The Best Thanksgiving Ever
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Woke up with this in my head Thanksgiving morning…sorry it's a bit late; I didn't have time to write until today. I will be finishing Night Moves…as soon as I find motivation to do so. This is just some 5th season Mondler drabble…because there is no such thing as too much of that. And short and sweet is all I have time for right now. Reviews, of course, always appreciated. :)
~.~
Chandler lay in bed beside Monica, who he was fairly certain had been asleep for quite some time now, unable to get to sleep himself. He really should sleep, though, because it would only be a couple more short hours until she would have to get up and sneak home before anyone else got up. His mind was still racing from the events and discovering of the day, though, keeping him awake.
Before they'd started sharing stories of the worst Thanksgivings ever, and before finding out Monica had accidentally cut off his toe in retaliation for his calling her fat (he wasn't quite sure which discovery mortified him more), he'd been thankful the conversation had turned from what everyone was thankful for, to who had claim over the worst Thanksgiving ever. Because, as soon as Rachel had said they should all say what they were thankful for that year, only one thing, or, rather, one person came to mind: Monica.
He was thankful for Monica. And, rather than thinking about how terrible this god-forsaken holiday really was…he was thinking about how he was thankful for Monica. Which lead him blurt out those Three Words of all words earlier: I love you.
You're so great; I love you.
Monica had just looked so adorably ridiculous with that turkey on her head, dancing around his kitchen, attempting to cheer him up, and it had hit him, fully and completely, how thankful he was for this woman in his life and his entire history with her.
And…he loved her.
He wasn't there yet. He wasn't there yet, and yet…he loved her. She knew he wasn't there yet, and he knew she wouldn't push him. Because she knew him well enough to know when he needed to be pushed and when to let him work things out on his own.
She really was great.
He loved her, goddamnit.
He loved this woman, asleep, in his bed, whom he had called fat as a teenager, who had cut off his toe, whom he had become friends with, very good friends with, over the years, who had once laughed at the thought of dating him…he loved her.
His heart was about to beat out of his chest at merely the thought. Shit. He loved her.
He wasn't supposed to fall in love with Monica.
…was he?
Maybe he was.
Moot point; he had.
Rolling onto his stomach, he hovered slightly over her, leaning down to kiss her softly on the lips
You're so great; I love you.
If she had been asleep, it must have been a light sleep, because a few seconds later, she was kissing him back, returning his affections just as eagerly, letting out everything he was feeling yet wasn't ready to vocalize. When he finally pulled back, they stared at each other for a few seconds before Chandler lay back down, Monica cuddling up beside him.
"I know," her voice broke the silence of the room, barely a whisper. "Me, too."
And then, silence. Comfortable silence.
Chandler took a deep breath, knowing that's all that would be said on the subject until he was ready to say it for real. But, at that moment, all that mattered was that they both knew how they felt, they both felt the same, and, for all intents and purposes, today would go down in Chandler's history as The Best Thanksgiving Ever.
Damnit, she'd even managed to make Thanksgiving an almost tolerable day...