Jacksepticeye Imagines

Blank (2)

Word count: 1658

(Warning: mentions of assault)

You woke up from the sunlight seeping into your room, almost like in the hospital. The absence of heat on your back did not go unnoticed. Twisting to look behind you, it was evident that Jack wasn't even in bed anymore. You must have slept in late, or maybe Jack woke up early. Who usually woke up first?

You slowly sat up, struggling against your injuries, then made your way to the bathroom. A stranger's face made you squeal and bump against the wall, but it was just you reflection. You stepped closer and examined your face, your hair, the cuts and contusions on your body. You heard rapid, muffled thudding and suddenly Jack was in the doorway, huffing and leaning on the wall for support.

"You," he panted. "Why di- why'd you scream?"

Embarrassed, you fiddled with your hospital bracelet, not meeting his eyes. You finally pointed to the mirror and offered a brief explanation. He showed a sympathetic grimace and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the room and down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, he held up a box of cereal with an inquisitive look.

"Sure?" you answered, guessing he was asking if you wanted some. A freshly-made bowl of cereal soon sat in front of you on the table. Jack turned to make himself a bowl. You picked up the spoon, everything seemed too heavy to your drained body. He turned to see you staring off.

"It'll get soggy if you wait too long," he noted. You looked up at him, at his concerned and loving blue eyes, and nodded. You followed him to the couch.

You found that you ate slowly compared to Jack, but that this wasn't the norm by how he kept glancing at your bowl. It was just that you were distracted, not able to put much effort into anything, really. And of course, Jack noticed. You wondered if you were once able to tell when he was feeling off, too.

"What's wrong, b-" He stopped short, but it didn't take a genius to know he was restraining from calling you pet names. Again, you wondered what you often called him.

"It must be hard," you nearly whispered after a long silence. He gave you an inquisitive look. "For you, I mean. You love me and presumably have fond memories of me, of us. I don't have that. I don't have that pain of feeling like you lost somebody. The only person I lost is myself, and that's not even painful, just. . . empty."

Jack's eyes were teary. You panicked, leaning towards him and hesitantly touching his arm. "I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to-"

He cut you off by wrapping his arms around you and pressing his chin into you shoulder. Your hands hovered over his back as his breath hitched a few times. He was warm and the pressure against your body comforted you. Now rubbing his back, you buried your face into his shoulder. One of your hands reached up to the back of his head, smoothing down the ends of his hair.

"I'm sorry," Jack mumbled. He moved to untangle himself from you, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He relaxed against your body. "(Y/N)?"

"Can we stay like this for a minute?" you asked sheepishly.

You felt his embrace tighten as he let himself fall backwards, taking you down with him. You yelped, but giggled into his hair. After slight readjustments, you two laid comfortably in each other's arms.

"I love you so much," he whispered.

"I. . ."

"It's alright. You don't have to say it back." He sat up and you moved to allow him to stand and stretch. "Lemme show you something."

He sat in front of a cabinet, digging out books that you automatically recognized as scrapbooks. You crossed the room to sit beside him, your knee bumping his. He carefully chose which to open first, then set it on the knee touching yours. A glance from his eyes told you he was unsure about his actions.