"I think it's getting too cold to sit on the roof, Chandler," I say as the cold wind hits me and I jump from foot to foot, trying to keep warm.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Mon?" he asks as he grabs my arm, pulling me out to our usual spot.

"It's someplace warm," I answer through chattering teeth. "My sense of adventure lives somewhere warm. It hibernates in the winter."

"First of all, it' s only October so it's still fall. Second of all, too bad. The adventures will continue in cold weather."

"All right, smarty pants, but it's almost Halloween so that means it's late fall—"

"Middle of fall," he interrupts. "Technically it's fall until late December. Didn't you learn anything at that public school of yours?"

"I learned manners, which is more than I can say about your private school education." Ever since I found out that Chandler grew up rich, I've been able to tease him mercilessly. Finally. He's almost impossible to embarrass except when the subject turns to money and his privileged upbringing. I'm not sure why it bothers him, really; maybe it's because, at least for a while, he had so much when others had so little, but he can't help that. He was just a kid—it was his parents' money. Still is, at least what's left of it. "You know, it's the middle of the night. I don't have to put up with this sort of treatment when I could be at home in my warm bed." He just gives me a disbelieving look.

"Really? With your grandmother around?"

"She's always asleep when I get home. I get a few hours of peace before she starts asking me when I'm going to get married. She doesn't realize there aren't a lot of eligible bachelors that walk through the doors of the Moonlight Lounge." I shiver again—it really is unseasonably cold for this time of year. "You know, it's easy for you to say that it's only fall when you're wearing pants. This skirt is drafty."

He rubs his hands up and down my arms for a few moments, trying to warm me up. "Come here—I came prepared." He pulls me over to the chairs we've scavenged from various parts of the building over the last few months and plops me down. He grabs a blanket out of his rucksack and shakes it out, wrapping it around my shoulders; instantly, I start to feel better. He pulls out a thermos next, handing it over to me. "And because I know you don't really like coffee…"

I twist off the cap, smiling happily when the smell hits me. "Hot chocolate!"

He settles himself next to me and hold out my arm so he can use the blanket, too. "One day, you'll realize just how wonderful coffee is," he tells me as I press myself against his side, his body heat doing the trick.

"Until then, I'll just have to settle for chocolate."

He snatches the thermos out of my hands, taking a quick sip and smacking his lips happily. "Coffee is really much more dignified," he tells me, and I lift an eyebrow at him, biting back a laugh at the chocolate stuck to his upper lip.

"Obviously. Then maybe you should let me have my undignified hot chocolate and go find some coffee." I reach out to grab the container back from him but he stretches out his arm, holding it out of reach. I make a fist at him and he relents with a sigh.

"You always go right to violence," he complains, pouting, and I sip the chocolate contentedly.

"It's the only thing you respond to."

He pulls the blanket tighter around us, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to keep me warm. "Speaking of winter—"

"That's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

He ignores me. "I know it's early, but I was wondering what you and your family do for Christmas."

"Ummm, we don't celebrate Christmas."

He pulls back in shock, staring at me. "Why not?"

"Because we're—" I pause for a moment and look around, even though I know that there's no one up here to overhear me. "We're Jewish," I finish softly, and a look of understanding comes over his face.

"Ohhhhhh. I never thought about it." Lately, that's all I've been thinking about. There have been some scattered reports about Jews being rounded up in Europe, but the details have been scarce. I've heard very little information at the Lounge about it, too, though I'm pretty sure I heard someone say "execution" the other day. I don't know what it all means.

Ross and I have been dealing with anti-Semitism our entire lives, though when we moved in with our grandmother and changed schools, we decided to keep it quiet and just pretend to celebrate Christmas like the other kids. I've seen some people get harassed pretty badly over the last few years, and something must be trickling over to us from Europe because it feels like there've been more attacks on Jews lately.

It's horrifying even though most people don't know I'm Jewish, and it makes me even more grateful that I have Chandler to walk me home at night.

The world is a really scary place right now.

I feel his hand stroke my arm soothingly and I realize I'm shivering again, though this time for an entirely different reason. "I don't know if makes any difference to you," he whispers. "But it doesn't matter to me. You and Ross are my friends and you're good people and that's the only thing that matters in my book."

"Thank you. I just wish the rest of the world felt the same."

"Maybe one day."

"Maybe."

We're silent for a few minutes and I sip the hot chocolate, finally passing it back to him.

"So, what do you do for Hanukkah?"

I smile a little wistfully. "Not that much these days. We light the menorah and say the prayers and blessings; we don't really go to the Synagogue anymore. When Ross and I were small, our mother would cook these wonderful meals; her latkes were to die for. My father didn't pay much attention to it after she died and we all but stopped celebrating it after the Depression started. It could be a little better this year since I have a job and we might be able to afford a few extras. What do you do for Christmas?"

"Oh, you know. The usual." He shrugs and looks down at me, then smiles at what must be a confused look on my face. "I guess you don't know. We decorate the tree and exchange presents. Sometimes we have family come over and have a big dinner."

"Like what?"

He shifts uncomfortably, putting the thermos down on the ground next to him. "Just the standards, really."

"Tell me."

"Monica…"

"Chandler, it's not your fault you grew up with money."

"I know, but…"

I put my hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. "It doesn't bother me, if that's what you're wondering."

His hand finds mine, sliding our fingers together for a few seconds. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. How often have I lied to you?"

"Well, sure, there is that. There was ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, onion pie—"

"Onion pie?" I interrupt with a laugh. "What on earth is that?"

"Just what it sounds like, kid. A pie of onions and it's glorious." He gives me a funny look. "You don't eat ham, do you?"

I just shake my head and shrug. "It's against the religion. I've managed to survive almost eighteen years without it, though, so I suppose we Jews are doing something right."

He snickers and gives my shoulder a nudge. "I suppose so. Well, if you ever come to my mother's house for Christmas—you know, just as a cover, of course—I'll be sure to tell her we need turkey instead. You do eat turkey, right?"

I pause for a moment. "You know, I don't really remember. We haven't been able to afford a turkey in a long time."

"Oh, Monica…"

"Chandler, please don't feel sorry for me, all right? There are a lot of people out there who have it much worse than I ever did. We may not have much, but at least I've always had a roof over my head and some food to eat. There are just some things that are an extravagance and turkey is one of them. I've managed to survive without that, too."

"I'm sorry; I just don't like to see people I care about suffering."

"Is that why you insisted we sit on a roof in the middle of the night when the wind is blowing like this? To avoid seeing me suffer?" I tease, and it does the trick.

"I should clarify; I don't like to see people I care about suffering unless it's entertaining for me."

"You are a true gentleman, sir."

"I like to think so." I grab his side and pinch; he twists away, his mouth dropping open. "Ow ow ow! Why are you so violent?"

"It's a rule—if you grow up poor, you have to be violent."

"A rule? Really? Where is that written?"

"It's a handbook we get."

He scoots back to me, cautiously this time. "That seems terribly unlikely."

"I don't make the rules," I answer, leaning against his side again. "I just follow them."

He just shakes his head and I tilt my face toward the night sky. It's truly beautiful right now, even if it's too cold to be sitting out here like this. The sky is inky black and full of stars; up here, it's easy to let yourself believe that world is at peace and everything is going to be all right.

Chandler started inviting me to sit up here with him not long after I found out he'd been following me home. At first, I thought he was off his rocker, but I quickly discovered just how nice it could be to take a few minutes to just relax with someone and look out over the city, especially after work some nights. To be able to just take a few moments to sit and unwind is very cathartic; it usually means I get home in the wee hours of the night, but since it usually takes me a while to unwind and get to sleep after work, it's nice to have someone to talk to. My grandmother is always asleep when I get home so she doesn't notice if it's one in the morning or four in the morning.

"Your birthday's coming up soon, isn't it?"

I blink a couple of times, almost surprised by the sound of his voice. "It is. Eighteen at last."

"At least I won't have to spend time with some kid anymore." I lift my arm to elbow him but he manages to catch me before I make contact. "I'm just teasing. I can promise you that eighteen doesn't feel much different than seventeen."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"Just a simple fact, though you'll be able to drink now if you want. Any big plans?"

"I don't even have small plans; it's a work night. I'm sure what I'm about to say won't come as a shock to you, but it's been quite some time since I had a birthday celebration."

I don't know what I was expecting, but he kisses my temple and wraps both of his arms around me; my heart jumps for a second before I get myself under control. I've gotten better at not reacting to Chandler that way, but it's still a struggle at times, especially when he does something sweet like that out of the blue. I swallow hard and pat his hand. "Most of the people I know haven't had a birthday party in years. Besides, you get to an age where parties like that seem sort of silly." That's only a partial truth; they seem silly, but it would have been nice to have them once in a while.

"Do you want to do anything for your birthday?" he asks me softly and I shrug, smiling.

"We could go to the diner with Ross and Phoebe," I suggest and he makes a face at me.

"Or…"

"Or...you could walk me home from work and bring me up here for a little while."

"That's the same thing we do almost every night," he complains.

"But I like it. I guess if you want to switch things up a bit, you could find another building."

"Then we wouldn't have all of our supplies."

"They why are you complaining? "

I can see him opening and closing his mouth a few times out of the corner of my eye and feel a smug smile spread across my face. "Fine," he finally concedes. "If that's what you want."

"It's what I want," I assure him.

He stands with a sigh, holding a hand out to me to help me stand. "One of these days, I'm going to have to teach you how to dream big, Monica."

I give his fingers a squeeze as he leads me to the door to head back downstairs. "I like my small dreams just fine, thank you."