Jacksepticeye Imagines

11: Diary Dilemma

For awhile now, Jack and I have been working on a big project for YouTube. He's handling all the video production as usual, and I'm working on the animation portion of the whole thing. I've got an art notebook full of every drawing for the project- It's hard to work diligently on a project with such a close friend because I spend half the time talking and laughing, but I finally finished the last drawing earlier this afternoon. It make it even harder to focus when that close friend is a huge crush... But whatever. Jack wanted to see the drawings tonight, and let me know if there were any changes made to the video or how I can make the drawings better, so I was getting ready to head to Jack's house to drop off the composition notebook for him.

Septiceye-Arooney

'I'll be over in twenty.' 

'Sounds good! I'll be here :)'

 I locked my phone and stuck it in my purse. Grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, I left the house and headed over to Jack's. 

*Time Skip, Your Home, Evening*

I burst through the front door of my house, ecstatic. Jack was excited to see the drawings, and I was excited for him to look at them so that the project could keep moving forward. Being able to see his face again was great, and I can't even begin to describe how great he looked today. Well, I say now that I can't describe it, but I'm going to have to figure out how. I set all my stuff down on my couch and immediately go searching for my diary. I write everything down in that composition notebook, and that's the perfect place to attempt to describe how amazing Jack is.

Except I can't find the notebook.

I have spent the last twenty minutes furiously searching for the book, but to no avail. I'm beginning to panic a little bit before I happen to see something under my bed. I grab at it, with my last shred of hope clinging to this book. And there it was! I pulled out the composition book from under my bed and hugged it to my chest. I breathed a sigh of relief, even laughing to myself a little for not thinking to check my bed. I grab a (Favorite Color) gel pen and sit criss-cross on my bed to start writing. I open the book, and what do I see?

My drawings. 

The ones for the project.

THE DRAWINGS JACK IS SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING AT RIGHT NOW.

Unbelievable. Actually unbelievable. I am legitimately refusing to believe this. I close the book and open it again, making sure to blink this time. Nothing's changed- that little septiceye wearing black headphones on the first page is still there. I cannot believe what I am seeing. Rather, what I'm not seeing. I have the drawing notebook. Which means he's currently reading my diary. Jack has my diary. In his possession. Right now. The first thing my mind thinks of is texting him to ask if he's read it yet, but I'm way too embarrassed already. Every inch of my body is shaking with fear. All of the entries I've ever written about him, all the private art pieces devoted to his perfect eyes... Everything is bound between the marbled, black and white covers of that composition notebook. I remember the time, two years ago, when Mark was over at my house and almost read my diary. Since that day, I purposely made my art book and diary look exactly the same on the outside, so it looks like I just have two art books. It's unlikely that you'd assume that they were for two different things. In retrospect, I regret that decision. Mark hasn't read my diary- but Jack has. Trying to forget that this is actually happening right now, I change into pajamas, turn off my lights, and crawl into bed. Under the covers, I grasp my favorite stuffed animal, (Stuffed Animal Name). I curl into a ball and let my tears slide down my face, some tears hitting my pillow and others hitting my stuffed animal. I try, but it's hard to fall asleep knowing that I probably just scared away the most amazing man I've ever known. With a notebook.