs.

Sincerely, 

Sinclair

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I heeded his advice, unscrewing the child safety cap off of the bottle and downing two aspirins with a few gulps of water. I didn't see any need to stay in bed when I was already awake and if Sinclair was out and about. Besides, I was afraid my anxiety would get the best of me if I let this situation simmer for too long. I swung my feet over the side of the bed, my toes sinking into the plush carpet when I began to walk. The blood in my body went straight to my head, a string of curse words being creatively selected by my vocabulary as my head thundered on. From that moment on, I swore off drinking at parties.