i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed

He didn't want to be this way. He wanted this to be the happy moment he knew it should be, the moment he was sure she envisioned when she first broached the subject. He wanted to feel safe and secure in the knowledge that they were choosing each other; that whatever they were, this wasn't all in his head. Dimly, he thought, maybe he did, but the immediate fear and anxiety demanded all his energy. It wasn't fair to Phoebe, who didn't deserve for this to start out on such unsteady footing. She deserved more than thinking she'd had to talk him into this.

He wanted to do this right. For her. "It's been a long time since I've done this," he said, stating the obvious. "Do I- I mean, should I ask you? Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

All she had to do in return is let go the guilt and doubt she felt that she was forcing him into it, hanging an ultimatum over his head like Spencer did with her; have me this way or no way at all. She had to trust Foster, and believe him, when he said he wanted this. He was willing to try.

"It's been a long time since I've done this as well," She admitted, another glimpse into her dating history, a subject neither broached on both sides. A wet laugh escaped her as he asked, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks and nodding perhaps a bit too ardently, as if all the extra enthusiasm now could make up for the emotional rollercoaster preceding this moment. "I do, yes. Of course I do." She didn't dare return the question, to give him one more final opportunity to say 'no' after all of this, so instead she smiled, her genuine toothy smile, shoulders relaxing slightly. It was all going to be okay. He was willing to try. "I want to be your girlfriend."

I don’t know if any of us understand much about love. We just know we feel it when we feel it.

Phoebe then let her in the line after she'd paid for her own gas, Jessie trying not to glance behind them to see how cranky the other patrons might be. When they were out of the way of everyone else, Jessica introduced themselves. "Nice to meet you, Phoebe. I'm Jess." @phoebeyates

Once Jess' gas was paid for and the two were out of line to pay, and out of line of fire, Phoebe immediately felt a bit easier, walking back out of the small store to the pumps. "You too, Jess. You sure there's nothing else I can do for you? I mean, I can't offer much except free museum tickets to the paid exhibitions, if you're into that sort of thing."

"If the choice is between trying, and losing you right now, then it's an easy choice," he said, pulling her close so he could rest his forehead against hers. He wasn't ready to let her go yet; he wasn't sure if he ever would be, but right now, he would take whatever time he could get. "I just... please remember this." he said quietly into the space between them, soft and vulnerable in the way only she could make him. "Before you decide to hate me, remember I tried."

The world didn't end, the heavens didn't open. And Matty Foster didn't get up and walk away when she expressed her love for him. Perhaps things weren't as dire as she expected after all. "I'm never going to hate you," She promised in a murmur, "But I know, how hard you'll try. How hard you're trying now." After all, she was asking the almost impossible of him right now. Except, it wasn't. They were already there. But Phoebe wondered if pushing Foster to make this final step he wasn't quite ready for would make him resent her down the road. There had been too much focus on him losing her, her hating him, it had only occured to Phoebe that it was very possible that it could go the other way. But it wasn't a fear she decided to share just yet, instead planting the softest of kisses against his lips.

The last time she had been given the girlfriend label, it hadn't been like this. It had been a bit awkward, because things with Spencer were like that at the beginning before things got bad. But it had been...happy, or at least not shedding tears. And then had celebrated in the way you'd expect couples to. But with Foster, it all seemed so delicate; they were hanging on by a thread and the smallest wrong move could cause everything to crash down. She was briefly aware of the movie still playing on the TV — the backdrop to this emotional conversation where everything had been at stake — and debated breaking away from him just to turn it off, but didn't. Just let him hold her a bit longer. Like if they pulled away this entire development would have ceased to exist.

A small whine tugged from the back of his throat when Phoebe pulled away, his mouth following after hers until he had no choice but to allow them to part. That couldn't be the last time. This couldn't be their last night... Her fingers in his hair, a gesture so soothing and achingly familiar, all but sealed it. "Okay," he nodded, his voice so quiet he had to repeat it to get his chest around the word. "Okay, let's do it. Let's try." Likely, he would come to regret those words, but right now he was too weak and selfish to try to fight against it.

Surprisingly, the words that next came from Foster weren't some anguished farewell, or another attempt at arguing that he didn't deserve this...deserve her. As if she were better than him, and not just some broken girl with her own hefty baggage; so desperate for something that she was willing to forgo the rest of her dignity for scraps. Instead, he agreed. He wanted to try.

A part of her thinking this was some hysteria-induced hallucination, she blinked at him for a moment as the words absorbed, releasing a hiccup that was both a sob and laughter. "Are you sure?" She couldn't help but ask, considering he had just spent the majority of this pleading his case against this. "I don't..." A shaky sigh left her, because she couldn't allow this hope anymore. Couldn't let it live another life at the cost of her own, because one more heartbreak might possibly kill her. "I meant what I said, I don't want to force you. I...I want to try so so bad, but I can't if you —," She was the one who said about taking the leap of faith, and yet was going back on her own words, couldn't quite believe in this miracle that he'd change his mind on this so quickly. "What I want more than anything if you to be happy, and if this isn't...are you sure?"

The curse of Matthew Foster strikes again...

He would give her anything, if only he had it to give. Whatever broken, bitter thing beat in his chest, it was hers. But it wasn't love; it couldn't be. He didn't know how. It was something more like need, so deep in his bones he felt heavy with it, weighing him down like he would sink if he only just let go. And how was he suppose to live like that, knowing his most vital organ existed outside his body? How was he supposed to live with himself knowing he'd shifted that pressure onto her? He knew Phoebe. He knew the way she worked, and the last thing she needed or deserved was yet another person relying on her.

But god, he could feel his resolve crumbling beneath him, the ache of this impending loss burrowing itself between his ribs. Despite himself, he reached out, cupping her cheek as his thumb wiped away her tears, wishing he could live in this moment forever before he had to pull away.

And then she said it — I love you, Foster — and he felt his chest crack open, not sure if he'd ever heard those words before but it didn't matter because it hadn't been from her. With her voice. From her lips. And it didn't matter if it was wrong because he knew that she believed it. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him.

She loved him.

There was an agony and an ecstasy to it, a kind of seizure of his lungs that hurt in a not entirely unpleasant way. "I—" His brain froze, no words coming out. His eyes stung, and his throat burned, and he. needed. He needed her, and he didn't think, just crashing his lips against hers, eyes squeezing shut so tightly he now had tears to mix with hers. It was nearly punishing, the force with which he pushed them together — punishing himself, but also like he could fuse the two of them together.

She always knew he wouldn't say it back, never let herself believe that it was a possibility. Maybe he would have told her he liked her, very much. Or politely let her down, forcing them to navigate the 'what next'.

In, hold, out. The longer Foster took with his response, sniffling as he tried to wipe the tears from her face, the more the dread pooling in Phoebe's stomach settled, and the more her brain frantically tried to conjure anything to prolong the inevitable. She didn't want to say goodbye to him, wasn't sure if she'd survive him getting off this couch and leaving her apartment. This couch and apartment — that had been the backdrop for the start of this complex mess of feelings.

Maybe it would be fitting it was the backdrop for the end of everything. too.

Phoebe's heart ached, all but physically cracking as he began to speak, seemingly at a loss for words. Then suddenly, his mouth was smashing against hers, the gesture so unexpectedly violent that it was almost like a cruel imitation of their usual passion.

Confused and hurt and not ready for this to be over, Phoebe let herself kiss back, the overpowering salty taste of both of their tears mingling together along with the vice-like grip in which Foster held her reminding her that this wasn't normal. There was a desperation to it — vastly different to the occasions it was tinged with lust — and she reached out to cling to him, as if he'd fall apart without her there to hold them both together.

"Foster..." It came out like a whimper, a plea, but she was unsure if she wanted to beg to keep going, or to stop and work this out. Fresh tears streamed down her face, and she pulled away, breath catching, reaching out to stroke his hair, as if her usual methods of soothing him would work on her too.

He knew better than to believe it was possible. Hope was the cruelest thing he could do to either of them.

He studied her as she admitted that she was scared too, wishing he could reach out and they could hold onto that together. But her words kept coming, and then— slipping up and telling you that I... She didn't have to finish it for him to guess at what she meant. I love you. She loved him.

His heart rate quickened, his vision darkening at the edges as a kind of panic set in. She loved him? How-? That wasn't supposed to happen. Despite everything they'd gone through, she wasn't supposed to love him. She couldn't love him. It was a trick. He'd tricked her into it. How else-? He didn't know how it could've happened...

So what did they do now? He honestly didn't know. "I don't want to lose you," he said helplessly. "I don't wanna lose this, but... I'm afraid that you're gonna wake up one day and realize I can't give you everything you need." Stability. A family. Even something as simple as the word love. "I don't want you to look back and regret it, or think I was wasting your time." He could put up with a lot, but he wouldn't survive that.

It felt like a gut punch then, tears welling in her eyes as the glaringly obvious choice to make was laid right out in front of her. "I don't want to lose you either." The words were thick, catching in the back of her throat slightly, as she felt the tears begin to slide down her cheeks. Phoebe didn't have the strength to wipe them away, though, just using the last of her energy to lock eyes with Foster again.

She couldn't lose him, she wished there was some other way. The guy who played along with her tipsy ramblings the first time they met, who taught her how to cook and wear his chef's hat. Who came over in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep. How they had been on this very same couch, Phoebe giddy when he first kissed her, when she found out he liked her back. And all the moments, little or big, in between. They were them. Even through their fighting, they still made up, worked on becoming the best versions for themselves. How each time they wound up in this place, she felt sick not having her person by her side each day. How she couldn't bear going on with the rest of her life without him.

"You are everything I need, Foster." She had told him that, back in Utah, lust tinging her words but not making them any less sincere. "I just need you to give this a chance...we're already there. It's just one more leap of faith."

And there was the desperation, the clinging to the dust that was once a structure, slipping through her fingers like sand in an hour glass. The last few grains were tumbling towards the bottom, the timer tucked within Phoebe's ribs counting down its final seconds.

"I would never regret this, you'd never be a waste of time. I love you, Foster." And there it was, the final blow. The one thing she had been dreading, laid out before them now. Words that were meant to be a beautiful exchange, coming out an anguishd plea, a final Hail Mary to fix something to fragile to stick back together.

He felt her stiffen beside him when he shared his fear, anger sparking in her eyes as she whipped to face him. You don't get to use my ex-boyfriend as an excuse. His brow furrowed, because that wasn't what it was. I mean... that wasn't what it was, right? He just meant that she deserved better, and was warning her that he would ruin her too. And if he could've made the same argument just as well without dredging up her past? Fuck off, he'd never graduated high school, let alone joined a debate team...

Fine, it was a low blow, he could admit that. He just didn't know how else to make her understand. He would risk her anger now if it meant she'd hate him less at the end of this.

He prepared himself for a verbal lashing, like that might put the real argument to rest for tonight at least, but Phoebe breathed and it was like... he could see the second it clicked into place for her, anger settling into a kind of heavy resignation. Of course she knew. She knew him. She so very nearly touched him — so close, and yet so far — and he wanted, more than anything, to reach out and close the distance. To believe her, and to apologize, and to tell her he'd give her anything she wanted. "I've never felt like this either," he admitted. "It scares the shit out of me."

"It scares me too." She admitted, dropping her arm from where she could almost reach him to her lap, interlocking her own fingers together in an attempt to stop any fidgeting. Her eyes fell to look at her hands now, mimicking Foster's stance from moments ago. "I've been scared about losing you for months because of my own feelings, about slipping up and telling you that I..." Phoebe paused, because she couldn't quite say it, couldn't quite lose the last shred of dignity she was clinging to, that this conversation had ripped away already.

"What do we do now?" It seemed like it was the only question worth asking now that they were at this impasse. Despite what they were, what their dynamic was, Phoebe wanted more and Foster couldn't give it to her. Where did things go from here?

"I'm not saying I don't want to try. I think the fact that we've gotten this far tells you that I do. But, I mean, look at us — I've already fucked this up. A minute in, and I just..." This time, he leaned in closer, nose nuzzling at her cheek as if he could coax her back to him, softening the blow of what really scared him. "I don't want to be another ex-boyfriend horror story — the guy you talk about to the next one who can give you everything you want." He knew just enough about Spencer to know the man had broken Phoebe; after him and her parents, how much more disappointment could she be expected to take?

"I'm just —," She broke off with a sigh, unable to string together the words to explain how she was feeling right now, not even knowing what she could possibly say. To make him see what she saw in him, what she saw in the possibility of them. When she felt his nose nuzzle against her cheek, it was easy to lean in, to just let the physical closeness between them sooth over this now open wound. How she was close to making a joke, to telling him to forget about what they had said and to not talk about it anymore. Then he mentioned Spencer, and she froze, giving herself a moment to process the words before once again pulling away.

"No. You don't get to use my ex-boyfriend as an excuse, Foster." She said, forcing herself to look at him with a glare, even though she was tempted to storm off into the bedroom and sleep away the sudden flare of anger. "I don't — why are you so convinced you're going to be some villain sometime in the future? Why do you think..." She took a deep breath, past conversations coming back to her then; when cleaning his tattoo, when trapped in the elevator with him. About what his father used to say to him, what he'd do to him. How it had Foster convinced he was nothing but trouble.

Her gaze softened, and she reached out, not quite touching him but not quite pulling away either. The anger of Spencer being brought up hadn't dissipated, but it was eclipsed by the hurt she felt for him in that moment. "You're allowed good things." She promised him. "You're good, Foster. You're not some evil ex boyfriend in the making. You're...you don't fuck things up, you actually make everything better. I've never felt like this with anyone. Definitely not with Spencer. You're not a bad guy."

Phoebe untangled her hands from Foster’s, shifting away so there was space between them on the couch. “I’m not going to force this.” She said, glancing down at her lap, though her voice was so quiet she had to second guess if she said it aloud at all. “I’m not going to strong arm you into something you don’t want.” Something they already had, but that was splitting hairs at this point. And despite what Foster was saying; what kind of guy he wanted to be for her, his hopes for their relationship and what he wanted from that, it was suddenly clear to Phoebe that they hadn’t been on the same page at all. Not even the same book, really. “I’ve been all in since…” She trailed off, not knowing the exact date when the lines between friendship and something more blurred. “So it’s not me you need to give that chance to.”