○ location: phoebe's apartment ○ status: closed for @foster-notmatty
The panic of the text she sent didn't set in until she saw the familiar three dots indicating Foster's response. And then it hit her like a train.
What was he going to think? Did he think it was a come on? What kind of sane, rational person invited someone to their apartment late at night because they 'couldn't sleep'? Phoebe re-read the texts back. Oh god, it sounded like she was coming onto him.
Not that she wasn't into him, she was. From the minute he joked about museum heists in the bar the night they met she liked him. But if her past was any indication, that meant nothing. He probably saw her as a friend at best, or a sad sack who couldn't cook and thus taken pity on her at worst.
But then again...he did agree to come over, right? Who would just come over this late if they weren't expecting something? What would he think if he came over thinking it was something else than it was and she wasn't like prepared? Phoebe made the mistake of glancing at herself in the mirror above her fireplace. Greasy hair, pyjamas that were on the fourth wear in a row and needed to be washed. Dark circles under her eyes from her trouble sleeping. Yeah shower first. And whilst she was in there, maybe shaving because...well, just in case.
When she got out of her shower, she quickly made her bed, and then started the task throwing the random items on her nightstand into her bedside drawer. Maybe leaving the stupid cherry flavored condoms she bought with Parker the other day on top of the pile...just in case. No use shoving them away where you couldn't find them when you really needed them. Phoebe wondered if Foster would bring any. She knew a few guys who carried condoms in their wallets no matter where they were going, despite the fact they proved to be less effective when used due to the friction and stuff. She shook the thought out of her head, not helpful.
The next issue was what to wear...because if she shoved on her sweats it would look like she wasn't even trying, but if she put on the one sexy nightgown she for some reason owned, it would look like she was trying too hard, right? In the end, she settled for yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and a bit of concealer so she didn't look too tired or sicky Victorian child ill, and poured a glass of wine to calm the nerves, even though there was no reason to be nervous, right? Then the buzzer rang, and she buzzed him up, and just awkwardly stood in her doorway as he made his way up the hallway, smiling despite her head being in a complete spin.
"Hi."
