Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Central Perk is a special spot for Chandler Bing. That's where he talks with his friends, it's where they all relax, it's where he met Rachel just a couple of months ago, coming in wearing a wedding dress and looking highly frazzled. It's got a nice, calming atmosphere, pretty good coffee, and the absolute best spot in all of Manhattan.

The area with the couch is where he and his friends always sit. Sometimes he feels bad for taking it, but nobody seems to mind, ever. And so he always sits there, usually on the couch when it is available.

When he walked into Central Perk one afternoon after work, he just wanted to grab a coffee and wait for the rest of his friends to show up eventually. He didn't expect there to be anyone there, no one ever was at this time on a Thursday.

But then he saw someone sitting in his spot.

Normally, he would have been upset, probably ask them to leave, nicely, of course, and pray to God that they left because he hates confrontation.

However, the person sitting in his spot was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen. She looked like she had been there for a few hours, at least, because there was an empty plate with crumbs on it and a large mug drained, both sitting on the coffee table her feet were propped up on.

For a moment, Chandler stood at the counter and stared at her like some kind of creep. He had never seen her around and he knew he'd remember if he did. She wore gray jeans rolled up at the ankles to show off her colorful socks underneath a pair of black and white Converses. As his eyes traveled up her frame, he saw her wearing some kind of band tee and a tiny, silver necklace around her neck. She seemed to be writing something and, from what Chandler could tell, she seemed to be deep into thought. Her pencil scratched across the notebook and every so often, she would pause and read over it before promptly erasing something and writing once more.

He heard his name being said and turned around to see Guther holding out a coffee cup to him.

"Oh, thanks, Gunther," he told the worker, taking the coffee from him.

Chandler had never been good at talking to girls and more often than not chickened out on the opportunity to do so. But he didn't want to chicken out on talking to you.

And so, with confidence, he walked over to the area he always sat at and stood just beside the couch, next to your arm that was leaning on the armrest.

Before now, he didn't notice the headphones around your ears and the Walkman that sat beside you, but when he clears his throat and you don't react, he understands why. And so, again and a little bit louder, he clears his throat, gently tapping on your shoulder.

Your eyes tear away from the page in your lap at the touch of another person and you whip your head up to see a man standing beside you, looking at you with a smile. Perhaps too loudly, you exclaim, "Oh, shit, sorry!" and hastily pause your music and let the headphones rest around your neck. You blink up at the man and ask, "Yes?"

"I, uh." Chandler swallows thickly because even your voice is one from a dream. "You're, uh, kind of in my spot."

With a mischievous smile, you turn around in your seat like you're looking for something. "Oh, word? I don't see your name on it."

And then you smile at him snarkily and Chandler forgets how to breathe. But then he laughs, a bit awkwardly. Your sarcastic grin fades into a true one and you add, "Don't worry, I'll move."

When you start to gather your things, Chandler is quick to put a stop to it. He doesn't want you to move, not now, not ever. Not when he's just started to talk to you. "No, no, you're fine, I'm just kidding."

You stop your movements and look up at him. "Oh, alright. You can sit next to me, though."

Chandler doesn't have to be told twice. He sits beside you on the opposite side of the couch and takes a drink of his coffee like that will do anything to cure his jitters.

"What's your name?" you ask him, setting your notebook in your lap for just a moment. You wonder if he wants to have a conversation, but not many people in New York do.

He answers, "Chandler."

"Nice to meet you, Chandler. I'm y/n."

God, even your name sounds like something from a song.

"It's nice to meet you, too, y/n." He takes notice of the notebook in your lap and feels the urge to ask, "Mind if I ask what you're writing?"

With another grin, you say, "What if I did?"

Chandler can only wonder if your smile is contagious because he feels his lips curl upwards. "I mean, I'd still ask. I'm nosey."

You laugh and tilt your notebook for him to read. "It's a screenplay I'm writing."

Chandler's eyes widen. "You're a screenwriter? What, you make movies and stuff?"

"I wish." You scoff and feel a slight heat rise to your cheeks. "No, I write stories for movies and stuff. At least, I try."

"Is it not going so well?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Some studio called me up a few months ago, said they liked the idea I submitted and gave me a few months to come up with a first draft. And I've got two more weeks to finish it, so we'll see."

"I'm sure it's great," Chandler says and he means it. He can't write for shit, but something about you seems so...creative and special. "Even if I just met you."

You laugh again and close the notebook, stashing it away in the tote bag that rests on the floor. "Thanks, really."

"Of course." When you turn your body to face him, he sees what band is on your shirt and, even though he knows who it is, he asks, "What band is that?"

When he points to your chest, you look down and answer, "Oh, Nirvana."

"Oh, my God, I love them!"

"Really?" Your face breaks into a grin and you lean forwards a little. "What's your favorite song."

"'Heart-Shaped Box'," he says.

"Oh, that's good. I like 'Come As You Are'."

Soon, the conversation seems to flow quite naturally between the pair of you. He tells you about his boring job, something with a bunch of numbers and nothing exciting. You both compare bands and he realizes you're much more into rock and alternative works, but he guessed that the second he saw the leather jacket that rests beside you.

Joey is the first to arrive. Chandler glances up at the door when he hears the bell above it jingle and sees his roommate falter at the sight of you. You're not looking, rummaging through your tote bag for something and Chandler's eyes widen at the sight of the other person. If Joey flirts with you, Chandler will kill him.

Joey, clearly not catching on to Chandler's look from across the cafe, sees you and smirks, walking over.

"Hey, Chandler," he greets but doesn't look at his friend, eyes settling on you. "Who's, uh, your friend?"

You turn up at the sound of another person and spot the Italian-American smiling at you. You smile back and say, "I'm y/n."

"How you doin'?" Joey smirks and sits himself down on the high stool beside you. "I'm Joey."

"Hi, Joey," you reply, glancing at Chandler who quickly wipes the glare from his face and smiles at you. "You guys know each other?"

"We're roommates," he answers, motioning at his friend who is still staring at you.

You blink and shift in your seat. "Oh."

"I like your shirt," Joey says.

"You like Nirvana, too?" Your face brightens and Chandler almost melts.

But then his roommate says, "Who?"

And that look on your face is gone. Your smile falls and you look away back into your tote, mumbling, "Never mind."

Chandler meets his friend's eyes and shakes his head twice, brows furrowed. Joey always gets the girl. Chandler deserves to hope, at least.

You pull out a packet of gum and open it. You take a piece out and unwrap it before offering one to Chandler. He smiles and takes it, popping it in his mouth and shoving the wrapper in his pocket.

"Want some gum?" you ask the other man with darker and messier hair.

He takes one and thanks you. You return it with a grin and put the gum back in your tote, on top of your notebook.

Joey says your name and you look at him. "So, you live around here?"

You nod. "Yeah, I live in Hell's Kitchen."

"Oh, cool, cool. How long have you lived here? You grew up in New York?"

Immediately, you shake your head. "Oh, no, no, I didn't grow up here."

"Where'd you grow up?" Chandler asks, tilting his head

"Winnipeg," you answer, biting back a smile.

Chandler's brows furrow and Joey asks, "Where's that?"

"Manitoba." Your straight cracks a bit and you try to fight the smile that wants to paint itself across your lips.

Joey looks lost and asks again, "...Where's that?"

"Canada," you tell him, fully grinning now.

Joey gasps and Chandler tries not to roll his eyes. He figured it out when you said Manitoba. He says, "You're from Canada?"

You nod, turning your head to look at him. "Yep."

"Do you speak French?" Joey asks, touching your arm, clearly already friendly with you.

Turning to him, you answer, "Non."

Chandler laughs and you giggle, crossing one leg over the other.

"I speak Italian," Joey says.

You raise a brow. "Yeah?"

He nods and leans forward in his chair, smirking. "Sei bellissima."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're beautiful," he answers, voice a little lower than it was before.

Some heat rushes up your neck and you look away at your lap. "Oh."

Chandler glares at his friend, but Joey doesn't catch it.

Thankfully, before Chandler reaches over you to choke Joey, the bell dings and he glances at the door. Monica, Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel are walking in and while the rest of his friends make their way over, Rachel immediately goes to clock in for her shift.

They walk over and greet the other two and Phoebe is the first to address you. "Oh, wow, you're pretty."

You laugh out loud, blushing even harder at the compliment from a woman, touching your necklace. "Thank you. I like your skirt."

Phoebe giggles and swishes her skirt. "Thanks."

"This is y/n," Chandler introduces you to his friends.

"Hey." You lift your hand in a wave of sorts, feeling like you're butting in on their group. You should leave, but in a minute. You don't want to be rude.

Chandler's friends introduce themselves--Ross, Monica, and Phoebe, you repeat their names in your head to remember better--and then he gestures towards the coffee bar. "And the girl over there is Rachel."

"It's nice to meet you guys," you say politely, squeezing your hands in your lap.

"You too." Monica smiles. "I love your shirt, by the way."

"Thanks." You grin, basking in all the compliments.

Ross looks at Monica and asks, "You listen to Nirvana?"

Monica fixes him with a look. "Yes, because I'm cooler than you."

You chuckle at their interaction when Joey suddenly blurts out, "Ask her where she's from!"

You giggle at the man's antics and look at the others.

Ross smiles and asks, "Alright. Where are you from?"

"Winnipeg," you reply, still smiling. Chandler thinks he's going to swoon.

Monica is the first to figure it out. "You live in Canada?"

You nod. "I mean, I used to. I moved to Hell's Kitchen a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, my god, so you just moved here," Chandler says.

"Why did you move all the way from Canada down to here?" Ross wonders.

"I'm a screenwriter and ended up getting a job down here," you answer. "Besides, Canada is boring, so I was looking for a change of scenery."

"Well, how do you like it here so far?" Phoebe asks.

You shrug. "It's pretty nice. A little colder, somehow, but I like it. There are a lot more people and a lot more things to do and see. I lived in Winnipeg my entire life so I kind of felt like I saw everything."

"I've always wanted to go to Canada," Rachel says, coming to hand out coffee.

You smile. "It's nice. Alberta is really pretty."

Mustering up some courage, Chandler says, "Hey, if you ever need someone to show you around the city, I'll be happy to help you."

And then you look at him and grin, nodding. "That'd be sick."

He feels heat start to creep up his cheeks, and he smiles back. "Awesome."

You look at the time on the clock and say, "I've got to head out, but it was great to meet you guys."

"Yeah, you too!" Monica says.

Taking a Post-it note from your bag, you write down your number and hand it to Chandler. He takes it and tries not to stare at it too hard. "Hope to catch you guys later."

Chandler's friends wave to you and you walk out the door, shrugging your jacket on before walking off. Chandler stares at the window for several seconds after you're gone and only snaps out of it when Monica says something.

"Chandler, how the hell did you get her number?"

He shrugs, looks at the bright blue Post-it note, and reads it.

here :)   (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

He smiles and puts it in his pocket, trying to ignore the looks his friends are giving him. You're very cool and very pretty and Chandler can't wait to see you again.

Chapter Text

Chandler made good on his promise to show you around. Of course he did, how could he not? You gave him your number. Chandler may be stupid, but if he turned down the opportunity to hang out with you, he’d have Joey check him into a mental institution.

He didn’t call you right away, he figured it would be best to wait a few days. He wanted to wait at least three days, but he caved at two and a half and left you a voicemail on his lunch break.

He had rehearsed it many times and written it down several times. He wanted to get the words just right.

“Hey, y/n. Sorry to bother you, but if you still want to, I’m still open to showing you around the city. Or, well, parts. Um, yeah. I’m free this weekend, we can get coffee too or something if you want. But just let me know. Bye.”

When he hung up, he felt like the air had been pulled directly from his lungs and he immediately wanted to shoot himself. Why did he stutter so much? He knew why, but why? Why did he say ‘but’ so many times?

He did his best not to think about it for the rest of the day.

When he got home from work, exhausted as all hell, he had managed to forget about the whole phone call for at least an hour. But the moment he walked through the door, Joey called his name with a smirk and a strange look in his eyes.

“What’s with you?” Chandler asked, loosening his tie and finally being able to breathe again.

Instead of answering right away, his friend pointed to the phone and said, “She left you a message, man!”

His stomach dropped to his toes and he felt dread creep up his fingertips. Oh, God, what if you didn’t want him to show you around anymore? What if his quick reply freaked you out? God, if you never wanted to see him ever again Chandler couldn’t live with himself.

But still, he made himself walk towards the answering machine. It was blinking, so it was clear Joey hadn’t read it, but Chandler wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He looked up at his friend, who seemed excited, the opposite of how he felt.

Swallowing, he pressed play and your perfect voice sounded through the apartment.

“Hey, Chandler! Great to hear from you, I was wondering if you’d call.”

He blinked at the phone. Were you waiting for him to call?

“Sorry about not answering, I was at work and then the bartender was sick and I had to do it. Real cool to make the new girl bartend by herself after she finished her training." You laugh and Chandler feels the corners of his lips quirk up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. But, uh, yeah, I’d totally be down for Sunday. And coffee sounds great. Just call me back when you can and we can figure out the details or whatever. Bye, Chan.”

The machine clicked, signaling you had hung up, and Chandler stared at the white box with a smile on his face and a warm, somewhat foreign feeling in his heart.

Joey shook his shoulders, a grin plastered across his cheeks. "You got it, man, you're in!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he said, shrugging Joey off of him. "So, like, should I call her back now or wait?"

Glancing at the time the message from you was received, Joey answered, "I mean, she called a couple of hours ago. Do it now, man, she's probably off of work."

He nodded, feeling his heart rate pick up again. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

But instead of grabbing the phone, he just stared at it. He stared at it for so long that Joey had to touch his arm to get him to look at him.

"You want to order a pizza first?"

Chandler nodded. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

And so, forty-five minutes and two-thirds of a pizza later, Chandler mustered up the courage to call you.

It only takes two rings for you to pick up.

"Hello?" Chandler has been waiting to hear your voice again for days and nothing can describe the pure amount of euphoria that rushes through his veins at your tone.

He keeps calm, however, and says, "Hey, y/n, it's Chandler."

Your tone lightens and he can practically hear the smile in your voice. "Oh, hey, Chan!"

A smile paints itself across his cheeks and heat rises up his neck and he tries to ignore Joey's excited looks. "Hey."

"You got my message, right?" For a moment, he hears some noises from your side of the call, almost like you're closing a plastic container, and he hopes he didn't catch you in the middle of eating. "I'm free on Sunday, is that cool?"

"Yeah, that works." He suggests meeting up at nine and when you laugh a little, his grin widens at your nervousness. "What is it?"

You laugh again and elaborate. "Okay, so, actually, I work the night before and we don't close until, like, one. So maybe ten? Instead?"

Chandler would hang out with you at three in the morning if you asked him to. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Awesome. So, around ten at Central Perk? Since it's really the only place I know in the city?"

A teasing smile pulls at his lips as he waves his roommate away before he embarrasses himself. "For now."

"For now?"

"Yeah. I'll show you around to all the good places."

"Even the Empire State Building?" Your voice is teasing and it makes his organs do gymnastics.

He chuckles and nods even if you can't see it. "Even the Empire State Building."

"Sick! See you then, Chan."

"See you then, y/n." He needs to come up with a nickname for you.

"Bye."

"Bye."

And then you hang up and Chandler places the phone back down. There's a beat where he makes eye contact with Joey before they both erupt into celebratory cheers and jump up and down together like they always do.

"Go Chandler!"

"Go me!"

~*~

Sunday comes both sooner and later than you expected. It's sooner because you worked a double the day before but it's also later because you've been looking forward to it ever since the two of you scheduled it.

But, eventually, ten o'clock rolls around and you're sitting at a table in Central Perk patiently waiting. You haven't been here for long, but since you always get nervous meeting up with new people, you grabbed a newspaper and started to do the crossword to calm your nerves.

You like Chandler, a lot. He's very sweet, funny, and he's pretty cute, too. You share a lot of similar interests, but since you've only had one encounter and a couple of phone calls, you still get anxious.

You're sure it will go away when you both make conversation.

Chewing on the end of the pencil, you rack your mind for the solution to this one question, but you can't quite remember the name, though it's on the tip of your tongue.

The bell above the door rings and you look up, smiling when you see Chandler. You wave him over and he quickly spots you, casually walking over.

"You do the crossword, too?" he asks with a small smile.

You nod. "Sometimes, yeah. Hey, I need your help with one. What's a prehistoric beast with a large bony frill?"

He tilts his head and asks, "How many letters is it?"

Glancing down at the paper, you count the little squares and answer, "Eleven."

He mouths some letters, and counts with his fingers, before saying, "Triceratops."

"That's what it is!" You quickly scribble it down in messy handwriting. "I knew that, I just forgot the word for it."

"Yeah, sure." He gives you a teasing smirk as you stand up, stashing the newspaper into your bag.

You raise a brow at him. "Wow, rude, Chan."

"I'm messing."

"I know." You smile at him. "So. You promised to show me where the good coffee is?"

He nods and moves towards the door, holding it open for you to go out of. "I did. You like bagels?"

"Of course I do, I'm not a monster."

Your humor always gets to him and he jerks his head down the street. "Come on. I'll show you a great place."

"Lead the way."

~*~

An hour later, you stand beside Chandler with a bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Okay,” you say, walking past a couple holding hands. “It might have been a long wait, but you say it’s worth it?”

Chandler nods and smiles. “I promise you, it is.”

He leads you to a little bench by a flower shop and you take a seat laying the bagel across your lap.

“Coffee first,” he says to you.

“But you said the bagel is the best part.”

“Best for last?”

“I always do best for first.”

“Okay, well, drawing out the tension makes things better.”

You roll your eyes and hold out your coffee cup. “Clink me, Bing.”

A smile creeps onto his face and he can't help but say, "Is that a euphemism?"

Mirroring his teasing smile, you reply, "You wish."

He does.

But he doesn't say that and instead taps his disposable coffee cup against yours and takes a sip at the same time as you do.

Taking a sip, you immediately flinch back at the searing burning sensation on your tongue. Chandler does the same thing and you both laugh.

"He did warn it was hot," you mutter, referencing the kind older man who cashed you out while you run your front teeth over your tongue.

Chandler smiles. "Yeah, he did."

After blowing on the liquid for another moment, you both clink your cups again and you take a sip. Chandler recommended the latte and you trusted his opinion. Sure enough, as soon as the slightly-cooled down liquid touches your tongue, you're glad you trusted him.

"Woah," you say, looking at Chandler.

He's smiling. "Right?"

You smile back, taking another sip of the delicious beverage. "This is so good."

"I told you it would be good."

"It's not just good, it's great."

"Exactly. None of my other friends think it's very good."

You frown just a little. "Really? I mean, Central Perk is good and all, but this is amazing."

He just shrugs. "It's okay. I have you to go with me now."

You smile at him and a strange and warm feeling flutters in your chest.

But before you can even think about it, Chandler is putting the coffee down beside him on the bench and picking up his bagel. "Okay. Try the bagel now."

Nodding, you place the coffee down and carefully unwrap a small section of the bagel that you can eat. You had gotten a bagel called an 'All-Nighter', which had two eggs, bacon, cheese, and some kind of chipotle aioli on a cheesy bagel. It sounded like actual heaven considering you hadn't eaten all day and your mouth waters as the delectable scent wafts up to your nose.

Once again, you and Chandler clink your own bagels--he got one called the 'Santa Fe' with egg whites, sausage, and salsa on a plain bagel--and take a bite at the same time.

You're not one to groan at food, but this sandwich is so good you almost do. It's messy and you're glad for the double layer of paper around it. It's cheesy, it's warm, and it's a little spicy. It's everything you've been craving.

"Holy shit," you say, mouth still a little full. "This is so good, Chandler."

He just nods, already taking another bite.

Licking a stray piece of sauce from your lips, you hardly swallow before you go in for another bite. Together, you and Chandler eat in silence, too busy consuming your own individual meals like it's the last meal. Honestly, you would want this bagel to be your last meal.

You finish first, licking your greasy fingers before using a napkin to wipe them. Carefully, you shove all your trash into the bag and take a couple more sips of your latte before it gets cold.

Chandler is soon finished and while he's wiping his hands, you say, "That was the best sandwich I've ever had in my life, Chan."

"I told you it would be life-changing."

"I'm so sorry for doubting you," you tease, smiling and stretching your legs out in front of you and taking in the scene. It's almost noon on a Sunday in Manhattan and the streets are, unsurprisingly, crawling with people, but everyone seems a lot more relaxed and chill on Sunday rather than a busy Friday morning when you're running late for work.

You and Chandler lapse into a pleasant silence where you both just people-watch for a few minutes while your meals digest. You watch the people go by and wonder what they're doing today and what plans they have. You wonder if they've ever had a life-changing bagel as well, you wonder how many of them are new to the city like you and how many know it well like Chandler.

He speaks up. “What do you want to go see first?”

Looking at him, you know the first thing you want to do. “Empire State Building.”

He smiles and stands, offering you a hand. “Come on, then.”

Taking it, you let him haul you up before dropping his hand almost immediately. For a second, disappointment fills his chest before he pushes it away. Together, he leads you to the Empire State Building, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

~*~

By the time it was getting dark, you had both wandered halfway around Manhatten. You had seen the Empire State Building, walked by the National Museum—where his friend Ross worked, which you thought was interesting—you had walked around Times Square, and by the Rockefeller Center.

“Is it true that at Christmas they have a huge tree?” you ask as Chandler walks beside you.

He nods, smiling. “It is. And they have an ice rink.”

This makes you stop in your tracks and you turn to him. He blinks and stands next to you, completely aware that there’s a giant smile on your face.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

Chandler nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m serious. What, do you like skating?”

“Uh, yeah.” You laugh and roll your eyes. “Chandler, I love skating. You know I did hockey for, like, years right?”

“No, I didn’t.”

You widen your eyes at him. “Oh. Well, I did.”

“I didn’t know you liked hockey.”

“I’m from Canada,” you say, starting to walk once more. “It’s a requirement. I got my first stick on my fifth birthday.”

“That’s so cool,” your friend says. “I love hockey.”

“What’re the teams in the city? I know there’s the Rangers, I just can’t remember the other one.”

“The Islanders,” he tells you. “But the Rangers are better. Joey and I go to the games a lot, but if I have an extra ticket, you can come too.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him, this cute little half-smile that makes his chest squeeze.

But he doesn’t think about it and smiles back, nods, and listens as you explain how you were the best defender on your team in primary school.

Eventually, you make it back to your apartment. Hell’s Kitchen isn’t as sketchy as it used to be and Chandler walks you up to your apartment building. It’s well past sunset, but the streetlights are bright enough.

“This is me,” you say, gesturing behind you to the building. “Thanks for walking me back.”

“It was no problem,” Chandler says, completely aware that you both walked right past his own apartment building twenty minutes ago. “I’m not far from here. Besides, I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get mugged.”

“Considering I have three dollars in my wallet, I don’t think that’s a problem.”

Chandler laughs and you laugh too and you realize how much you love his company. He’s funny and he gets you. He’s fun to be around and he’s nice, something a little uncommon here in the city.

“We should do this again,” you hear yourself say. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he replies. “Call me?”

He doesn’t mean to say it. It slips out and his eyes widen the words leave his lips but you just laugh gently and nod.

“I will.” Taking his hand, you shake it twice. Your rings are cold against his hand but he’s quickly distracted away from that when you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek. You have to lean on your tiptoes to do it and you’re already pulled away when he realizes what you’ve done.

Releasing his hand, you watch his neck heat up and panic rises up in you for fear you’ve gone too far. But then a small smile crosses his face and the knot in your stomach loosens.

Before the silence becomes awkward, you say, “Goodnight, Chandler. Get home safe.”

“You too,” he blurts out before cursing. But you just laugh that sweet laugh of yours and buzz yourself in, propping the door with your foot.

“Don’t get mugged on the way home, Chan.” And with another wave, you walk inside and let the door close behind you.

And Chandler is left standing alone in the streets of New York with a cheesy smile on his face. He scratches his chin but the grin doesn’t leave his face the entire time he meanders his way back to his apartment.

And his smile only grows wider when Joey mentions the lipstick stain on his cheek.

Chapter Text

"What would you guys do if you were omnipotent?" you ask suddenly during a quiet afternoon in the cafe.

"Probably make myself immortal," Monica says, looking up from her crossword. "And be able to time-travel, I've always wanted to do that as a kid."

"Ooh, time travel would be sick," you say. "I'd want to immediately know how to play the bass."

"Oh, that's good, that's good." Rachel smiles, handing you your latte.

"What about you, Phoebe?" you ask the woman sitting on the floor.

"I would want, um, world peace. No more hunger. Good things for the rainforest." She grins before quickly adding, "Oh, and bigger boobs!"

"Well, see, you took mine," Ross says. You giggle, holding your warm mug and leaning back into the couch next to Chandler, who quickly removes his arm from behind the couch. "Chandler, what about you?"

Chandler shrugs. "If I were omnipotent for a day, I'd make myself omnipotent forever."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Lame."

Rachel also tches. "See, there's always that one guy. 'If I had a wish, I'd wish for three more wishes.'"

You laugh again and turn as the door opens. Joey walks in and you hit him with your burning question. "Joey! Joey, what would you do if you were omnipotent for a day?"

He blinks at your question and answers, "Probably kill myself."

Your eyes widen and you breathe out a laugh. "Sorry?"

"Hey," he starts as he takes a seat beside Ross. "If little Joey's dead, then I've got no reason to live."

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink.

"Uh, Joey." Ross's first mistake was to try and help. "Omnipotent."

Joey's eyes widen and in the most sympathetic voice you've ever heard him use, he says, "You are?"

You choke on your drink, laughing into your mug and almost spilling coffee on yourself. Chandler places a hand on your back while Phoebe hands you a napkin, taking your drink from you. You laugh again, wiping your face, and look at Joey.

"Dude, you're so funny. Do you know that?"

Joey smiles and shrugs. "People say that I am."

You clear your throat and lean back in your seat again. Chandler has an arm across the back of the couch again, but this time he doesn't move it, something everyone but you catches on to.

His arm doesn't move for the next thirty minutes either. Eventually, you notice but think nothing of it. Ross does it with Phoebe and there's certainly nothing there. Your newfound friend group talks about nothing and everything at once as the afternoon grows later. After a while, you glance at your watch and realize you need to head out, even though you don't want to.

With a groan, you sit up. "I've got to head out."

"Why?" Monica wonders.

You sniff and start to get your things together in your tote bag. "My window is leaking in my bathroom and kitchen, so my super is going to check it out. Also, there's this weird substance on my windowsills that looks like dirt, but I swear to god if it's black mold I'm going to kill someone."

"Well, good luck," Chandler says, watching you take out your walkman and put the headphones around your neck.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," you tell them and start your mixtape. "See you guys later."

And then you head out. Chandler watches you through the window--which isn't creepy because it's so big. He watches you take out your lighter and light a cigarette before walking on your way. For someone who moved to the city a few months ago, you already seem very much at home.

The second the door closes, Joey moves to sit by Chandler and says, "Chan. If you don't ask her out, I'm going to."

"Yeah, why haven't you asked her yet?" Monica asks. "With the way your arm was behind her for an hour, someone would assume you guys are dating."

Chandler scoffs and shrugs, feeling his neck heat up. "I--I don't know. I think she's too cool for me."

"She's too cool for all of us," Ross says.

"I think she's into you." Phoebe pokes his leg and smiles. "She's always around you."

"Yeah, because I was the first person she met here and she's my friend."

"So? I think you'd have a shot." Phoebe tells him. "Her aura is brighter around you."

Chandler isn't sure what that means, but he shrugs anyway. "I--I don't know. I really think she's cool, I don't want to mess this friendship up."

His friends nod in understanding but Joey asks, "So, does this mean I can ask her on a date?"

"No!" he blurts out, perhaps too loudly because someone at a neighboring table turns to glare at him for a moment.

"Woah, okay, man." Joey holds his hands up in surrender. "I know now to mess with your girl."

Heat rushes to Chandler's cheeks and he huffs, feeling very uncomfortable. "Whatever."

~*~

An hour and a half later, you return to the coffee shop pissed out of your mind. You angrily open the door and let it slam shut behind you. Monica, Phoebe, and Ross are still here and all look at you when you approach. You're frowning, something they've never seen you do before, and your head looks like it's about to explode.

"Woah, what's up?" Monica asks as you dramatically sit between Ross and Phoebe. "You look pissed."

"Because I am," you snap, shedding your jacket. "There's black fucking mold in my apartment."

"Oh, gross!"

"No, it gets better," you add, looking between your friends while your heart thumps rapidly in your throat. "It's not just my apartment. It's the entire goddamn floor."

"Oh no!"

"That's awful."

Phoebe puts her arm around you and you lean into your side, feeling yourself calm down quickly as her scent of patchouli envelops you. "I asked how long it would take them to fix it, but the super said I had to move out for a week."

"For a week?" Monica asks.

You nod. "Yeah. I hate to ask, but could I maybe stay with you and Rachel? I'll chip in with food and stuff."

Monica smiles and says, "Yeah, of course. Phoebe was actually going to be spending the night too, we can have a girls' night."

"Oh, that's fun!" Phoebe exclaims, smiling.

You grin and feel your anger slip away. You're lucky to have these people as your friends. "Thanks."

~*~

Later that night, you're making drinks with Phoebe and Monica while dressed in your pajamas. You went to your apartment to pack your things and you're glad you did your laundry yesterday.

Rachel is out with her friends and you want to assume they're nice, but they give you snooty rich-girl vibes. Plus their screaming only made you more angry than you were before, but now that you've taken two shots of rum, you feel a little better.

You fire up the blender again on your famous Tiki Death Punch--which is really just a strawberry and pineapple daiquiri--while Phoebe gets the glasses out and the door opens.

"Hey, Rach," Monica greets, finishing up the cookie dough. "How was it with your friends?"

And then, in unison, you, Phoebe, and Monica scream, mocking what Rachel and her friends did. You giggle and take off the lid to analyze your work before unplugging the blender and moving toward the glasses. But when you look back up, Rachel does not look amused and you hiss through your teeth. "Anyway, you want some Tiki Death Punch?"

"What's that?" Rachel asks, sounding exhausted.

You finish pouring the third glass and answer, "Well, it's rum and--"

Rachel doesn't even let you finish before she's taken the pitcher from your hands and is sticking a straw through the liquid.

You blink at your empty hands. "Okay."

"We thought that Phoebe was staying over and Y/N is staying here for the week, we'd have kinda like a slumber party thing. We've got trashy magazines, we've got cookie dough, we got Twister."

"I brought Monopoly and Balderdash," you add, glancing at the phone as it rings.

"And I brought Operation," Phoebe says, walking towards Rachel, who looks miserable. "But, um, I lost the tweezers so we can't operate. But we can prep the guy!"

You smile at her enthusiasm.

With the phone in her hand, Monica walks towards Rachel and says, "Uh, Rach, it's the Visa card people."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "Oh, God, ask them what they want."

"Could you please tell me what this is in reference to?" Monica asks into the phone before lowering it down and addressing Rachel. "Um, they say there's been some unusual activity on your account."

"But I haven't used my card in weeks," Rachel says, sounding even more exasperated now.

"That is the unusual activity." Rachel stands and pinches the bridge of her nose as Monica adds, "Look, they just want to see if you're okay."

"They want to know if I'm okay? Okay, they want to know if I'm okay. Okay, let's see." Slowly, you take a sip each time she says okay. "Well, let's see, the FICA guys took all my money. Everyone I know is either getting married or getting pregnant or getting promoted and I'm getting coffee. And it's not even for me! So if that sounds like I'm okay, okay, then you can tell them I'm okay. Okay?"

You swallow your last sip and see that half of your drink is gone.

Monica slowly licks her lips and lifts the phone to her ear. "Uh, Rachel has left the building. Can you call back?"

"Alright, come on!" With her voice breaking and tears in her eyes, Rachel unfurls the game mat and says, "Let's play Twister."

"Oh, Rachel!" You walk over to her and lead her to the couch as she wipes her tears. "Come on, babe, it's okay, you're fine."

"No, I'm not!" she exclaims, sniffling. "Everyone I know is being more productive than I am."

Monica sits on the other side of her and rubs her arm. "Oh, come on. You should feel great about yourself. You're doing this amazing and independent thing!"

But she just rolls her eyes and asks, "Monica, what is so amazing? I gave up, like, everything! And for what?"

"You are just like Jack!" Phoebe exclaims from her spot on the table.

Looking at her, you squint. "Pheebs, I'm a little tipsy, but what are you talking about?"

"Jack from 'Jack and the Beanstalk'," she answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "See, he gave up something, but then he got those magic beans. And then he woke up and there was this--this big plant outside of his window full of possibilities and stuff. And he lived in a village and you live in the village."

Rachel holds up a hand to stop her. "Okay, but, Pheebs, Pheebs. Jack gave up a cow. I gave up an orthodontist. Okay? I--I know I didn't love him, but--"

"Oh, see, Jack did love the cow."

You sigh and take another long sip of your drink.

"But, see, it was a plan," Rachel continues. "You know? It was clear. Everything was figured out and now everything's just kinda like..."

She flails her hands around, searching for the word, and you suggest, "Floopy?"

"Yeah."

You put your hands back on her arm and say, "I've been there."

"Really?" she asks, looking at you.

You nod. "Yeah, I'm there right now. I mean, I want to be a famous screenwriter and probably a director. But I live in a shitty apartment with black mold and I work as a hostess." You laugh at yourself and continue. "I live, like, three thousand kilometers away from home in a whole new country. I was supposed to go to school for nursing because my mom and my dad are both doctors, but I changed my major halfway through and moved here." You smile at her and rub up and down her arm. "And I'm happy I did because I met you guys. And, sure, I kind of hate my job and I don't have any time to write and I pour oil down my drains to fuck with my landlord. But I'm doing my own thing, doing what I like. Not what everyone else is doing. Does that make sense?"

Rachel shrugs, but then she nods.

Monica puts a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, you've just gotta figure at some point it's all gonna come together, and it's just gonna be...un-floopy."

But then Rachel sighs and says, "Okay, but, Monica, what if--what if it doesn't come together?"

Monica rocks back and forth, searching for an answer, before quietly saying, "Pheebs?"

Phoebe puts her drink down and starts, "Well, 'cause you just like...I don't like this question. Y/N?"

You think about this question every night in bed, but you don't have an answer. And so you look around, muttering things under your breath so the heat will be off you.

"Okay, see, see you guys? What if we don't get magic beans? I mean, what if all we've got are...beans?"

Yeah, that's a thought that crosses your mind in the middle of the night too. And so you loudly slurp up the rest of your drink and pick up the pitcher. "I need more rum."

~*~

An hour and two pitchers of Tiki Death Punch later, you're all sitting in various positions in the living room. Phoebe is lying on the floor with her head on the ottoman and her hair over her face. Monica is eating cookie dough right out of the bowl with the wooden spoon. Rachel is lying across the couch with her legs in your lap. You're on your third drink and you're not even sure you can finish that. God, you're depressed, you really should get in touch with a pharmacist to get back on Prozac, but that's a hassle with the American healthcare system. Why can't it just be free like the rest of the world?

Rachel, who is changed into much comfier clothes, sighs and says, "I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to bring you down."

"No, you were right," Monica says, smushing the dough. "I don't have a plan!"

There's a knock at the door and that's the first time you've felt happy in forty-five minutes. "Thank Christ, food."

Rachel gets up to get the pizza and Monica says, "Phoebe?"

"Huh?" She flips her ponytail out from her face.

"Do you have a plan?"

She scoffs and says, "I don't even have a pla'."

Rachel swings the door open and a young teenage kid is standing there with pizzas. "Hi. One mushroom, green pepper, and onion?"

You almost burst into tears right then and there.

Rachel sighs. "No, no, no that's not what we ordered! We ordered a fat-free crust with extra cheese!" She also sounds like she's about to cry and lifts her fingers to her temple.

"Wait, you're not G. Stephanopoulos?"

"No."

"Oh, man, my dad's gonna kill me!"

Suddenly, Monica jumps across your legs and you almost piss yourself. Slowly, you and Phoebe follow as she asks the teenager, "Did you say G. Stephanopoulos?"

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, this one goes across the street. I must've given him yours. Oh, bonehead, bonehead." To be honest, him hitting himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand does make you smile a little.

"Wait, was this a--a small Mediterranean guy with curiously intelligent good looks?"

The kid nods. "Yeah, sounds about right."

"Was he wearing a stunning blue suit?"

"A--and a power tie?" Phoebe adds.

The kid shakes his head. "Nah, pretty much just a towel."

Monica's mouth drops and she leans on Phoebe for support like she's swooning. "Oh, god."

"So do you guys want me to take this back?" the poor kid asks.

"What? Are you nuts?" Monica seizes the pizza from his hand. "We've got George Stephanopoulos' pizza!"

While Rachel pays the kid, Monica rushes to the window and grabs the binoculars.

"Who is George Stephanopoulos?" you ask Phoebe.

But before she can answer, Monica shouts out, "I see pizza!"

Phoebe runs over to look, but you and Rachel stay by the pizza. You open it and almost start to salivate. You haven't eaten since lunch and you've been craving pizza all week.

"Who are we spying on?" Rachel wonders.

"You know the White House Advisor? Clinton's campaign guy, uh, the one with the great hair, sexy smile, and really cute butt?"

You laugh at her description and eat a piece of bell pepper. "No, but I wish I did."

Rachel nods. "Oh, yeah, the little guy! Oh, I love him!"

Together, you each take a piece of pizza and walk over to the window as Phoebe says, "Ooh, wait, I see a woman."

"Oh, please tell me it's his mother," Monica says.

You squint to try to see where she's looking, but it's too dark for you to see much.

And then Phoebe says, "It's definitely not his mother."

"Oh no."

"Oh, wait, she walking across the floor. She's walking, she's walking, she's going for the pizza." Angrily, Phoebe shouts out, "Hey, that's not for you, bitch!" Quickly, she covers her mouth and the four of you giggle. Rachel hands Monica her piece of pizza and you bite into your own.

Yeah, you don't need Prozac anymore, not if you have pizza and the girls.

~*~

A little while later, you're all out on the balcony. You're full of pizza and alcohol, but you're drinking water now. It's cold outside and there's a blanket over the metal chair you're sitting on and you're wearing the red sweatshirt Chandler gave to you a couple of weeks ago when you said you were cold. You forgot to give it back and maybe if you wear it you'll remember.

Monica comes back in with another pitcher of Death Punch and by now you're sure you've used up all your rum. But it's okay because you're having fun spying on his American politician with your friends.

"Are the lights still out?" Monica asks, climbing through the window.

"Yeah," Rachel says, binoculars still glued to her eyes.

"Well, maybe they're napping."

You scoff, straw halfway in your mouth. "Please, they're having sex, Mon."

"Shut up!" Monica and Phoebe shout at the same time.

You laugh, leaning your head back.

Everyone gets their drinks and sits back down when Rachel asks, "So what do you think George is like?"

"I think he's shy," Monica answers.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I think you have to draw him out. And then...when you do, he's a preppy animal."

You all giggle and you feel like a schoolgirl again. You swat at her while she laughs and you laugh and so do Phoebe and Rachel.

Another half-hour later, you're all laughing and telling each other lies that you've told other people.

"Okay, okay I got one," Monica says and looks at Phoebe. "Do you remember that vegetarian pâté that I made that you loved so much?"

The vegetarian nods.

Monica snickers. "Well, unless goose is a vegetable!"

You and Rachel laugh while Phoebe screws her face up in disgust.

"Okay, fine, fine. Now I don't feel so bad about sleeping with Jason Hurley."

You sip on your water, having no idea who that is, but enjoying the way Monica's eyes widen. "What? You slept with Jason?"

"You were already broken up."

"How long?"

Phoebe shrugs. "Just a couple hours."

You laugh while Monica rolls her eyes.

Giggling, Rachel sits up. "Okay, okay, I got one." But since the pillow is leaning on the side of the wall, when she sits up, it falls to the balcony below. You smile as she continues. "Anyway. The Valentine Tommy Rollerson left in your locker was really from me!"

Monica looks at her friend. "Excuse me?"

Rachel returns to her original position. "Oh, hello? Like he was really gonna send you one." Monica rolls her eyes and Rachel adds, "She was a big girl."

You gasp and laugh.

"Well, at least big girls don't pee their pants in the seventh grade," she retaliates, leaning toward you and Phoebe.

Rachel gasps, "I was laughing! You made me laugh!"

As the two girls argue, movement catches your eye and you look across the street to where George lives and gasp, standing up. "Look, there he is!"

"Where?"

You blink, pointing at his huge windows. "Right where we've been looking all night."

Together, the four of you watch this man stand only clad in a towel. If you were sober, you'd feel bad.

"Oh, he's so cute," Rachel says.

"George, baby, drop the towel!" Monica exclaims.

In unison, you all chant "Drop the towel" and you're pretty sure he can hear you. Because then he does. And you gasp and all say, "Wow."

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away, giggling. "Okay, I don't know if Clinton is a good president, but I'll vote for him if that's his campaign manager."

The girls giggle and go back to their seats before you all can be arrested for spying.

"I have a question, Y/N," Rachel says, hopping back up on the ledge.

"What's up?"

"Are you interested in anyone right now?"

You raise a brow at the sudden question. "Well, now I'm interested in George Stephanopoulos."

Rachel rolls her eyes but smiles. "I can understand that."

Shrugging, you stir your water with your straw. "I mean, not really. I moved here a few months ago. I've been trying to figure my way around the city, I guess I haven't had much time to look at anyone like that."

"Then why are you wearing Chandler's sweatshirt?" Phoebe asks, smiling as she takes a sip of her drink.

You look down at the piece of fabric and rub it between your fingers. It's soft and thick and it reminds you of him. "He lent it to me the other week. I just...forgot to give it back."

"Okay," Phoebe says with a breathy laugh like she doesn't believe you.

You look at your friends and see that they all have the same expression--they suspect something. "W--what? No, it's not like that!"

"We didn't say anything," Monica assures you.

"You didn't have to." You take another gulp of your drink and feel some heat creep up your cheeks. "I don't know. He's my friend and I think he's cute, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Rachel agrees and you hear the truth in her voice. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," you tell them. "I mean. Chandler is funny and he's really sweet, but, like, mentally I'm not ready." Something dawns on you and you grab Monica's arm with wide eyes. "Does he have a thing for me?"

"No," she answers easily. "No, have you met Chandler? He's the most socially awkward person I've met."

Slowly, you nod, staring down at your drink. "Okay, okay. Cool. 'Cause I don't want to make things awkward." And then you're quiet, still staring at your drink, before you put it on the small, dingy table and stand up. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

"Are you okay?" Phoebe asks as you wobble over to the window.

"Yeah," you answer, slowly folding yourself to go through it. Your vision is swimming a little. "I'm just drunk."

"We all are," Rachel says and watches as you go back into the apartment. When the door closes, she leans close to her friends and says, "No one tell Chandler."

Monica places a hand on her heart. "No, for sure. She's totally justified, though, I wouldn't want to date someone directly after moving to another country."

Phoebe nods. "Besides, Chandler is a big boy, he can figure out his own feelings." But then she adds after a moment, "Well, maybe not, but that's his problem."

Rachel and Monica chuckle and go back to spying on Stephanopoulos.

~*~

Later, the boys come back from their hockey game. Before you can ask who won, you see Ross wearing a brace over his nose. Chandler tells you that he was hit in the face with a puck and ended up having to go to the emergency room for a broken nose.

But Ross seems in happier spirits than he was before and that you're grateful for.

Eventually, Phoebe, Joey, Monica, and Rachel are playing a game of Twister while Ross flicks the spinner. You're making some more drinks with the remaining rum for the boys to have, figuring they need it after their night.

"What's the legal drinking age in Canada?" Chandler asks, watching you pour the last of your rum into the blender before placing the empty bottle to the side.

"Eighteen," you answer, measuring the sugar with your heart. "Well, actually, it's eighteen in Manitoba, Québec, and Alberta. Everywhere else it's nineteen."

Chandler breathes out a laugh. "It's twenty-one here."

"Can't men be drafted into war when they're eighteen?"

He nods. "Yeah. It's messed up."

You hum and fire the blender up, keeping an elbow on it and closing your eyes. You've had a long day. You're still mad about your apartment and having to squat at Monica and Rachel's for a week. You know they don't mind, but you still feel bad. You'll cook them dinner a few times, that'll be nice. You would clean, but Monica is very particular about it so you figure it's best to leave it be.

Opening your eyes again, you turn the blender off and serve it up, giving one to Chandler first. You clink your glass of water with his and giggle as he smiles. You both take a sip at the same time when Chandler suddenly takes your wrist and holds your arm up.

"This sweatshirt is familiar," he says, teasing evident in his tone.

You smile and shrug. "Some guy gave it to me."

"Is that guy going to get it back?"

You shrug again. "Eventually."

Chandler tilts his head then and says, "You keep it."

"What?" you ask in disbelief. "No, Chandler, it's yours."

He shrugs, resisting the extremely strong urge to run his hand up and down your arm. "It looks better on you."

You scoff. "It does not."

He nods, smiling. "It does." His eyes trail up your figure before landing on your face. "It makes your eyes pop."

"It makes my eyes pop?"

"Yeah."

Smiling just a little, you pull the sleeves over your hands. "Thank you, Chan."

And as you walk away to give Ross his drink, Chandler breathes. He's not entirely sure how he feels about you. You're hot, you're cool, but you're also his friend. And he just basically said your eyes are pretty.

He takes a long drink of your concoction, something called Tiki Death Punch, and pours himself some more. As if that will do anything to calm his nerves. Nothing can calm his nerves when he's with you.

Chapter Text

Chandler Bing has never been the best with women. He's awkward, a bit too sarcastic, has anxiety, and is exceptionally self-deprecating. He's managed to have a couple of girlfriends and the occasional fling, but nothing seemed to stick for him. Sure, he's only twenty-five and he didn't have the best impression of love as a child, but he doesn't even know what being in love feels like. Not really.

That was until he met you.

Intelligent, witty, captivating, creative, gorgeous you.

He hasn't known you long, but the second he saw you and first started to talk to you, something felt different. When he talked to you, he couldn't look away from your face. When he was with you, he didn't want to leave you. And when he wasn't with you, he wanted nothing more than to be with you.

No one had ever made him feel that way before and maybe that's why he didn't realize it.

He didn't realize how he was falling for you until someone had to tell him.

Of course, that someone was Ross. It would have been Joey, but Chandler knew better than to take relationship advice from him.

"I just feel so...different around her," he told Ross one afternoon while he was over at their apartment having a beer.

"Different how?" Ross asked, sitting on the barstools.

Chandler just shrugged and leaned on the counter, staring down at the bottle in his hand. He couldn't get your smile out of his mind. "I don't know, that's the thing. I've never felt so...happy around anyone else, you know? She gets me, she laughs at my jokes and means it. And she's so interesting and so smart and when she tells me about the screenplay she's writing or a book she's reading or a movie idea she has, she gets this glimmer in her eyes. She's just so...full of life and when she talks, it's the only thing I can focus on."

And when Chandler stopped talking, he placed his bottle on the counter, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. Ross didn't want to hear him talk about this, they were supposed to be talking about plans for the upcoming Rangers game. But when Ross had asked him about you and if he knew if you were feeling better--you had come down with strep throat and were out of commission for a solid week--he started on a tangent about you and he couldn't stop.

But when he saw the smile on Ross's face, he realized that maybe he didn't mind.

"Dude. Do you hear yourself right now?"

Chandler sighed, running both hands down his extremely warm face. "I know, I sound stupid."

"No, you don't. It sounds like you're in love with her."

Ever since that conversation, Chandler hasn't been able to think past this revelation. Or epiphany as you would call it. And there it was again, you entered his mind with so much as a word. He had a problem, thinking about you. Or maybe it was thinking too much in general.

He can't stop thinking about it when he's sitting next to you in the cafe with the rest of your friends talking about nothing. He can't stop thinking about it when he's at work, staring at numbers for so long that they start to jump off the monitor. He can't stop thinking about it on the subway home, he can't stop thinking about it when he's eating. He can't even stop thinking about it when he's trying to sleep and it's always the last thing on his mind before he finally passes out.

Sometimes, he's thinking about it so much he doesn't even realize his friends are talking to him.

"Chandler!"

Something snaps in front of his face and he blinks, looking up from his coffee to see you sitting there, smirking at him.

"Are there actually thoughts rattling through your giant head or did you lapse into a dissociative state again?"

Normally, Chandler would think someone was making fun of him, but he knew you far too well for that. You'd never make fun of him, and if you did, it would be much more subtle.

He shakes his head, feeling his cheeks heat up just a bit. "Sorry, no, I didn't dissociate."

"That's a shame," you tease. "Anyways, Monica asked you something."

Chandler rolls his eyes at you, but a smile is still there as he looks at Monica. "Sorry, what Mon?"

"I asked if you're still boycotting the pilgrim holidays?" she repeats.

"Yes, every single one of them," he replies in a typically dry, sarcastic tone.

He sees you smile out of the corner of his eye.

Monica scrunches her nose at him and looks at you. "What about you, y/n?"

You blink up at her and shrug, bringing your latte up to your mouth. "Well." You take a sip and relish in the flavor of bitter coffee and the sweet caramel you always asked Gunther to put in before you continue. "You all know I'm Canadian, so we don't celebrate the 'discovery' of America."

Your friends chuckle a bit at this and a small swell of pride blooms in your chest.

"Well, Miss Canadian, do you want to celebrate it with me, Ross, and Phoebe?"

"It's free food, right?"

"Yes."

"Then yes."

~*~

A few days later, Thanksgiving day rolls around. You head out early to help Monica with the cooking only to find the streets packed. At first, you're not sure why and assume a giant crash happened. But as you make your way down the street, you see a huge parade going on.

"Why did no one tell me there was a parade?" you ask the second you walk into the apartment.

Only Monica and Ross are there and the man looks at you. "You didn't know about the Thanksgiving Parade?"

"No, I'm talking about the Saint Patrick's Day parade, Ross."

At your sharp statement, Ross holds his hands up as if in surrender. "Sorry, sorry."

Sighing, you discard your bag and coat by the door. "No, I'm sorry. It's just that it took me an extra twenty minutes to get here and my walkman died two seconds after I walked out the door."

"Well, you haven't missed anything," Monica assures you. "Phoebe and the boys will be here in a little bit."

"Alright. Need any help?"

"Um, yeah, sure. Could you cut the potatoes for Ross's mashed potatoes? With lumps."

Smiling, you nod and pick up a small knife. "Yes, chef."

"See? She's the only one that does it!"

~*~

An hour later, the rest of your newfound group shows up to the party and the dinner is slowly but surely coming together. Phoebe got put on pies, Ross is taste-tester, you're still on potato duty, Joey is rummaging through the fridge as he always does and Chandler is lingering by the doorway for some reason you don't understand.

"Looking good, okay," Monica begins. "Cider's mulling, turkey's turking, yams are yamming..." She walks over to Ross, takes one look at his moping face, and asks, "What?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. It's just not the same without mom in the kitchen."

Monica sighs. "Oh. Alright, you know what, that's it. Just get out of my way and stop annoying me!"

"Oh, that's closer!"

Just then, an excited Rachel runs in, waving some paper above her head. "I got the tickets! I got the tickets! Five hours from now, shoop, shoop, shoop."

"Oh, you must stop shooping," Chandler says from his spot by the door.

Looking up from your potatoes, you ask him, "Dude, quit lingering by the door like a weirdo and just come in!"

But instead he shakes his head. "Oh, no thank you, I prefer to keep a safe distance from all this merriment."

"Look out, ooh, incoming!" Phoebe says, lifting up a fresh pumpkin pie. "Incoming pumpkin pie!"

You laugh, remembering Chandler's story and how much he hates pumpkin pie.

Clearly not as amused, your friend says, "Okay, we all laughed when you did it with the stuffing, but that's not funny anymore."

Still, you can't help but giggle as he storms off. You know he's not really upset. He would tell you if he was. Chandler is just dramatic sometimes.

"Hey, Mon, I got a question," Joey says, walking around you. "I don't see any tater tots!"

Monica blinks at him. "That's not a question."

"Well, my mom always makes them," he explains. "It's like a tradition. You get a little piece of turkey on your fork, a little cranberry sauce, and a tot!"

"That sounds really good, actually," you say to Phoebe.

"Oh, yeah, it does," she agrees.

"Can you finish mashing these?" you ask her, shifting on your feet. "I have to pee."

"Yeah, of course."

"Awesome, thanks." Handing her over your tools, you grab your bag and head to the bathroom.

Two minutes later, you're met with several frantic knocks closely followed by Chandler's voice. "Dude, come on, you have to see this. The Underdog balloon's gotten loose and is flying over the city! Come on, hurry up!"

"What?" You stare at the door. "Dude, what if I'm dropping a deuce in here? You can't rush that shit. Literally."

"Well, are you?"

Looking at the magazine in your hand, you answer, "No, I'm reading Vogue."

"Then hurry up!"

"Alright, fine, Jesus."

After finishing up and washing your hands, you open the door to see Chandler standing there. He's bouncing from foot to foot and if you didn't know any better you would assume he would have to use the restroom as well.

"You washed your hands?"

"No," you reply, before poking him in the cheek a few times.

He just smiles before taking your hand and practically dragging you out of the apartment. "Come on, come on!"

"Okay, okay," you laugh before closing the door behind you and climbing the stairs to the roof with your friend.

~*~

Forty-five action-packed minutes later, you walk back downstairs after the end of the whole Underdog debacle.

"The moment when we first saw the giant dog shadow all over the park was just amazing," Rachel says.

"Did they really have to shoot him down, though?" you ask.

Phoebe nods in agreement. "Yeah, that was just mean."

Smiling, Monica approaches the door. "Okay. Right about now, the turkey should be crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside." But then she asks, "Why are we standing here?"

"We're waiting for you to open the door," Rachel answers as if it's obvious. "You've got the keys."

"N--no I don't."

Rachel tilts her head. "Yes, you do. When we left, you said, 'got the keys.'"

"No, I didn't. I asked, 'got the keys?'"

"No, no, no, you said, 'got the keys.'"

"Either of you have the keys?" Chandler asks.

Jiggling the doorknob, Monica exclaims, "The oven is on!"

"Oh, I've got to get my ticket," Rachel worries.

Joey then exclaims, "Oh, wait, wait. We have a copy of your key!"

"Well, then, get it, get it!"

"Hey, that tone won't make me go any faster."

Monica raises a brow. "Joey."

And then Joey scrambles back into his apartment and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

"Who closed the door, anyway?" Rachel wonders.

Heat rushes to your face and you look down at your nails and inspect them.

"Well, Chandler and y/n were the last up," Phoebe points out. "So..."

With everyone's eyes on you, you glance up like this is the first you've heard. Then you sigh and drop your hand. "Hey, look, I was in the bathroom when Chandler begged me to come out. It's not my fault!"

"She's right," Monica mutters, looking down. "But it's fine because Joey went to get the key."

As if by some kind of irony, Joey walks in with an entire drawer full of keys.

"So, I didn't remember which one it was," he admits over the jingle of metal. "But it's gotta be one of these." Handing it over to Chandler, he kneels beside the door and gets to work.

In the meantime, you sit down on the floor and gently thump your head against a wall, wondering if this is how every American Thanksgiving goes.

Monica paces back and forth for a few minutes while Joey tests the different keys--where did he get so many, anyway?--before asking in a slightly panicked tone, "Can you go any faster with that?"

"Hey, I got one keyhole and about a zillion keys," Joey answers. "You do the math."

"Why do you guys have so many keys in there, anyway?" Rachel asks.

"For an emergency just like this," Chandler replies in his trademark sarcastic tone.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Rachel pulls him close to her face. "Alright, listen, Smirky. If it wasn't for you and your stupid balloon, I would be on a plane right now. But I'm not."

"I swear you said you had the keys!" Monica exclaims, still not over this.

"No, I didn't. I wouldn't say I had the keys unless I had the keys and I obviously did not have the keys!"

Phoebe immediately gets between the two of them. "Ooh, alright, okay, that's it. Enough with the keys. No one say keys."

The two girls huff and turn away from each other, arms crossed. It's quiet for a moment before Monica blurts out, "Why would I have the keys?"

"Aside from the fact that you said you had them?"

"But I didn't!"

"Well, you should have."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why?"

"Because."

You sigh, dropping your head to your knees. If only you hadn't closed the door, you would be eating delicious buttered rolls and green beans right now.

"Why, because it's my responsibility? Is that it? Isn't it enough that I'm making Thanksgiving dinner for everyone?" Monica sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "You know, everyone wants a different kind of potato. So I'm making different kinds of potatoes. I mean, does anybody care what kind of potatoes I want?"

Before you can ask, she goes on.

"No, no, no! You know, just as long as Phoebe gets her peas and onions and Mario gets his tots. And..." Her voice breaks. "It's my first Thanksgiving and I... It's all burned and..." She can't get any more words out as tears form in her eyes.

Frowning, you stand up and wrap your arms around her. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry."

"Hey, the doors open now, here we go."

Monica pulls herself away from you and runs in. The apartment is filled with smoke and the scent of burnt everything almost chokes you.

Angrily, she turns the oven off and opens it. "Well, the turkey's burnt. Potatoes are ruined. Potatoes are ruined. Potatoes are ruined."

As you go to open just about every window you can, Ross walks in singing like he doesn't notice the low visibility in the apartment.

It takes him a few strides, but he eventually does.

"This doesn't smell like mom's."

"No, it doesn't does it? But you wanted lumps, Ross?" Reaching into the pot, Monica lifts a wooden spoon that seems to be embedded into a disc of burnt potatoes. "Well, you got one."

Rachel groans and throws the phone down on the touch. "Oh, God, this is great! The plane is gone, so I guess I'm stuck here with you guys."

"Hey, we all had better plans, okay?" Joey says. "This was nobody's first choice."

Monica laughs dryly. "Oh, really? So why was I busting my ass to make this delicious Thanksgiving dinner?"

"You call that delicious?"

As a cacophony of arguments fills the air, you stand by Chandler and ask, "Is every American Thanksgiving holiday like this?"

"Surprisingly, yes," he answers.

And as you breathe a laugh, Chandler feels something strange stir in his chest. But he looks away before he can dwell on it.

Jumping up and down while chanting "stop!", Monica gets the chatter to stop.

Taking what you know to only be a moment of silence, you say, "Okay, everyone just calm down. Okay? Look, I'm sorry I closed the door. That was my fault. Had I known no one had the key, I wouldn't have, but I didn't know and neither did Rachel or Monica. Whatever." Walking over and taking Monica's hands, you continue. "Mon, I am so sorry about your food. It all looked delicious and I promise we will make it up to you, okay? Let's just all cool down and not make this place look like my chainsmoking grandma's house."

"Thank you," Monica says, squeezing your arm.

And then you smile and give her a tight hug. You love your friends more than anything in the world.

~*~

Later, after the apartment is all aired out, you're all just lounging about feeling sorry for yourself. You're still kicking yourself at closing the door, but you know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, not really. Just miscommunication. At least nothing caught on fire. Other than the food.

You're still starving. You hadn't eaten anything all day in preparation for this meal and you're beginning to feel lightheaded.

You're sitting beside Chandler at the kitchen table and tap your fingers against the wood. You let out a breath before whispering his name from across the table.

Chandler, who was lost in thought again, looks at you with raised brows. "What?"

"I'm hungry," you whisper, cheek leaning in your fist and making your lips slightly squished.

Chandler smiles and leans a little closer in case anyone does hear. "I still have tomato soup and stuff for grilled cheese at my apartment." He moves his hand a little closer to yours unintentionally. "Wanna...sneak out of this very lively dinner party?"

You giggle softly and lift your head to nod.

But just as you're both about to stand up, Phoebe says, "Oh, God, ew. Ugly naked guy's taking his turkey out of the oven."

There's a unanimous groan of disgust. How someone can walk around their apartment butt-ass naked with the curtains wide open you'll never understand. You get insecure doing it with the blinds drawn at night.

"Oh, my God, he's not alone."

This is new.

"Ugly naked guy is having Thanksgiving dinner with ugly naked gal."

Once again, all at the same time, your friends run up beside Phoebe to spy on this poor, poor man. A few months ago, you'd feel bad, but he's the one with huge windows.

You stand beside Chandler and gaze across the street at this man. He is ugly and he is naked but he has a girlfriend. Or, at least, someone who is comfortable enough to be naked around him.

"Aw," you whisper, finding something oddly sweet about this.

"Alright ugly naked guy," Joey congratulates as if the man can hear him.

"Ooh, ugly naked dancing!" Monic points out.

When ugly naked guy spins his...partner around, your heart squeezes in a weird way.

"It's nice that he has someone," Phoebe says.

The skin on your arm prickles and you turn to see Chandler looking at you. Why is he looking at you?

But, then, it doesn't matter why he's looking at you, just that he is. Your friend smiles at you on Thanksgiving evening and you reach out a hand to touch the side of his face, to touch where his hair is long and is curling over his ears.

And then his smile widens and you swear you see a little pink rise to his cheeks. But, then again, it's still a bit smokey in the apartment.

When everyone else goes to sit down, you pull away from Chandler to get their attention.

"So, like, is anyone hungry? Chandler says he still has tomato soup."

And that's where you all find yourselves an hour later. The disintegrated food has been thrown away and you comforted the few tears that Monica still had.

"I'm sure they would have tasted great, Mon," you told her, an arm around her shoulder.

The table is set and everyone sits around it while you help Chandler with the sandwiches. He notices you have a talent for making grilled cheese, as he watches you flip the sandwich in the air with ease.

"How are you so good at that?" he asks you, leaning his hip on the counter. He's a little close, perhaps a little too close for the just friends that you are, but you say nothing and he makes no attempt to move.

You shrug, putting the pan back down on the burner. "My dad made me grilled cheeses all the time as a kid."

"Oh, really?"

"No, he's lactose intolerant." You grin mischievously up at him, teeth poking out from behind your lips.

Chandler puffs out a breath and rolls his eyes, but a smile rises to his lips. You're annoying. Annoyingly cute. Is that even possible?

"My mom was the one who made them," you continue, breaking his gaze and plopping the sandwich onto the plate already stacked with three. You hold out the pan to him and say, "Cheese me, Bing."

"Is that a euphemism?" he asks, turning to pick up the two slices of bread with two slices of cheese in the middle.

"You wish."

He does.

He puts the sandwich on the hot pan and watches you put it back down on the burner. "I don't think this cheese has any dairy in it, though."

"Yeah, you're right. It tastes too plasticky."

Chandler thinks the way your nose wrinkles up when you talk about something distasteful to be so cute.

As usual, the drone of his friends' chatter seems to fall away as he talks to you. He still leans close to you, his hip touching yours, but you make no move to step away. You look so nice tonight, he thought so the moment he and Joey entered late in the morning. You're not dressed super fancy, but you clearly wanted to look presentable. Dressed in jeans with the legs rolled up to show off your funky patterned socks and chunky white shoes. A dark, oversized flannel shirt has been pulled over your Deftones shirt that's tucked into your pants and your hair is pulled back with all the cooking.

Chandler wants to kiss you, right then and there.

He almost does. He feels himself lean forward the tinyist bit as his eyes fixate on your lips. His mouth drops open and he feels bad for not listening to you anymore, but only for just a second. How can he think straight when you're wearing lip gloss?

But before he can get any closer, you say his name, poking him in the chest. Chandler comes back down to earth then, blinking almost as rapidly as your poking.

Your eyes are wide as you point to the bread and the cheese.

"Chandler, come on, cheese me up!"

And he does, but not in the way he wants. He quickly makes another sandwich and puts it in the pan before turning away quickly. Heat is creeping up his neck and while he wants to blame it on the stove, he knows you won't believe it.

As he serves his friends the soup, he catches Ross's look and breaks it almost as quickly as it formed.

He definitely didn't almost kiss you. Nope. No way. That would be wrong. So wrong.

After a few more sandwiches are cooked, you take your seat next to Rachel as Chandler loads the plate with sandwiches.

"Good idea, by the way," Ross says from across the table.

You shrug, smiling. "Well, I figured we needed something to eat. And what better for an American Thanksgiving than canned soup and plastic cheese?"

Your friends laugh again and that pride swells in your chest again.

"Shall I carve?" Chandler asks, referring to the sandwiches.

"By all means."

"Yeah."

"Okay." Cutting them in half diagonally, Chandler begins to pass the plate around. "Who wants light cheese and who wants dark cheese?"

Ross makes a face. "I don't even want to know about the dark cheese."

"Actually, I've heard of this marbled cheese that's, like, aged with Guinness beer that has a weird brown color to it," you say, taking a sandwich. "It gives me trypophobia, though."

"Does anybody want to spit this with me?" Monica asks.

"I will," Joey says.

"Ooh, you guys have to make a wish!" Phoebe exclaims.

Monica repeats the statement, confused.

Phoebe nods. "You know. Thanksgiving. Like a wishbone."

Each taking one side of the sandwich, Monica and Joey pull until it tears into two. Joey ends up getting the slightly bigger half.

"What'd you wish for?" you ask. "Since you got the bigger half."

Joey blinks. "The bigger half."

You roll your eyes, not sure what you were expecting.

Chandler taps on the side of his glass with a knife. "Alright, I'd like to propose a toast!"

Putting your spoon down, you raise your wine glass filled with apple juice--as Monica's cider also went bad.

"I know this isn't exactly the kind of Thanksgiving you all planned," he begins. "Or was expecting." He glances at you and you smile just a little. "But, for me, this has been really great, you know? I think because it didn't involve divorce or...projectile vomiting." He pauses. "Anyway, I was just thinkin', I mean, if you had gone to Vail or if you guys had been with your family or if you didn't have syphilis and stuff..." Joey's predicament with his model job will never fail to make you laugh. "We wouldn't have all been together, you know? So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that, uh, I'm very thankful that all of your Thanksgivings sucked."

Smiling, you all clink your glasses and take a sip.

"And, hey, here's to a lousy Christmas," Ross says.

"And a crappy New Year," Rachel adds.

"Hear, hear!"

Taking another sip, you feel the need to say something. "I'm thankful, too."

"For what?" Chandler asks, sitting down beside you.

Shrugging, you feel heat creep up onto your cheeks, though you're not sure why. "Well. It's cheesy, but I'm thankful for you guys."

Your friends 'aw' and Rachel touches your arm.

"I mean, you guys were kind enough to take me into your little group this year," you elaborate, smiling. "You know? It was so sweet, especially when I'm a noob to this city, this country. I'm lucky and grateful to have you guys."

"We're lucky to have you," Phoebe says.

"Yeah. This whole feast was your idea," Ross adds.

You shrug. "True." Glancing at Monica, you see that she still seems kind of down. So you say, "Next holiday we won't get locked out of the apartment and we'll finally taste Monica's delicious cooking. And the potatoes that she wants."

And then Monica smiles perhaps the largest you've ever seen her smile. And you do too, clinking your glasses again.

Chandler cannot stop looking at you. He almost kissed you. And while he should regret it, he doesn't. Maybe something can work out between the pair of you. One day.