AN: This is set when Chandler's a kid. Before the divoece- I'd say Chandler's about seven years old.
At a very young age, Chandler already never wanted to grow up. This wish had nothing to do with the usual Peter Pan mania most young boys went through at one time or another (if Chandler had ever been exposed to any of the Peter Pan franchise, he would have compared himself to a Lost Boy). But as it stood, the only Peter Pan-related merchandise he had ever come across was a (mercifully bad quality) X-rated movie imaginatively entitled 'The Advantages of James Hook's Hook'.
No, the real reason Chandler didn't want to grow up was simply that the maids had long ago drilled into his head that he shouldn't subject the world to his pranks, or else people would believe the apocalypse had arrived. Chandler wasn't sure exactly what the "apopsicleipse" was, but something about the way Delores (that was the maid's name) said it made it sound like a bad thing. She made a lot of things sound bad, but the maids were the only people that really talked to Chandler, so he usually listened to them (even if he rarely obeyed them).
So he had a plan: he would forever roam the halls of the mansion in Albany, carefully avoiding the pool house (Dad insisted he'd just been having a "friendly chat", but Chandler had seen enough of the movies his mom usually forgot to hide in the back of her closet for the whole experience to leave a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn't quite explain).
He would wander his mom's gigantic, all-white apartment, where she stayed during her frequent trips to Manhattan. Chandler was always careful not to leave smudgy fingerprints on any of the gleaming surfaces. The last time he had, the housekeeper had gripped his arm so hard that purplish welts had formed on the underside of his arm.
Chandler had been fascinated by this- Glenda (that was the housekeeper's name) had before only left beige discolorations, like bruises on fruit. She had called them "fairy kisses" and Chandler knew enough not to ask why fairy kisses should sting so much. The purplish markings had horrified Glenda, and she'd quickly shoved a thick sweater over his head, even though it was over 90 degrees outside. Chandler knew enough not to ask why.
Chandler knew a lot of things- a lot more than most people gave him credit for. He knew it was safer to hand Rufus, the chauffeur's son, his pocket money at the end of every week (Rufus was almost ten years old, and had definite thug bodyguard potential). He knew to let the maids tell his parents elaborate stories of tumbles down stairs and foolish tree-climbing. He knew to let them swipe cakey dust the exact shade of his skin across his cheek when "they thought he would like it". Chandler knew to let himself believe them when they called it "playing dress-up". He knew to not make the connection between the days they rubbed on the dust and the days fairy kisses covered his face.
Because all Chandler had ever wanted to be was normal.