Jacksepticeye Imagines

Perception

Word count: 1036

(e/c)=your eye color
(h/c)=your hair color

You weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. You found out at a very young age that you were different. More accurately, that everyone saw you differently.

The farthest back you could remember was kindergarten. That was when you were absolutely sure of this theory. Near the end of the first day of school, a blank sheet was placed on your desk. The teacher explained that everyone should draw themself and color it. So you grabbed a black crayon for the outline, making an almost abstract girl. You colored in your skin, hair, eyes, and clothes. The teacher gave you a strange look when you turned it in. At first, you thought she didn't like it for some reason. But the kid across from you drew arms and legs from his head. Was yours really worse than that?

"Honey, you were supposed to draw yourself," she said.

Now you returned the weird look. "I did. That's me." You pointed to the drawing. "See, that's my clothes."

"Then why did you give yourself (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair?"

Confused, you grabbed a strand of your hair and pulled it in front of your face. "That is my hair color," you defended.

She turned to her teaching adsistant. "Oh dear, maybe she's colorblind."

"No I'm not!" you retorted. You didn't know what colorblindness was, but you knew that the colors on that paper matched the colors on your body more than any of the other crayon colors.

When you returned the next day, the teacher sat you at a computer and made you take a few online colorblind tests. She watched as you answered nearly every question correctly. Every result said that you were not colorblind. The teacher shook her head, not knowing what to do.

"Ms. Karey, what color do you think my hair and eyes are?"

"Your hair is orange, and your eyes are green."

You almost took a step back, the statement making you wonder if she was the colorblind one here. As a test, you asked your classmate and friend, Erin, what colors he saw. He said you had dark brown hair and green eyes. And when you went to the little school library letter that day, you asked the librarian. She said blonde hair and brown eyes! What was going on?

As soon as the school bus dropped you off, your mother waiting in the driveway, you asked her what colors she saw. As she reached for your bookbag, she said that you had brown hair and blue eyes. You threw your bookbag to the ground and fell on top of it, screaming into the fabric. Your mother worriedly dropped and peeled you off of your bag, cradling you in her arms.

"What's wrong, did something sting you? Are you hurt?"

"What's wrong with me?!" you cried, grabbing a fistful of her shirt.

"I- I don't know, baby. Do you feel sick? What happened?"

Not being able to explain, you buried your face into her shoulder as she picked you up and carried you inside. She made an appointment with a psychologist within the next hour, who found nothing wrong with the five-year-old who threw a "temper tantrum."

So life went on, and you asked new people what they thought you looked like. You heard a wide range of answers. Straight hair, curly hair. Blonde hair, pink hair, black hair. Light eyes, dark eyes. Freckles, no freckles. Everyone had a different vision of you.

There was something else, something you didn't notice until high school. People who said you had blonde hair had a history of dating blondes, and their flirting didn't go unnoticed. People who said you had colored hair fawned over it, often explaining that they'd been wanting to dye their hair that color. You'd come to the conclusion that people envisioned you as their idea of beauty, their "type."

Freshman year of college, you met a guy named Seán. You guys really hit it off, and it wasn't long before you started dating. You were hanging out in his dorm room, laying beside him on his small bed as he finished up an essay. As you stared at the ceiling, you asked him to describe what you look like.

"One sec, babe." He took a couple of minutes to type up the conclusion, and set his laptop on the ground as the document saved. He turned on his side to face you with a slight smirk. "So," his eyes looked you over. "describe you?" he asked, quirking his eyebrow.

"Humor me," you said.

He smiled softly and spoke slowly in a low tone. "You have the most beautiful (e/c) eyes. Up close like this, I can see the lighter fiber strands. In the sun, those really stand out and it's damn near magical." You smiled as he twirled his finger in your hair, never looking away. "Your hair is so pretty and you complain about how annoying it is but I love it so much."

"What color?" you asked quietly.

You saw a hint of a strange look for only a moment, but the smile stayed. "It's (h/c), and the sun gives it a golden shine that-"

Seán kept talking, but all you could hear was the voice in your head. It was incredibly lucky that Seán's type was actually what you looked like. Or what you saw yourself as, anyway. You wondered if Seán would have been interested in you if he knew what your really looked like, and

"What was that?" you asked, suddenly pulled out of your thoughts.

"Did you doze off?" he joked. He repeated his last sentence, describing how he loves every inch of you as he pointed to prominent freckles on different parts of your body, and even a scar that you'd gotten a long time ago.

He stopped talking when you stared up at him, not being able to pick which eye to look at. All you could do was smile and snake your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug and swearing you would never let him go.

His idea of beautiful was you.