The Smell of Old Books (Sans/Reader)

Aftereffects

(trigger warnings for hangovers and extreme anxiety)

Pain.

Indescribable pain.

Oh god, your head hurt so bad. It felt like a million elephants had just gone on a rampage inside your brain. The minute you opened up your eyes, you already began to regret it.

You sat there for a moment, not wanting to move in fear of making it worse. You knew you'd have to get up eventually, but maybe not right now...

You tried prying your eyes open again and felt confusion. Where were you? What had happened?

Last thing you could remember was that-

Oh yeah.

You were a grade A idiot, definitely. Sans probably hated you by now.

Although you'd love to trash talk yourself for longer, you had a stupid migraine that was the bigger issue at hand. You hadn't gotten a headache like this in years. You definitely hadn't missed them though.

You got up to move off the couch. An overwhelming feeling of nausea came up and you had to throw a hand over your mouth to prevent throwing up.

Should've known this was a bad idea from the start.

Why did you want to drink more again?

You practically ran to the bathroom just incase you couldn't prevent it the next time. You almost slammed the door behind you, then caught yourself. Sans and Papyrus were likely still asleep. You closed it and locked it softly.

The pain still hurt, but you tried to push it away to collect yourself and look somewhat presentable. You had made a fool out of yourself last night, maybe it'd just be a better idea to leave soon...

Were you in a state to leave? Honestly, you felt awful. You didn't know what was the better choice - leave feeling like utter garbage or staying there and still feeling like garbage. Either way, you were still going to feel terrible.

Did you reject Sans? You weren't quite sure. He looked...

He looked so defeated. Rejected.

It's all your fault.

You took a deep breath and shook your head. Thinking like that wasn't going to do anything for you.

But at the end of the day , it was still your fault.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and noticeably winced. Oh dear. Your hair was in tangles, up in the air in different directions. The shirt you were wearing was wrinkled and slightly askew.

Your eyes were red and puffy still, and you still felt the soreness of crying all night.

It's your fault.

Would you have felt better if maybe...? You weren't sure. You likely ruined the relationship between you and Sans, probably with all the monsters actually. You felt pathetic.

You turned on the faucet and splashed some cool water on your face. You tried to fix your hair in a way that was somewhat decent, wishing that you had something to put your hair up. Keeping it down was stupid, you knew it. You hated the way your hair was.

It's your fault.

You would've felt weird if you had looked for some aspirin in the cabinets, so you figured you would've picked something up on your way home. You'd feel like hell, but...