Inside The Game (JackSepticEye X Reader)

Re-Meet

(Y/N)'s POV:

Shit...

My throat...

I rolled onto my side, putting a hand to my throat.

Wait... how am I moving...?

I snapped my eyes open and looked around.

My room.

I was laying on the soft carpet of my room's floor in front of my desk, my desk chair was knocked over but my computer was displaying a black screen.

I looked at the clock on my dresser. The harsh neon numbers displayed the time and date.

October 23rd.

But... I spent 5 days in that game...!

It should be October 28th...!

Jack... Anti....!

I stood up as fast as I could, falling over from a head rush. I grabbed my desk for balance and put a hand on my throat again.

No blood.

No wound.

I couldn't have dreamed that up, right?

That can't have been a dream!

I looked at the clock again. I can't believe no time has passed.

"(Y/N)? You ok in there?" A knock sounded from the door, a soft voice calling from the other side. "I heard your chair fall over, did something happen?"

My roommate, Hope.

"Y-Yeah! Just... I fell asleep at my desk and fell over. No big deal," I called, picking up my chair before opening the door.

My petite roommate stood in the doorway. Despite her being shorter than me, she's actually older than me. She looks like she's only 16 or so but she's actually 20. She sighs and shakes her head, soft medium length mousy brown locks falling from behind her ears.

Her stormy grey eyes locked on me and she tilted her head. Her hands were resting on her hips, and she shifted her weight onto one leg.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." She comments, worriedly raising one of her hands up to my head to check my temperature.

"I just had a bad dream and threw myself out of my chair to wake up. I promise. I'm ok," I assured her, but she didn't seem to be buying it. I walked away from the doorway, letting her come into the room. I sat down in my desk chair.

"Alright. But you'd better tell me if anything happened," She warns in her usually motherly tone, waving a finger at me accusingly.

"I will, Hope. Say... is there anyone you know named Jack by any chance?" I asked casually, hoping that she did know someone.

"Jack... hmmm. Well, there's Jack Nelson in my creative writing class," She thinks, plopping down on my bed and crisscrossing her legs.

Hope was majoring in English literature at our college, hoping to become a bestselling author one day.

I'm not surprised that she knows at least one Jack. She's so... extroverted.

But it's not the Jack I'm looking for.

"No... his last name was... uh...," I struggle to recall Jack's last name. I had only heard it once after all, "Mc...McLoughlin!"

"McLoughlin...? I don't think I know anyone named Jack McLoughlin..." She tells me. I feel sadness sink into my heart hearing that.