<Narrator>: The silence stretched, but Oz didn’t seem to mind. He just stood there, patient as ever, waiting for Phoebe to do something. Say something. Anything that didn’t make her sound like a malfunctioning answering machine. Outside, the late afternoon sun filtered through the library windows, catching dust motes in the air and casting long shadows across the stacks. The rest of the Scoobies hadn't arrived yet. It was just the two of them. And Phoebe’s spectacular ability to ruin every possible moment.