#c.matty.foster

[thephoebeyates]

≈ blue harbor bus station, 5th august 2024. with @just-foster

The week had been…well, everything Phoebe needed, honestly. Though there were a few people at the retreat, it had been a mostly isolated affair, which seemed to work for her. No distractions — virtual or in real life — and she managed to write. She had thought packing two thick journals was ambitious, but both were filled with a variety of notes, chapter outlines and short stories; her laptop having at least one final piece on there, even if it was a rough draft. 

But her heart had ached for home. For Linc’s gentle smile, and Seb’s penchant for trouble. And Misty swiping at her ankles as she watched TV with Foster…Foster. Her heart ached for him most of all. It had been tough, a week without him, as embarrassing as that sounded. The first night — with no Instagram to scroll until her eyes grew heavy, or TikTok to provide much needed noise to fill the silence, or chefs complaining that she had taken his share of blankets again — it had been hard to fall asleep. Being active both mentally and physically the next few days really helped, but nothing quite like falling asleep at home.

Foster and their bed. The two loves of her life.

She had just stepped off the bus, noticing him standing for her under the outdoor shelter, and had barely grabbed her bags when she was swept up in a embrace, feet momentarily losing contact with the floor. “Oh my God, hi! Hey!” She squealed, letting out a laugh at how delighted she was at such an enthusiastic greeting. “Hey.” Phoebe repeated, stroking through Foster’s blonde curls. “You okay? You’re kinda squishing me.” She confessed, hoping that her boyfriend was just really happy to see her, and something serious hadn’t occurred in her absence that made him feel the need to showcase extra affection to soften the blow. 

[thephoebeyates]

> Phoebe's apartment. For @just-foster

Perhaps it was stupid to join in with the latest TikTok trend. However, when the trend involved Taylor Swift and relationships, and one of her closest friends happened to be a tattoo artist...

It hadn't started with the trend. In fact it started months before the newest album was even released, after their trip to Michigan where Phoebe and Foster had felt more comfortable verbally claiming each other. Whether in the throes of passion, or cuddled up in the late hours with no one else to hear, they'd call each other theirs. Tell me I'm yours. Tell me you're mine.

When Foster showed off the phoenix tattoo, it pushed things further in her mind, and Phoebe wanted to repay his loyalty somehow, but all the ideas that she and Seb bounced around didn't seem right.

Then the album came out, and that one specific lyric became a trend, and by chance — as if the universe was telling her all signs pointed to yes — she had a note in Foster's nicest handwriting, where the word 'mine' just happened to be used.

After a few hours of Seb teasing her as he tattooed her upper right thigh, Phoebe had that word permanently etched on her skin. Whilst she was impressed with Seb's work, a part of her was worried that the reception to her new ink would be less than stellar than her own reaction to the phoenix adorned on Foster's ribcage.

Nonetheless, she was posed on the bed in the tiniest nightdress she owned — Misty thankfully distracted by some catnip sprinkled on her scratcing post in the living room — in a manner where he wouldn't easily miss the new alteration to her appearance. Heart pounding as she heard the key turn in the door, his voice greeting Misty in a hushed whisper, and padding straight to the bathroom, she let herself have one last little freak out as she heard the water run, regaining her composure once the shower turned off and, a few seconds later, Foster entered the bedroom. Cool, calm, collected. Her voice not even shaking as she greeted him.

"Welcome home, baby. Good day?"

[thephoebeyates]

≈ the last time this place will be known as the phoster apartment, sunday 1st september 2024. with @just-foster

Phoebe didn't know how much time had passed since leaving the diner. The space had felt too constricting, the amount of information thrown at her in such a short time too overwhelming. The idea that Foster just wasn't who she thought he was. That within moments of Tefi opening her mouth, Phoebe's entire life had just crumbled before her eyes.

So she got up and left, and walked a path she hadn't walked since she herself worked at the diner in her high school days, making a lap around town, watching the sun slowly set until the physical inky blackness surrounded her, the warmth of the sun disappearing with it as it dipped under the horizon, her shivering causing her to remember she had left her jacket in Foster's car.

She had to go home. She had to sort this.

The walk back to the apartment complex was long, Phoebe practically dragging her feet as she walked up the four floors to the apartment, taking an extra minute outside the door to just catch her breath. To focus. To stay calm. She opened the door, immediately feeling a sense of relief of the image of Foster on the other side, stepping forward to close the space to seek the comfort she usually associated him with. However, the events of the evening hit her hard and fast, and she made a point of just standing in the doorway, regarding him with carefully constructed neutrality instead.

[thephoebeyates]

≈ waterway diner, september 1st 2024. with @just-foster and @tefibetancourt

Phoebe, as of late, wasn't used to being told 'no' by Foster. She was aware of how spoiled she sounded, knew it made her seem bratty and full of herself, but considering her requests were usually 'hey let's go for a drive' or 'maybe we should check out that new movie at the theaters our next day off together', they weren't exactly the most unreasonable requests.

So, when Phoebe asked if they could get dinner at the Waterway Diner, not feeling like cooking but wanting a change of scenery from the apartment and not sure if she could handle another fancy meal, his no seemed...odd. Weirdly harsh to her ears. Phoebe had naturally clung onto his negative reaction to the diner, trying to find out what the establishment had possibly done to offend him, not even feeling victorious when he eventually gave in as a way to avoid her pestering.

The drive over was slightly stilted, and though Phoebe didn't really feel like going there anymore, knew if she changed her mind this late in, would make things worse. So she plastered on her best smile, held his hand with her own in a vice-like grip, and dragged him through the doors of the diner, deciding that whatever negative feeling he had about it, she'd hopefully change his mind.

She immediately spotted Tefi talking to one of the other waitresses, waving over at her when they made eye contact, and heading to sit in her section. "Hey Tef!" Phoebe greeted brightly, as she approached them. "Hope you don't mind, I tip well, I promise." She joked, and gestured to Foster, frowning at his expression, which was...well, unreadable. "Uh," Phoebe looked back at the waitress, trying to not seem too concerned about her friend's first impression of her boyfriend being ruined for no damn good reason. "This is Foster." Any joke about how he usually wasn't like this died on the tip of her tongue, letting a sudden awkward tension settle over the three of them. "So, what are, uh, today's specials?"

[thephoebeyates]

≈ the phoster apartment, 28th july 2024. with @just-foster

Ever since Phoebe had been told about her acceptance to the writer’s retreat, she had both been excited and nervous, flip-flopping between the two emotions, as she packed, panicked and made plans throughout the week. It was suddenly Sunday night before she could even comprehend the days; her small roller-case out near the front door, her meticulous packing list (written out about fifty times) on the coffee table, the last-minute items she wouldn’t be able to add until the morning highlighted with her favorite pink highlighter. She herself was freshly showered, damp hair air-drying with help from the open window in the bedroom, sprawled on the bed in one of Foster’s old T-Shirts, completely forgoing her usual little short-shorts due to the sticky heat.

She was reading over one of the many informational PDFs sent her way, engrossed in the itinerary and ‘retreat’ essentials, that she had been barely aware of Foster’s presence as he moved around the room, completing his nightly routine. In fact, she only really acknowledged him when she felt the bed dip and a gentle peck on the back of her shoulder. “Hey, baby.” She greeted in a murmur, finally tearing her eyes away from her screen to peek over at him. “I know, I know, it’s late. Big day tomorrow, blah blah blah. I just wanna make sure I’m not missing anything.”

[thephoebeyates]

> Getting Ready for Pride Event. For @just-foster

Phoebe was in the final stages of getting ready; sticking on her eye gems with precision, with a steady hand she didn't usually possess. She didn't do too much normally; her work look was normally just enough makeup she didn't look dead, and at home on her days off she went bare-faced. And currently, nights out to bars and clubs were few and far in between. But she wanted to go all out for Pride, even if the fucking eye gems were more of a hassle than she initially thought.

"Hey, do these look eve — oh." Phoebe had turned from the mirror for Foster to examine her face properly, feeling the air knock out of her as she laid eyes on him in his own outfit, too busy concentrating on the eye gems in the mirror to focus on what was going on in the background. She had been pleasantly surprised when he took up her offer of getting him a Pride outfit, and though he seemed hesistant about the see-through mesh tank top she discovered at Thrift Haven, made no protest. Phoebe was going to tell him that if he felt uncomfortable in it, he obviously didn't have to wear it, but once her eyes fell on him, her brain short-circuited a bit.

It left little to the imagination, the fabric sticking to his defined abs, the lack of sleeves showcasing his very, very defined biceps. The fact that every tattoo — including the phoenix on his ribcage — was visible...

"— Wow." She finished intelligently, voice slightly breathless, completely forgetting the initial question she had wanted to ask.

[thephoebeyates]

≈ the vault nightclub, friday 13th september 2024. with @just-foster

‘Fake it ‘til you make it’ was bullshit. Phoebe was trying to have a good time when out with a small group of girls from her seminar, though she could admit obsessively checking her Instagram was probably not the way to go about things. 

She should have blocked Foster on everything, should have just deleted him and truly moved on. But she noticed he was always one of the first people to view her story, whether it be a song shared from Spotify, a quote, or a little candid shot of Misty sleeping. Unless he was at work, then he’d view it last. So, it came as a surprise that this Friday — when he should have been finishing up dinner service — his username was the first one to have popped up on the view count of her story: a picture of a line of glasses perched on the wall surrounding the dance floor area. An idea struck her then, and she asked one of the girls she was out with to take a picture of her outfit when they were taking a fresh air break in the smoking area.

It wasn’t something she usually would have worn. In fact, Phoebe was convinced it was some old Halloween costume, or perhaps cheer outfit. Regardless, the top with the glittery ‘P’ drew her in immediately when she saw it on the hanger in Thrift Haven, and the matching mini-skirt was just an added bonus. She had felt self-conscious at first, constantly tugging the garment down where it barely rested over her ass, or using her faux fur shawl to drape over her, but as the night continued — and as more alcohol hit her system — she felt herself grow more confident. 

After the mini photoshoot was completed, she uploaded the picture, tagging her location and the Taylor Swift song she was quoting, and obsessively waited for some sort of Foster interaction to come. Nothing. She uploaded another story, a crowd shot of the dancefloor, which he had viewed about ten minutes later. But after looking through the comments and likes on the physical post, it wasn’t like he had even seen it. But she wouldn't stop checking.

Eventually, the girls managed to get her onto the dancefloor. She didn't really recognize the song playing, but it was an easy enough beat to move her hips to, and she soon found herself almost fully forgetting about Matty Foster and whether or not he had seen her Instagram post. However, then a new problem arrived. In the shape of a man in an ill-fitting linen shirt that only seemed to highlight his sweat patches, mimicing her movements just a little bit of the side to the group of girls. In response, they moved. He followed, eyes on Phoebe the entire time. After a couple of songs, she began to grow sick of this behavior, deciding to get a drink and hopefully lose him in the crowd. But the guy managed to stay hot on her heels, approaching her as she leaned across the bartop.

"What's your name?" He asked, question innocuous enough, but there was something uncomfortable about his gaze.

"I'm not interested." Phoebe responded, turning back to try and get the bartender's attention.

"Oh come on, dollface, don't be like that. I saw you shaking it out there. You're a real tease..."

Phoebe bit back a reply, determindedly staring at the shelf of liquor behind the bar. The guy still continued, stepping closer. Grabbing her shoulder, lurching her body into his direction.

"It's rude to ignore people y'know. C'mon, you love the attention, don't cha? And there's no need to play hard to get..."

Phoebe huffed out an irritated breath, tugging away from the man and glaring. "I'm. Not. Interested." She repeated slowly, as if the issue was him misunderstanding her in the first place rather than his inability to take 'no' for an answer.

He didn't budge, the grasp on his shoulder even tighter. Around them, everyone partied on. And the dread settled in Phoebe's stomach, praying that someone, anyone, was witnessing this and would step in to help.