𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The seconds after I ended the call with Florence felt like hours. My head was pounding, my hands trembling as I paced the living room. Every step felt heavier than the last, my breathing uneven as Y/n's words echoed in my mind.

"You've already lost me."

My chest tightened at the memory. I wanted to scream, cry, throw something—anything to release the pain that felt like it would tear me apart.

Instead, I froze, my fingers hovering over my phone. I could still call her, still try to explain. But what could I say that I hadn't already ruined?

The knock at the door broke through my haze, sharp and insistent. I rushed to open it, and there stood Florence, her expression a blend of concern and determination. She didn't wait for an invitation, stepping inside as soon as the door opened.

"Scar," she said softly, taking one look at my tear-streaked face. Her arms were around me in an instant. "Oh, Scar."

I clung to her, the dam finally breaking. Sobs wracked my body as she held me, her hand running soothingly up and down my back. "I ruined it," I choked out, my voice muffled against her shoulder. "I ruined everything."

She guided me to the couch, her hands steadying me as if I might collapse. "Sit down," she said gently, grabbing a blanket from the armrest and draping it over my shoulders. "Take a deep breath."

I tried, but the breath came out shaky and uneven. Florence sat beside me, her hand resting on my knee, her expression patient but serious. "Start from the beginning. What happened?"

I wiped at my face with trembling hands, trying to gather my thoughts. "We were supposed to talk—about us, about everything. But when she got here... I couldn't stop myself. I was so angry, so hurt, and I just... lashed out."

Florence tilted her head, her brows knitting together. "What did you say?"

I hesitated, my throat tightening. The shame was overwhelming, but I knew I couldn't hide from it.

"I called her young, impulsive. I told her she didn't know what she wanted, that she was reckless. And then..." My voice broke, and I looked down at my hands. "I told her it was a mistake. That we were a mistake."

Florence inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. "Scarlett..."

"I didn't mean it!" I blurted, my voice rising as tears spilled over again.

"God, Flo, I didn't mean any of it. But she stood there, so calm, so sure of herself, and it made me feel so... small. Like I was the broken one. So I hurt her before she could hurt me."

Florence's gaze softened, but her voice was firm. "Scar, you know that's not fair. To her or to yourself."

I let out a hollow laugh, burying my face in my hands. "Nothing about this is fair. She waited for me, Flo. She gave me so many chances to let her in, and every time I pushed her away. And now... now she's done waiting."

Florence squeezed my knee gently, her voice calm and steady. "What else did she say?"

I sniffled, my chest tightening as I replayed Y/n's words in my mind. "She said she can't keep breaking herself trying to fix me. That she's done being at my beck and call, that she's cutting the strings."

"Wow," Florence said quietly, her expression pained. "That must have been hard to hear."

"It was," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "But the worst part is... she's right. I've been so selfish, Flo. I wanted her, but I was too afraid to admit it—to her or to myself. And now it's too late."

Florence leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly together. "Scarlett, it's only too late if you let it be. If you love her—if you like her—you owe it to both of you to fight for this."

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. "She's with Madelyn now. You've seen the pictures, the stories. They're everywhere together."

Florence raised an eyebrow. "And? That doesn't mean she's stopped caring about you. But if you want to know for sure, you have to talk to her."

"I can't," I whispered, my voice trembling. "What if she doesn't want to hear it? What if she's already made her choice?"

"You don't know that," Florence said firmly. "And even if she has, wouldn't you rather know than spend the rest of your life wondering? If you really care about her, you owe her—and yourself—that much."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. I leaned back against the couch, the weight of my regret pressing down on me.

"What if I've already done too much damage?"

Florence's expression softened, her voice gentle but unwavering. "Then you accept it and move forward. But you don't get to give up without even trying, Scar. Not when it's this important."

I nodded slowly, my heart aching with the weight of everything I'd lost—and everything I still wanted to fight for.

For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of clarity. I didn't know if I could fix things with Y/n, but I knew I couldn't let my fear hold me back anymore.

"Okay," I said quietly, my voice steadier now. "I'll try. But I don't even know where to start."

Florence smiled softly, squeezing my hand. "You start by being honest—with her and with yourself. And you take it one step at a time."

I nodded again, the flicker of hope in my chest growing just a little brighter. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Also, pray to God Chris doesn't find out," Florence mumbled as she picked at a string on one of my couch pillows.

I snapped my head up at her instantly, mortified at the thought. Chris would never speak to me again if he heard about any of this.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

. . .

𝐘/𝐍'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The soft hum of the TV filled Dylan's living room, accompanied by Anna's occasional commentary on whatever reality dating show she'd insisted on watching.

I lounged on the oversized couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on my lap, feeling more relaxed than I had in days.

"I still don't get why anyone would go on TV to find love," I said, popping a piece of popcorn into my mouth. "It's like setting yourself up for disaster."

Anna shot me a look, raising an eyebrow. "Says the person who's navigating their own reality drama triangle. You're practically living your own season of Love Island. Plus, weren't you literally talking about going on Love Island last year?" Anna laughed.

Dylan snorted, sprawled out on the floor with a bag of chips. "Honestly, if your life was a show, I'd watch it. The Scarlett-Madelyn saga alone would pull ratings."

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "You two are insufferable, you know that?"

"Absolutely," Anna said, grinning. "But that's why you love us."

They weren't wrong. Dylan and Anna had been my anchors through all of this.

I'd already told them everything the night things blew up with Scarlett, from the heated argument to the heart-wrenching goodbye.

They hadn't judged me, just let me vent and cry it out until there was nothing left.

Now, days later, I felt lighter—like I could finally breathe again. It wasn't that the pain was gone; it was just... manageable. I couldn't keep moping about something I knew had to end.

"You seem better today," Dylan said, his tone more serious now. "Like, actually better."

"I am," I said, shifting in my seat. "It still sucks, obviously, but I knew ending things with Scarlett was the right move. I couldn't keep doing that to myself. It was hurting me more than it was ever helping."

Anna nodded, her gaze softening. "You did the hard thing, Y/n. But the right thing."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah. I mean, it's not like I can undo any of it now. All I can do is move forward—and put myself first for once."

"Speaking of moving forward," Dylan said, a sly grin spreading across his face. "What's this I hear about you seeing Madelyn tonight?"

Anna's eyes lit up, and she leaned forward eagerly. "Wait, what? You didn't tell me that part!"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It's not a big deal. We're just... meeting up."

"Not a big deal?" Anna practically squealed. "You're meeting up with Madelyn Cline. The girl you've been smitten with for weeks. How is that not a big deal?"

Dylan smirked, tossing a chip into his mouth. "You're terrible at pretending you don't care. Just admit it—you're excited."

"Okay, fine," I said, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. "I'm excited. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Dylan replied, brushing the kernel off his shirt. "So, what's the plan? Dinner? Drinks? Another exclusive afterparty?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nothing fancy. I just... I want to talk to her. Lay everything out, you know?"

Anna tilted her head, studying me. "Lay everything out how?"

"Like... asking her to be exclusive," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "Before we start officially dating. I want to be all in—with no baggage, no lingering doubts. Just... us."

For once, Anna was speechless. She blinked at me, her mouth slightly open, before breaking into a huge grin. "Y/n, that's... really mature. And romantic. God, you're such a sap."

"Shut up," I muttered, but I couldn't help the smile that crept onto my face.

Dylan sat up, his expression serious but warm. "You're doing the right thing, Y/n. Madelyn deserves to know where you stand. And you deserve to have something real."

"That's the plan," I said, exhaling slowly. "No more games. No more back and forth. Just... honesty."

Anna raised her glass of soda in a mock toast. "To new beginnings—and to Madelyn saying yes."

I laughed, clinking my water bottle against her glass. "To new beginnings."

. . .

Bob Marley played from the speaker in the corner of my apartment as I opened the door, finding Madelyn standing there with a small smile and a bottle of wine in her hand.

The late evening sun cast a warm glow over her, catching the golden hues in her hair and making her look like she'd stepped straight out of a dream. God, I sound like a simp, don't I?

"Hey," she greeted, her voice soft and warm, her eyes meeting mine.

"Hey," I replied, stepping aside to let her in. My heart did its usual skip-and-stutter routine at the sight of her, but I tried to play it cool.

Madelyn walked in, her gaze sweeping over the space. "Your place is cute now that I actually get to look at it," she said, setting the wine on the counter. "It's very... you."

I chuckled, closing the door. "What does that mean?"

She shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Clean, cozy, but with just enough chaos to remind me you're still human."

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the wine and placing it on the counter. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Am I?" she teased, leaning against the counter, her arms crossed as she watched me.

Her eyes were filled with that familiar spark of mischief, and it made my stomach do flips.

"You are," I confirmed, meeting her gaze as I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. "And since you brought wine, I guess I'll let the 'chaos' comment slide."

Madelyn laughed, the sound filling the room in the best way. "How generous of you."

I poured us each a glass and handed one to her, our fingers brushing briefly. The small touch sent a spark through me, but I kept my expression neutral, leaning casually against the counter.

"So," she began, taking a sip of her wine, "what's on the menu tonight, Chef Evans?"

I smirked, setting my glass down. "Pasta. Something simple, something safe."

"Safe?" She raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if I'd call cooking for me safe. I've been known to have... opinions."

"Oh, I know," I said, grabbing ingredients from the fridge. "You've been known to share them quite freely, in fact."

Madelyn gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest. "Are you saying I'm opinionated?"

"I'm saying you're brutally honest," I corrected, shooting her a grin over my shoulder.

She leaned closer, her voice dropping slightly. "And you like that about me."

I turned to face her fully, unable to stop the smile that spread across my face. "I do."

Madelyn's cheeks flushed faintly, but she recovered quickly, taking another sip of wine. "Good. Because it's not changing."

We fell into an easy rhythm as I cooked, Madelyn occasionally stealing bits of cheese or sneaking tastes of the sauce.

She wasn't content to just watch, though; soon enough, she was beside me, chopping vegetables with a precision that surprised me.

"Are you sure you're not a secret chef?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as she expertly diced a bell pepper.

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I've had my fair share of kitchen disasters, trust me."

"Like what?"

"Burning water," she said with a grin.

I paused, turning to look at her. "That's not a thing."

"It is if you forget about the pot long enough," she quipped, her laugh bubbling out again.

I couldn't help but laugh along with her, the sound of it settling something deep in my chest. Being around Madelyn felt like this—light, easy, and endlessly fun.

As we finished cooking and sat down to eat, the conversation shifted, dipping into deeper waters. Madelyn leaned back in her chair, her wine glass cradled in her hand, and looked at me with a soft smile.

"You know," she said, her voice quieter now, "I really like this. Being here with you. It feels... right."

My heart swelled at her words, but I pushed down the lump in my throat, determined to say what I'd been meaning to. "I really like it too. And I really like you, Madz."

She tilted her head, her eyes searching mine. "I like you too, Y/n/n. A lot."

I set my fork down, leaning forward slightly. "That's why I wanted to talk to you tonight. I know we've been... taking things slow, figuring things out, but I want to make something clear."

Her smile faltered just a little, replaced by a look of cautious curiosity. "What's that?"

I took a deep breath, reaching out to take her hand in mine. "I want to be exclusive. I want us to see where this goes, but without any distractions or doubts. Just... you and me."

Madelyn's expression softened, and a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips. "I'd like that too."

Relief flooded through me, but I held up a hand, a teasing smile on my lips. "But just to be clear, I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend. Not yet."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh?" as her lips turned up into a smirk.

I grinned, leaning back. "When I do, it's not going to be on my couch after dinner. It's going to be... better than that. Romantic. Something worth remembering."

Madelyn's lips curved into a sly smile, and she took a slow sip of her wine. "Well, I hope that happens very soon."

"Oh, do you?" I teased, setting my glass down and moving closer to her.

She laughed, her cheeks turning pink. "Maybe."

I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You want to be my girlfriend, huh?"

Madelyn rolled her eyes, though her smile gave her away. "Shut up."

I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "I think you do."

"You're annoying, I change my mind," she murmured against my lips, though she didn't pull away as she tried not to crack a smile.

"You like me being annoying," I shot back, kissing her again, deeper this time.

Her laughter was muffled as she wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me closer.

The warmth of her pressed against me, the way her lips moved with mine—it felt right, like everything had fallen into place.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us slightly breathless, Madelyn smirked. "You know, if I do say yes to being your girlfriend, that means getting to see Chris again."

I groaned, resting my forehead against hers. "As his sister's girlfriend, not his co-star. I'm never hearing the end of it."

Madelyn laughed, her arms tightening around me. "Sounds like a fair trade to me."

And in that moment, with her in my arms and the future suddenly feeling brighter, I couldn't help but agree.

We stayed on the couch for a while after that, tangled up in each other. Madelyn leaned against me, her head on my shoulder as we talked about everything and nothing.

The wine glasses sat forgotten on the table, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm light over the room.

At one point, she poked my side, grinning up at me. "You're kind of smug, you know that?"

I tilted my head, pretending to be offended. "Smug? Me? Never."

"Oh, please," she teased, sitting up and turning to face me fully. "You're sitting there all proud of yourself because you made me admit I want to be your girlfriend."

"Is it really smugness," I countered, "if it's the truth?"

Madelyn gasped dramatically, swatting my arm. "Once again, you're annoying." she giggled before giving me a toothy grin.

"And yet, here you still are," I said with a smirk, catching her hand before she could swat me again.

She pouted, trying to pull her hand back. "One of these days, I'm going to win an argument with you."

I raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make her cheeks flush. "Oh, is that so?"

Madelyn's eyes flickered to my lips before meeting my gaze again, her determination faltering for just a second. "Yes," she said, though her voice wasn't as steady as before.

I grinned, tugging her closer. "Good luck with that, Cline."

Before she could respond, I kissed her, and whatever retort she'd been about to make melted into a soft sigh.

Her hands slid up to rest on my shoulders, and I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against me.

When we broke apart, her cheeks were pink, and her lips curved into a small smile. "You're unfair."

"How so?" I asked, my voice low as I brushed my nose against hers.

"You use kisses to win arguments," she accused, though the laughter in her eyes gave her away.

I laughed, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "And..."

Madelyn shook her head, but her smile didn't fade. "One day, I'm going to find a way to outsmart you."

"I'd like to see you try," I teased, leaning back and stretching out my legs.

She playfully poked my side again, this time catching me off guard. "Ticklish?"

"Not a chance," I lied, trying to grab her hands before she could poke me again.

"Oh, you so are," she said, her grin widening as she lunged for me.

The next few minutes were a chaotic mix of laughter and struggling as she tried to tickle me and I tried (and failed) to stop her.

We ended up in a heap on the couch, both of us out of breath and laughing so hard that tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

"I hate you," I said between laughs, though the smile on my face betrayed me.

Madelyn beamed, clearly pleased with herself. "No you don't."

I didn't argue. Instead, I pulled her close, my arms wrapping around her as our laughter subsided. She snuggled against me, her head resting on my chest, and for a while, we just sat there, content in the quiet.

"You know," she said after a while, her voice soft, "this might be my favorite version of you."

"What version is that?" I asked, tilting my head to look down at her.

"The one that's just... you," she said, her fingers tracing absent patterns on my arm. "Not Y/n Evans that has to be in front of a camera 24/7. Just Y/n. The person who laughs and cooks and lets me win tickle fights."

I smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "That's the only version of me you'll ever get, Madz."

She tilted her head up to look