Jermone Clarke One Shot

Not My Y/n

Jerome sat alone in the drama studio, the faint echo of laughter and chatter drifting in from others in the rehearsals this Saturday. His phone trembled slightly in his grasp as if echoing the turmoil in his heart. He leaned back against the cool, bare wall, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. As he scrolled through the countless photos on his phone, each one brought a rush of sweet, nostalgic joy that warmed his soul. Yet, with every swipe, the joy was tempered by a deep ache; the vibrant memories felt like a bittersweet reminder of what he longed to reclaim. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath, reluctant to look up from the flickering screen that held so many moments of happiness—moments he could no longer seem to grasp.

His phone was filled with a vibrant collection of photos, each one telling a story. There were snapshots of carefree days skipping class, accompanied by the echoes of laughter from stupid class jokes that had become inside jokes among friends. Saturday nights spent in the Anubis living room, crowded with cushions and the smell of popcorn, captured the essence of immature revelry. Images from little trips during half-term breaks and the delightful chaos of summer camp adventures added to the tapestry of memories that he cherished.

All the familiar faces populated these moments—his own grin, of course, alongside the warm smiles of Alfie, Amber, Nina, and Fabian, immortalized in time. And then there was Y/n.

But as Jerome scrolled through the gallery, it was the photos of Y/n that clenched his heart with a bittersweet ache. He had accumulated so many pictures of her over the years. Each smile, each candid moment they had spent together now resonated with a profound sense of nostalgia and unresolved feelings, leaving him struggling to muster a smile. The memories seemed to flicker like the images on the screen—joyful yet tinged with something he couldn't quite grasp, intertwining happiness and sorrow in a way that made it difficult to look back without feeling the weight of what had changed.

Jerome soon stumbled upon his favourite picture of them together, a candid moment captured by Alfie during one of their spontaneous outings to the local store on an unremarkable Saturday afternoon. In the photograph, Jerome leaned effortlessly against the weathered brick wall.

He was dressed in polished leather shoes that gleamed faintly in the sunlight, while his worn blue skinny jeans hugged his frame comfortably. The vibrant red button-down shirt he wore was slightly untucked, peeking out just below the cosy grey woollen jumper. His hair was perfectly styled, as always, with not a strand out of place, creating a polished yet relaxed look.

Beside him stood Y/n, radiating her signature style. She leaned gracefully against the wall with one arm casually resting on it. Her white knee-high boots, and her black tights against the pristine white pencil skirt that hugged her figure. The crisp white blouse she wore was neatly tucked in, cinched at the waist with a stylish black belt that accentuated her silhouette. Draped over her shoulders was a tailored black leather jacket. Y/n's makeup followed her typical dark retro aesthetic, emphasizing her features, while her old Hollywood hairstyle framed her face perfectly. Together, they embodied a moment... a moment that... might be gone forever.

There was something about it that always filled him with a profound sense of happiness, wrapping him in warmth and comfort like a favourite blanket on a chilly evening. But now, as he gazed at the image, it struck him with an unexpected weight of emptiness, as if the joy that once radiated from it had faded into shadows, leaving behind only a haunting reminder of what once was.

"Hey, man!" Alfie laughed as he jumped beside Jerome,

Jerome immediately hid his phone away, "Hey..."

"You alright?"

"Fine." Jerome snapped,

But he couldn't help but let his gaze drift across the room to the striking figure of 'Y/n'. She stood in a pair of skinny-heeled pink shoes. A layer of white tights concealed the bandages wrapped around her ankles, a testament to her knack for twisting them. She wore pale lilac ruffled shorts that clung just a bit too tightly, the fabric strained against her movements. Her off-the-shoulder cream blouse, adorned with delicate pink flowers.

Her hair, bleached to a white blonde, was gathered high in a ponytail, with a fluffy pink pom pom scrunchie.

Her new boyfriend Danny had his arm tightly around her, his hand on her waist hard.

It wasn't Y/n. Not His Y/n.

But... she wasn't his Y/n, as much as he'd always wanted her to be.

She was Danny's Y/n. And he had made her... into... this. A shell of the girl she had always been.

But Jerome didn't have the courage to say anything about it, after all. What place did he have to speak up about it? If she was happy... he couldn't rob her of that, even if it broke his heart.

"Ah..." Alfie clocked what Jerome was looking at, offered him a grief-filled smile, and wrapped an arm around his friend, "Come on, Let's go get a snack from the vending machine." He suggested as he saw Jerome was about to start crying.

"Sure... Thanks, Man," Jerome agreed getting to his feet and heading for the door, unable to stop himself from giving her another final look,

They briefly met eyes, and she saw the state he was in. She went to open her mouth to try and go and talk to him, but Danny turned her face back to him and kept her within his grip.

Jerome cursed under his breath and forced himself away as tears slipped down his cheeks.