It occurred to Carys, as she received Chase's text, that she should probably not be wearing her pajamas at quarter to noon. Her Juilliard sweat pants had seen better days, and the tank she'd pulled out was covered in paint from when she'd helped a friend remodel two summers ago. At least she'd showered. She'd been halfway to her bedroom when a gentle knock at the door heralded her company's arrival. Shit.

Carys padded towards the door, unlocking it and habitually reaching for a chain that wasn't there. Right. House in the suburbs, not her dingy apartment. Opening it wide, she looked up at Chase as she leaned against the door jam.

"Hey you," Carys grinned apologetically. He'd had the sense to wear real clothes, not beat up pajamas. There were a few holes near the hem of her shirt, and the bottom inch of the sweats had been stained from dragging on the ground, slightly too long for her stature. "Come in. Sorry about the mess."

Opening the door wide and beckoning him in, she stepped aside. She locked the door afterwards on instinct, barely giving it a thought. 

"So, I literally just realized that I should probably not wear pajamas, because I suck at adulting," Carys laughed at herself lightly. "I'm going to put actual people clothes on, I'll be right back. Help yourself to whatever, I think there's some IPAs left in the fridge."