If there was ever a moment in which Francis wanted to die, it was this. It didn’t get much more mortifying than this. He wanted nothing more than to shrivel up and die. He was trying to think of something, anything to say when the reply to his pictures came through.
“Oh god,” he whined, his voice pitifully weak. “Oh god, what have I done.” That wasn’t something he was going to be able to take back, ever. He couldn’t even explain how he’d gotten Tony’s number, for all Tony knew, he was some random person who lifted his number off the net or something. If it weren’t for the fact that he needed this phone and couldn’t afford buying a new one, he probably would have chucked it at the wall.
He stared at his phone, at a loss for what he could say to make this any better. Maybe he could crack a joke, and Tony would brush it off. Maybe, maybe he could salvage this. Or maybe he should just tell the truth and apologize profusely.
[text] Look man, those pics weren’t supposed to be seen by anyone
[text] This phone’s a piece of shit
He wasn’t lying but would Tony even believe him? He crawled under his blanket, wishing he could just disappear.
