A/N: More shameless, plotless sap from me. I should try and write something more substantial, but this is such great stress relief in these exam times (and also, if a company could just hand me a thesis project instead of me having to send out millions of dead-end applications, I would be so happy).
Something About You
Chandler closes the door to his apartment building with a relieved sigh, stomping his feet to get rid of the worst of the snow that had stuck to his shoes during his trek from the subway. He dislikes snow on the best of days, and today is not one of them. It has been a long day at the office with half the staff late or unable to get in at all due to the chaotic traffic situation. Finally, he had simply given up and told the guys in his group to just fix some rough numbers and call it a weekend. Tomorrow will probably be just as bad, if the forecasts are to be even remotely trusted, so there is seriously no point in even trying to get to the office anymore this week.
Cold drops of melting snow finding their way under his scarf brings him out of his gloomy thoughts and he begins to brush the snow out of his hair as he begins to walk up the stairs. As he rounds the corner he almost runs into Rachel, dressed in the hugest winter coat that Chandler has ever seen, also wearing what looks like galoshes plus a woolen cap with matching mittens.
"Hey, Amundsen," he says automatically, taking in her outfit. He doesn't think he has ever seen Rachel dressed quite so practically before. "I wouldn't go out there if I were you. It's still coming down."
"Shut up, Chandler," she replies gloomily, re-arranging her scarf.
"O-kay?"
She sighs, giving up on her scarf. "Emergency at the office. I have to get there somehow."
Chandler can't fathom what sort of emergency that could possibly come up in an office that works with fashion, but then, he is in no position to judge. He works with highly hypothetical numbers. "The subway smells like sour salopettes," he reports. "But it's still working."
"Hooray," Rachel says, unenthused. "Monica's making hot chocolate, you can take my share if you want."
"Thanks." Chandler pats her shoulder sympathetically, even as he is inwardly rejoicing at the prospect of getting a few hours alone with Monica. The day is starting to look better. "Good luck."
Rachel mumbles something under her breath as she proceeds down the stairs, but he is unable to make out the words. From the tone of her voice, however, he guesses that this is just as well. He climbs the last set of stairs, somewhat warmer from the exercise but still very eager to get out of his wet clothes. The only thing worse than having wet feet is the feeling of cold water slowly seeping down his spine.
The door is locked and the apartment empty. Chandler kicks off his shoes and leaves them by the door. He should probably get a rag to keep melted dirty water to leak all over the floor, but he can't quite work up the energy to be bothered, even though he can imagine Monica wincing at his carelessness. The thought of a shower is tempting, but so is hot chocolate. When Monica gives in to temptation she does it properly, with whipped cream and marshmallows, and probably even extra chocolate syrup on top.
That thought keeps him going as he heads into the bedroom to get changed. He gets himself into a pair of sweat pants and shirt, and upon some hesitation also a pair of woolen socks that he doesn't even remember buying. If he is going to be slumming, he figures that he might as well go all out with it. Besides, they're warm.
Chandler enters Monica's apartment and is instantly greeted by the warm scents of hot chocolate. It is like balm on his bad day, and the only thing better than it is the sight of Monica. She is poking through the cupboards after something and looks up in surprise as he enters. "Hey, you."
She is dressed in sweats as well, which is unusual for her, and Chandler can't quite identify the sudden, odd feeling in his gut. It is a good feeling, and she always looks sexy, but this is something more than that. More and better, so good it could almost make him panic if he hadn't also been so intent on being here and now.
"Rachel said something about hot chocolate?" He tries to give her a puppy eyed look, and it succeeds in making her laugh.
"We were going to have a girl's night." She shakes her head ruefully. "Poor Rachel. I'm so glad I don't have to go out in this."
"You're lucky you had the day off." He steps close to her, marveling at the fact that he can do this now, that he wants to and that she wants him to. Her back fits so perfectly against his chest and it feels natural, then, to let his arms slide around her body in an embrace. Her warmth is invigorating. "I hope you don't mind me stepping in as a substitute tonight."
There is a light, almost non-sound, like an amused puff of air, and Chandler assumes that it is the smile that he can't see. "Can I paint your toenails then?"
It makes him smile, as well, and he is kind of glad that Monica can't see it because he thinks he probably looks rather goofy. "You can feed me some chocolate, for starters."
"Yeah, just looking for the marshmallows." She begins to move, and Chandler reluctantly lets her go to allow her to whip up her special hot chocolate. He had been right in assuming that she would go all out on the good stuff. She does, and beyond.
"Oh god," he says after his first sip. "This is actually heaven. In a cup."
She looks pleased as she sits down on a chair beside him, even though she rolls her eyes. "There are more calories in that cup than in everything else you've eaten today. Combined."
He shrugs, not overly bothered, and takes another sip. "Can't be that many calories in cup noodles."
"No, but there's probably additives that will be passing through your system for years." Monica shakes her head. She is cradling her mug, and her foot is stretched out as she is casually pressing her ankle against Chandler's. "You should stop eating that crap."
Chandler shrugs again. "It's cheaper than buying lunch every day."
"I never knew you were such a cheapskate." Monica pokes his calf with her toe. "Nice socks, by the way."
He wiggles his toes at her; the movement almost lost in the thick knit. "You like them? I thought they set the mood."
She snorts, but looks amused. "Where did you get them, anyway?"
"I have no idea." He actually doesn't. He takes a moment to try and search through his memory but he can't recall ever buying them. His next thought is that they were a gift from Janice, but that's not right either. "Seriously, I don't know. They're magically appearing socks."
Monica smiles into her mug, but doesn't answer, which is just as well because she is not too good at being whimsical. She can be tricked into it sometimes, but mostly, Monica's world is one of logic and rules. It is one of the odd ways in which she is actually quite similar to her brother.
Chandler's bad mood is completely gone by now. It is amazing how it works. Like a two-step system, he thinks. First he is slowly drained of the bad energy; then, Monica's warmth will slowly start to seep into his very system, giving him back his very spirit.
He has been thinking about it lately, how scared he is of messing this up. Saying that he has a bad track record for relationships is a laughable understatement, it is making him feel almost guarded. It is difficult not to get his hopes up, however, when Monica seems just an enthusiastic as he feels. It is a first for him.
"What are you thinking about?"
Monica's question startles him out of his thoughts. He cracks a smile. "Nothing. Just hoping that Rachel will get snowed in at her office, so we get an entire night to ourselves."
"That's mean." But Monica laughs as she berates him, and leans closer to him, smiling gleefully. "I hope so too!"
It is such an obvious invitation to a kiss, Chandler would be a fool not to take it. She responds, soft and somehow comfortably, and it confirms all of his mushy thoughts. It ends up not being a very long kiss, because Monica has to squirm around oddly in her chair to be turned to him, and Chandler is still holding his mug of chocolate, hovering it awkwardly in the air.
"Well," he says, setting the mug on the table. He glances past Monica's head and out of the windows. It is still snowing heavily. Now that he is inside he finds it almost ridiculously pretty, like something out of a Christmas card. He pushes his worries away, for now. "I guess we'll see what happens."