A/N: I feel iffy about updating on a Monday, but oh well.
This series is quite sappy on its own because S5 Mondler is just... *chef's kiss*, but this (un-beta'd) chapter is by far the sappiest thing I've ever written. Brace yourselves for some incoming sugar rush. It takes place between E8 and just before E9.
Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed If It's Love. Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows for this fic, too :)
And to any Russian readers here, If It's Love has been translated into Russian by the lovely wailfulfairytales. The first few chapters are now up for reading. The link to the story is available on my Bio.
That Thing Called Love
Chapter 15
She knew at what pace to turn the doorknob to apartment 19 so that it wouldn't squeak like an annoying little mouse. One inch, click, two inches, click, one more inch, click, and one last big turn that made the loudest creak. She paused to let the noise settle, pressing her ear against the now open door to make sure that her brother hadn't roused in his sofa-bed.
When silence prevailed, she pushed the door open gently. The living room was darker than the dimly lit hallway. She quickly, quietly closed the door again so that the light wouldn't seep through. She could make out the bulky form of a blanket-covered Ross on the yellow couch, and she could definitely hear his loud snores that matched the ceaseless hum of his air purifier. As she snuck into Chandler's apartment more and more often, she could fully empathize with Chandler's immense hatred for this godforsaken piece of equipment.
She stopped again to make sure that Ross's snoring stayed rhythmic. And then she began her most exciting nightly game in recent weeks — navigating the incredibly cluttered ten-foot distance from the apartment door to her boyfriend's door without making a single noise.
While Chandler had claimed that he felt like he was going to die from sheer anxiety every time he sneaked out of his apartment without waking up Ross, she herself found the thrill of it so very addictive, and hence she had offered to carry out the riskiest part of the sneaking about each night.
Chandler tried to clear out the space for her before he went to bed, but Ross was apparently unpredictable with his nighttime needs. She'd lost track of the number of times she'd found open boxes in the middle of the room with random crap strewn about the floor. She'd almost admonished Ross one morning about the messes he made at night, before she'd stopped herself just in time when Chandler had directed a pointed look at her.
When she was more than halfway through the room, she felt something crunch under her heel, just loud enough for her to hear. She froze, glancing at her still-sleeping brother. When her heart stopped its panicked pounding, she crouched down to look at what it was. It turned out to be a Rolo. Oh great, so now she was dealing with Joey's mess, too?
Still looking at the Rolo, she took a step further toward Chandler's room, and this time, her foot banged against something that was certainly a lot larger and heavier than a Rolo. Her stubbed toe throbbed like a dying trout. She bit her lip hard to stop herself from crying out in pain and swiftly leaned forward for support, her palm landing on Chandler's door frame with a loud smack.
Her body instinctively went rigid again. She clutched the door frame tightly, holding her breath, adrenaline driving her pulse into a frenzy, because her brother's steady snores had abruptly stopped. She didn't have the courage to turn her head and check whether Ross really was awake, so she looked down to see what traitorous object had tripped her — a box entitled Bathroom Misc.
She thought she heard Chandler's footsteps on the other side, but she wasn't sure. When she gathered enough nerves to turn her head and look at Ross, her heart instantly stopped beating.
His eyes were wide open, staring straight at her.
This was it. This was the moment that she and Chandler had been dreading for months. And of course, it was going to be a bunch of toilet brushes that would get to decide when it was time for their relationship to be out in the open.
Ross was nowhere near as gullible as Joey. And to be fair to Joey, if he'd caught her in the state that she was in now — in her red satin robe that stopped well above her knees and didn't offer much by way of coverage, and with her leaning against Chandler's door — he might have figured it out a lot sooner, too.
She usually wouldn't have ventured into apartment 19 in such little clothing, especially with her brother around, but tonight was exactly four months since London. So she'd decided that it called for some celebration... Well, Chandler-&-Monica style celebration.
She had never regretted a decision more in her life.
Ross kept staring at her, unblinking. Just when she started feeling like she was either going to scream from the pain or pass out from holding her breath for so long, his eyes turned glassy and began to droop again. A rather long moment later, he mumbled something incoherent, rolled over on the couch, and went back to snoring loudly.
Her body slackened with relief. She let a tiny mewl escape her lips as she swiftly turned Chandler's doorknob and entered the bedroom.
He had apparently been standing right behind the door. He caught her by the arm at once and closed the door behind her noiselessly, looking very much concerned. "I heard the noise. What happened?" he asked, hushed. "Are you okay?"
"Nope," she whimpered. "Nope, nope, nope," she shook her head, limping toward his bed with his support. "Stupid, stupid boxes, every-freaking-where!" Her whispered rage made him take an apprehensive step back. "Please tell me he is moving out soon, because I can not put up with this for even one more-"
"I know, I know," he murmured soothingly, helping her onto the bed. "I know, it's unbelievably annoying. But I don't think he is leaving anytime soon, Mon." He looked at her apologetically. "In fact, I think he's on the verge of a mental breakdown, so he might even stay here longer than we expected." He pulled the covers for her to lie down. "I guess we're just going to have to..." he shrugged, helpless, pulling her socks off to inspect her bruised toe. "To... ride this out."
"Ugh." She scowled in displeasure and hissed when he touched her big toe.
"Do you think it's broken?" he raised a worried eyebrow.
"No," she wiggled the digit and winced a little. But shook her head. "No, it's just a little sore."
"Want me to massage it better?" He adopted the loving-boyfriend tone, which she got to hear only when they were alone but never failed to make her heart flutter embarrassingly, like an adolescent girl's.
"Yes, please," she murmured back, smiling her first smile since entering the room.
"Oh, and happy four months," he lifted her foot and kissed the tip of the toe. Never in his life had he celebrated something as ridiculous as a 'four-month anniversary' for anything. But for this woman, he'd be willing to commemorate even a four-day or four-hour milestone. "You look beautiful," he smiled.
And just like that, she could feel her annoyance disappear; the rest of the world disappear.
"Come here," she crooked a finger at him and pulled him on top of her by tugging the crew neck of his t-shirt when he complied. "Happy four months, Honey," she whispered just as she slid her hands around his shoulders and then into his hair.
He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, lingering softly for a moment. Pulling away a little, he breathed, "Best four months ever." When he brought his lips back to hers again, it was for a deep, heated kiss.
She could sense a seismic shift in their relationship since Thanksgiving. It felt like it was on much stabler grounds now — steady and strong and getting stronger by the day.
She could see the changes in both their behaviors, too. She no longer constantly worried about where everything was headed; about looking beneath the surface, because they were there now. They were entirely immersed in this together. She no longer worried about him not feeling the same intensity of feelings as her. The only thing that she cared about now was that this remain a secret, because for some reason, it helped them flourish in a way none of her previous romances had.
As for him these days, he told her things that he normally wouldn't, things that the Pre-London-Chandler would have believed would make him too vulnerable. He didn't just let his guards down with her, he dropped them completely. She held that trust and nurtured it — carefully and with patience — because it was her most prized possession.
He moved his mouth to her throat, and his teeth lightly brushed against it. She knew for a fact that he'd shaved that morning, but his chin felt rough against her skin now, just wonderfully so. He slipped a hand inside her flimsy robe, warm fingertips grazing across cool flesh, and his hips surged toward hers.
In a moment of unadulterated lust, she clutched a fistful of his hair to keep him in place and wrapped her legs around his waist, her sore toe coming in contact with the back of his thigh. Pain shot out immediately. The shock of it contrasted acutely against the immense pleasure that she was experiencing then. She jerked her leg away, yelping, "Ow!"
He pulled back, startled. "Does it still hurt?" His eyes were glazed, but he sat up to examine the foot again, squinting in the darkness of the room. She nodded with a sharp, sibilant intake of breath, and he frowned. "I don't see anything wrong with it... Shall I get you a Band-Aid? " he glanced at her and then at the bedroom door, quietly calculating the risks of heading out of the room in Ross's presence.
"No, no," she shook her head and clutched at his arm to stop him from making any ill-advised move. "I just need to rest it a bit, I think." She wriggled the toe again, looking uncertain, but it didn't seem to hurt that much now.
"Want me to pee on it?" he grinned, laughing silently at the memory of that unfortunate incident.
"Eww!" She swatted the arm that she'd been holding and threatened, "Don't ever make that joke if you want to see me naked again."
That shut him up quickly. "Okay, okay," he gave her a mollifying peck on the cheek. "How about I give you that foot massage then? And let's just talk for a while, get your mind off of it," he said, already pulling her leg onto his lap and kneading her heel with his thumb. "Too hard?"
Her body was still thrumming, right at the edge of unfulfilled desire, but the instant he started massaging, she felt all her tension drain. She laid back down on the bed and shook her head. "Noooo, it's amazing," she moaned. God, he was good at this. "Why haven't we ever done this before?"
"Because we're usually too busy with the other thing," he smirked. He held the injured toe between his fingers and applied gentle pressure, gauging her reaction. "Better?"
"Much," she nodded, smiling. She reached for his other hand and squeezed his fingers. "So what do you wanna talk about?"
"Anything that you want to talk about," he shrugged. "How was your day?"
"You know already."
That he did. He'd seen her in the morning, he'd seen her after work, and she was with him in his room now. Dating your best friend and neighbor sure had its perks when it came to intimacy. "That's true," he conceded. His fingers drifted to her calf, pressing into the muscles there.
"You could give Phoebe a run for her money, you know?" she murmured as she placed her other foot on his lap for similar treatment.
"Oh yeah?" His hand climbed higher to delicately stroke her behind her knee. He bent her leg and placed a kiss on her kneecap. "I hope Phoebe isn't doing this with you."
"I hope Phoebe isn't doing this with any of her clients," she giggled.
He grinned back. "There is actually something I've been meaning to ask you," he said after a beat.
"Oh?" She noticed that he suddenly looked a little bashful. She propped herself on her elbows and looked at him curiously. "What is it?"
"Did you really have a crush on me? When we first met, I mean."
She raised her eyebrows, surprised at the question. They had conveniently managed to avoid discussing the events of those (including the last one) three significant Thanksgivings so far. But if he was going to open up this topic now... She didn't know why, but she felt unnerved.
"I did," she answered truthfully. "You made sure it was short-lived," she gave him a teasing smile, "but yes, I did."
"Ouch," he cringed. He stopped the massage and looked at her seriously. "I'm so sorry I was such a jerk back then."
"You were nineteen, Chandler," she reached forward and caressed his cheek with her knuckles. Yes, she'd hated him at that moment, but knowing what she knew now about the childhood that he'd had, it made her heart clench with unexplainable sadness, like she wanted to pull that nineteen-year-old boy into a hug. "We're past all that now, don't you think?" she asked softly.
"Thank you." He turned his head to the side and kissed her fingers. "But I don't think I'll ever get past the fact that Monica Geller once had a crush on me," he grinned.
I love you now, she thought but didn't say it. Neither of them still had since his unintended utterance that day.
She'd said it to men before. Easily, and within weeks of dating. Now though, with Chandler, it felt like a monumental declaration, for those words had never held more meaning than they did with him.
With him, it wasn't just love. It was love and friendship and sex and the most profound feeling she'd ever felt in her life, all condensed into a single spot, and there were times when that spot felt incredibly cramped. Sometimes she feared that those words would slip through her without her volition, as it had for him that day. She felt like a powder keg that was about to explode.
"Tell me what you're thinking." He let go of her legs to lie down beside her. "Toe okay now?"
"Yes. And I'm thinking..." she trailed off as she searched for a lie. "That I'm cold," she finished, turning around in his arms and nestling into him.
"Really?" He gave her a look of fake surprise. "With all these layers on?" he teased as he fingered the plunging, French lace neckline of her robe. He pulled the covers over their waists and tugged her closer. "By the way, very gutsy of you to come here wearing this with your brother right outside."
"Well, I'm nothing if not gutsy," she shrugged, remembering that he'd told her something very similar just a couple of months ago. He began working on the sash of the robe, and she lifted her shoulders to help him get it off. He tossed it behind her and then proceeded to just dazedly stare at her choice of four-month-anniversary lingerie. She looked at him, amused with his reaction as he took in her matching wine-red bra and panties. "I take it that you like Victoria's new and Secret offering?"
"You had doubts?" he countered when found his words again.
"No," she smiled. "I just felt like it left nothing for the imagination."
His pupils were now visibly dilated. He clicked his tongue. "Imagination is overrated, Mon," he told her seriously as he began pushing a bra strap down her arm.
Her skin still tingled when he touched her, she still felt dizzy every time he kissed her. Even after four months, the craving and ache for each other felt unquenchable. She'd never had this kind of sexual chemistry with any other man, and she knew it wasn't easy to come by. What she found herself wondering these days was if it'd always been there between them, and if they'd just been astoundingly blind to it for a whole decade. He pushed the other strap down, too, because he was apparently a man with a plan. "Can I ask you something?" she spoke against his hair as his head slowly started its descent toward her torso.
"Of course," he murmured back, distracted.
"Have you ever thought of me- Well, us, that way before?"
"Which way?"
"This way."
He stopped his action and propped his chin on her sternum, considering her question. "I mean, I've always found you attractive, if that's what you're asking," he shrugged eventually. "But I was not pining for you for all these years..." he trailed off, looking unsure, as if he was worried that he'd said something wrong.
She smiled to let him know that he was not in trouble. "No, what I meant was, were there any moments before London where you'd been tempted to... I don't know," she paused, feeling extremely self-conscious. "Where you felt like there could be more between us than 'just friends'...?" she asked slowly.
"Hmm." He comfortably rested his cheek against the bridge of her brassiere and looked to the side, thoughtful. "I guess there were a few moments along the years." The warmth of his breath as he spoke made goosebumps rush across her skin, but she tried to focus on his words alone. "But I never dwelled on them. Because you don't do that with a friend, you know?" He looked at her again, tilting his head.
She nodded yes, she knew. She loved that about their relationship — the fact that it wasn't a product of years-on-end pining or an unrequited crush; that it was a serendipitous discovery of romantic feelings between good friends, which in turn had evolved into the ever-elusive type of relationship — a functional, working one.
Their relationship was the proverbial lightning in a bottle.
"Although there was this one incident," he continued, sounding embarrassed. "A couple of years ago, during Joey's birthday party, we sort of made out... Do you remember?"
"Oh boy, do I." She let out a little snort of a laugh. "You kissed like five different people that night. Me, Rachel, Ross, Joey's sister. What was her name again? Mary Ther-"
"Yours was the only one I remembered the next day," he cut in. "And it was 'Mary Angela'," he chuckled. "Got a black eye that burned that name into my brain. But I don't know why, it's so weird, but yours is the only kiss I remember," he confessed quietly. "I may or may not have replayed it a few times in my head for a couple of months."
"Huh." She thought back to that kiss. She remembered enjoying it too, at the beginning. Only she'd been very much aware of how drunk he was, how he'd tasted like sugary cocktail. And just as she'd been getting into the kiss, he'd pulled away to mutter I think I'm gonna puke and then dry-heaved for good measure. That certainly had not been 'the moment' for her. "I... have a different moment of us that I replayed in my head quite a few times back then, too," she admitted, matching his quiet tone.
He immediately perked up, so much so that he willingly moved away from her breasts to lie down beside her again, looking thoroughly captivated. "Yeah?"
She turned to face him and kissed him softly. "Yeah." She could smell the soap on his skin from his evening shower — citrusy, like lime and bergamot — exactly how he'd smelled that day, too, all those years ago. "It was right after Phoebe moved out," she started and watched as instant recognition flickered across his features. "I was depressed. You came into the apartment, hugged me, and told me that I was the-"
"Most beautiful woman I'd ever known in real life," he completed her statement. "I remember," he nodded with a warm smile.
"If you'd kissed me then," she whispered her admission, "I'd have kissed you back."
"I know."
She stared back at him, stunned. "You know?"
He laughed a little and nodded again. "I know you were feeling sad," he clarified. "I know you needed someone to cheer you up. And I also know if I'd tried something with you then, you... might have been agreeable to that," he made a face, not liking the sound of what he'd just said. It felt like he was profaning the memory of something so pure and beautiful between two friends.
"Why didn't you?" It was a ludicrous question, she knew that very well, but she couldn't stop that sliver of old insecurity from creeping in. "Did you not want to?"
"Why didn't I take advantage of my best friend's twenty-four-year-old sister?" It was his turn to look stunned. "Because you just needed a friend then, Mon. Not some horny guy groping you. And I've said this before, but I'll say it again," he reached for her thigh and pulled it over his, bringing her as close to him as he possibly could. "Who wouldn't want you?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs once and then began its now-familiar, Chandler-induced thudding.
God, she loved him. She loved him so much that it was frankly terrifying.
"What would you have done if I'd kissed you?" she asked before kissing him again.
He deliberated over the question for several long seconds when they pulled away. "I'd like to think I'd have done the right thing," he said at last. "But after London, I'm not really sure what the right thing actually would have been." He kept looking at her before bringing his hand to her face, his thumb tracing the curve from her cheek to her chin. "To be honest, though, I think we both needed all these years," he continued, contemplative, "all this time, to..."
To fall in love, she completed the sentence silently. "To reach where we're now," she ended it for him.
"Yes," he agreed, the smile falling from his face as he moved on top of her again. "To reach where we're now."
She reached up and drew his face down toward hers for a lips-parted, searing kiss. She knew that this time they weren't going to be moving apart anytime soon.
But then, he did, just a fraction of an inch to look into her eyes. His steady gaze felt like a hook inside her chest, a gravitational pull. His voice dropped as he whispered, "Happy four months, Monica." He held her eyes for a couple more seconds before leaning in to kiss her again.
No, he still didn't say 'I love you'. But then, he didn't have to.
She knew.
~.~.~
A/N: 'Careful and with patience, hold this tender heart' is a verse from Same Changes by The Weepies. It's such a Mondler-y song. And if you're looking for some more Mondler-y songs, I can also recommend Distance by Christina Perri, which is the quintessential secret-Mondler anthem. That song was the inspiration behind the previous chapter's final bit.
I'm using up all my When We Fall material for this fic, but then I figured that this story is more 'important' than that one. I hope you liked this chapter, and as always, reviews are incredibly appreciated :) Thanks for reading!