A/N: Long chapter incoming


CHANDLER

It was the third time that week Chandler woke up with no recollection of having fallen asleep. The worst part, which was saying something considering frolicking in a fountain in the middle of winter and humiliating himself in front of all his friends were also contenders, was that the last thing he remembered was going out to eat with James.

"Shit, shit," he panicked and feverishly searched for his phone. The movements stirred Joey.

"Wha's goin' on?"

"I need my phone. I'm late for work."

"I think Monica has it."

"Oh," Chandler leaned back, "It doesn't even matter. I'm going to call the doctor."

"'Kay."

Chandler left Joey curled up in his bed and made his way to the landline. First, he dialed his work number.

"Laura Stadhouse," Laura answered.

"Hey, it's Chandler Bing. I can't make it in today. I have to see a doctor."

"I'll let Mr. Chase know."

"Great," his boss would almost certainly chastise him for this, but it was unavoidable, "See you next week."

"Okay," she disconnected.

Chandler rolled his eyes and dialed his specialist's number.

A female receptionist greeted him on the other end. "Good morning, how can I assist you?"

"Hi, my name is Chandler Bing. I'm a returning patient. I know this is last minute, but can you fit me in today? It's an emergency."

"Unfortunately we're all full up today. I can see if we have anything next week-"

"Listen, I can't stop blacking out and every day there's a chance I'm gonna wake up dead, so if you could maybe ask him if there's any way he could see me between patients, that'd be great."

A beat, then, "Can you hold please?"

Chandler rubbed his eyes. He didn't mean to be abrasive, but he was worn thin. Chopin played as he waited for the receptionist to come back with news of his fate.

"Thank you for holding. Can you make it in at three-thirty?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I'll be there. Thank you so much."

"We'll see you then."

"Alright," Chandler placed the phone carefully back in its cradle.

"What time are we leaving?" Joey asked from Chandler's doorway.

Chandler blinked in surprise. He knew he should say you don't have to come, or I'll be fine by myself, but he was too afraid to brush this off. "Two forty-five."

###

Chandler sat on the edge of the examination table and Joey on the spare chair. The silver-haired doctor surveyed his chart carefully before turning his gaze back to Chandler.

"You said your symptoms haven't subsided?"

Chandler shook his head. "Not at all."

"And you've been taking them consistently?"

Chandler could almost laugh at the question. "Yes."

"How often are you experiencing amnesia?"

"Big chunks of time about once or twice a week, but there's a lot of smaller increments where I forget a walk to the coffee shop or what I ate for lunch," emotion suddenly overcame him, "I can't keep living like this. I'm losing my mind. I don't know what else to do."

"I have one other medication I'd like to try for you."

"Okay," Chandler's voice broke.

"I have a good feeling about this one," he said. Chandler knew he was trying his best to console, but they were throwing darts in the dark. There were only so many medications for this niche disease and they were scraping the bottom of the barrel now. Chandler didn't ask how many other options were left if this didn't take. "Improvement is usually shown after about ten days. There are some side effects, which is why I chose to use this last. You might feel tired or nauseous, but these are all things we can treat separately whenever we have your ANDD under control."
Chandler nodded.

"I'm going to send this prescription into your pharmacy. If you don't see any improvement by next Thursday, I want you to set up an appointment with me ASAP."
"And what then?" Chandler asked quietly.

"Hopefully it won't come to that. I want you to keep the faith."

"Right," Chandler said, "Thank you for seeing me."

After the doctor left, Chandler hopped off the bed and Joey stood at attention, hovering nearby as they left, as if ready for him to fall over at any second. It would have been more irritating if it weren't a real possibility or if it were anyone but Joey.

They walked a few blocks towards the subway station when Chandler stopped. Joey raised his eyebrows expectantly, but his friend gave no clarification.

"I think it's going to be okay," Joey said.

Chandler laughed. "What if I'm dying?"

"Don't say that."

Chandler ignored him and continued, "I took being healthy for granted this whole time. It's funny thinking about it now. I thought being sad was the worst thing in the world, but turns out I could have topped that the whole time."

"Chandler, please-"

"I thought I was so boring too, but then God was like 'we'll see about that.' One of the rares diseases in the world. I guess I am special."

"Chandler!"

Chander started.

"I can't hear you talk like that. I need you to be okay. This self-pitying crap won't help so cut it out."

It was tough love, an unusual brand for Joey, but Chandler was not wounded by it. Joey was right. There was no point moping, and he didn't want to hurt him. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Let's go home."

Chandler fell into step beside Joey and their hands brushed against the other. It took all of his power not to reach out and grasp it.

###

"Then get this," Ross threw up his hands, "She stole my presentation. Hijacked it right in the middle of the meeting. Can you believe that?"

Chandler took a bite of his lemon chicken. The group was gathered around Monica's table, jabbering away, and it felt like old times.

"You know what I think?" Monica said in a teasing tone, "I think you like her."

Ross scoffed. "No way. She drives me insane."

"Yeah, you totally like her," Chandler agreed.

"'She makes me so mad, I want to spank her like a bad girl,'" Phoebe mocked.

"What, gross!"

The table laughed, Chandler included.

"Alright, alright," Monica motioned for them to settle down, "I wanna say a toast. To Chandler-"

"Ahh, come on," he grinned.

"No, no, let me. I'm so proud of you for pulling through all this. It's been a long few weeks and you were really brave. We all love you."

"Shucks," Chandler tried to play it off, but he was beaming, "I love you guys too."

"Awww," Phoebe wrapped her arm around him in a half-hug.

"Cheers," Monica said and took a sip of wine. Everyone copied her. Chandler savored the oaky, rich taste of the wine. It was the first time in what felt like ages he really enjoyed the taste of something without the foreboding flavor of imminent death turning all sensations dull.

After the doctor's appointment, Chandler picked up his medications: triangular blue tablets. He took them every night religiously before laying down for bed beside Joey. Then something miraculous happened: Chandler got better. The heat flashes and chills subsided, the lost time came to a stop, and the ever present feeling of faintness and balancing on the verge of consciousness dissipated.

The single positive thing that came with his illness was also put to an end; Joey started sleeping in his own room again. One evening, Chandler said he was going to bed and Joey replied, "You feelin' okay?" Chandler promised he was, Joey didn't follow him, and that was that. They didn't speak of it again.

Ross patted Chandler on his arm, pulling him out of the memory. "You good?"

"Yeah," Chandler smiled softly, "I am. Thanks, everyone. Seriously. I couldn't have done it without you. And now if you'll excuse me, all this emotional talk is going to make me throw up."

"You love it," Phoebe countered.

"I do," he put down his napkin and stood, retreating to the bathroom.

He faced himself in the mirror and looked into his own eyes. The haunted fatigue in them was gone. He felt real again. It was still hard to believe, after all the sickness brought on, that he was going to be okay. "You're going to be okay," he whispered.

###

Winter melted into spring and Chandler opted to walk to work and forgo the subway for the day. It was a stop-and-smell-the-roses type moment, or rather stop and appreciate the fact he was no longer actively dying. As he cut through the park, he passed a fountain, most likely the one he had frolicked in, coatless, at the apex of the sickness. He did his best not to look at it.

Because his head was purposely turned away, towards the benches, he noticed it. There he was, his wild red hair and freckled cheeks with a pad of paper in his lap. Chandler glowered and stomped towards him.

"I told you to stop following me."

James's head snapped up and his eyes brightened. "Chandler! It's good to see you. Oh! I know what this looks like, but I swear it's a coincidence. I love this park. I come here to draw," he presented the paper, a detailed sketch of one of the trees. Chandler couldn't help but be impressed by his skill.

"Yeah, okay," he said, disbelieving.

"I know how it sounds, but I swear. I stopped. I mean, I did find this park when I was following you," he blushed, "but I liked it and kept going. I had no idea. I never see you around here."

Chandler considered this. He rarely walked to work or passed through this park. Unless James were psychic, he couldn't have known Chandler would pass by this morning.

"Sorry," Chandler said.

"It's fine," James smiled sheepishly, "I can't blame you for thinking that."

An awkward silence ensued. Chandler knew he should simply bid him goodbye and resume his walk, but instead he said, "That's quite a drawing."

"Oh, this? I don't know."
"You're really talented," Chandler sat beside him, "Can I see?"

James passed him the notebook. "It just takes practice. You can look through it if you want."

Chandler thumbed through the pages. There were hundreds of pencil sketches of places in the city, some he recognized and some he didn't. They all carried with them the same feeling of familiarity, as well as vague sorrow. "Wow."

"Thanks," James's cheeks were pink. He checked his watch. "It's pretty early."

"Yeah, I was going to get something to eat on my way to work," he wasn't sure what made him say it. It might have had to do with the high of beating death or the feeling James's pictures left him with, but he continued, "Do you want to come with?"

James's eyes lit up. "That sounds great."

"Not a date though," Chandler repeated the mantra from their previous meet up.

"Of course," James picked up a messenger bag from the ground and stashed away his notebook.

"Have you been to Village Cafe? It's right across the street from here," Chandler asked.

"I went there once. They had great tea."

"You like tea? I'm more of a coffee guy."

"Coffee makes me sick," James replied.

"So you really haven't been following me?"

"No, I really haven't."

He was excited to share the news with someone else. "I'm not sick anymore."

"Really?" James sounded enthused.

"Yeah. Doctor changed my meds and they're working again."

"How do you feel?"

"Honestly? Pretty good. I'm still trying to believe it. It got so bad for a while."

"Well, I'm glad you're doing better."

"Me too," Chandler said, "That's why I was walking to work today. Thought I'd appreciate not blacking out. It's kinda lame."

"How is that lame?" James asked sincerely.

Chandler shrugged. James swung his arms as they walked and when they came to the crosswalk, their first meeting flashed in his mind.

"Chandler?" James asked.

He realized he was staring at James and the light indicated they were able to cross. "Sorry."

"No problem. How has work been?"

Chandler laughed and James regarded him quizzically. "It's funny. You know me so well and we're making small talk."

"What should we talk about?"

"I don't know anything about you. Tell me about yourself."

"There's not really much to know."

"Do you have friends?"

James looked sullenly at the ground. "Not so much anymore. My best friend died last year."

"I'm so sorry."

"It happens. Since then I've been kind of… off. Maybe that's why I watched you. I missed having friends and seeing you with yours was nostalgic. Not that that's an excuse," he added quickly.

"It's okay. That must be hard."

"I got used to it. Once you're by yourself for a while, you don't mind it so much," they arrived at the cafe and James asked, "Do you want to eat inside or outside?"

"Outside's good."

"I'll run in and get something. You can wait here."

Chandler moved to pull his wallet out.

"No, it's okay, I've got it."

"Not a-"

"Not a date, I know. But I owe you from last time. I ate all your pizza. What do you want?"

Chandler considered it before acquiescing. Who was he to turn down a free meal? "A pastry and coffee, cream and sugar please."

"On it. I'll be right back," James pushed open the front door, leaving Chandler to settle at one of the green, metal tables. He could leave and pretend this never happened. It was probably the most prudent course of action, but instead stayed and let out a slow breath.

James returned a few minutes later, balancing two paper cups and a bag beneath his arm. "Here," he set one of the cups down in front of Chandler. Steam from the hot liquid rose into the cool air. "And this," he handed him the bag.

Chandler began to devour the pastry, having not realized how hungry he was. It wasn't until he noticed that James was watching him with crinkled eyes that he slowed down.

"You know I was sick as a kid," James said.

"Sick how?" Chandler took a sip of his coffee. Everything tasted fuller and more flavorful now.

"I had cancer."

"Wow. That's how my aunt went."

"It's tricky. I was cleared by the time I turned ten, but I still have to go to the doctor's for them to check in on me," he spun the cup in his hands slowly, "I haven't been in a while."

"Oh?"

"Money's tight."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Eh," James's face lightened, "It's not a big deal. I'm scrappy."

Chandler laughed. "You seem scrappy."

"Minus the almost getting hit by a car?"

"Minus the almost getting hit by a car," Chandler agreed.

"Were you close with your aunt?"

Chandler hadn't thought about her in a long time. His mother almost never spoke of her after her passing. Whenever anyone brought it up, she promptly changed the subject as if she could pretend her away. "Kinda. She was around a lot when I was little and my parents were getting divorced. I guess it was hard when she died. It was really tough on my mom though. I don't think she's ever gotten over it."

"That's awful."

"It is what it is."

"My parents are divorced too, when I was ten."

Chandler gestured to himself enthusiastically. "Nine!"

James laughed.

"How old are you, James?"

"Twenty-three."

Two years younger than Chandler. It was odd to think he was once intimidated by James. He was so nonthreatening now.

"Yup, twenty-two, single, with a dead-end job. What is it they say about your twenties being the best years of your life?"

Chandler barked a laugh. "I think it's a load of crap."

"Aren't you happy?"

"Is anyone?"

"Some people. I've heard rumors, at least," James answered.

"Yeah, I heard that too. It's weird, you know. I see my friends and they seem happy. Sometimes I almost think I could be, but… I'm not. Maybe I wasn't built that way."

"I understand," James nodded solemnly, "I'm the same. I don't think it's in my genes. My mom was miserable, my dad was… He wasn't a happy person."

Chandler sensed he was holding back. "What was he like?"

James leaned forward and pointed a finger to the skin beneath his eye. Chandler squinted and saw a thin, white scar there. "That's from a beer bottle he threw at me when I was twelve. You could say he was passionate."

"Man, that's rough."

"It's in the past," he pulled away, "What about your dad?"

"My dad's still alive somewhere in Vegas. I actually think he might be happy. Must have been a recessive gene. My parents were pretty good to me actually. I don't have much of an excuse."

"Who needs one?" James asked, "At least we're miserable together."

"I'll drink to that."

They tapped their cups together and Chandler took a long sip.

"How'd you get to be an illustrator anyways?"

"I dropped out of high school. Didn't leave a ton of options, plus I'm not multi-talented. Drawing's all I have honestly."

"Why'd you drop out?"

"It's complicated."

"I like complicated."

James ran his fingers over the edge of the table. "Actually it's not that complicated, but it makes me sound pathetic."

"I'm sure I could out-pathetic you," Chandler said, and the strangest desire to put his hands over James's nervous fingers struck him.

"Okay, fine then. I met this older guy. Like a lot older. I was fifteen. Everyone told me he was bad news, but I wouldn't listen. He told me to drop out and he'd take care of me, so I did. Two months later, he dumps me. My parents were pissed and wouldn't let me move back in. I think he's divorced and poor now, so at least there's that."

"Divorced, poor exes is always good."

"For real," James said, "So do you have anything lamer than that?"

"I was in a ska band in high school."

"Still not as bad, but it's a close call."

"It was named Ska's the Limit."

James laughed fully. "That's like ten times worse."

"I told you. I always win this game."

It was strange how comfortable he felt with James. There was no need to lie or posture. They covered topics at the speed of light and accepted the other without judgment. Chandler wouldn't have minded spending the next hour talking mindlessly with him.

James checked his watch. "You'll be late if you don't leave now."

"Oh, crap. Thanks," he stood, but hesitated.

"Chandler, hold on for a second," he appeared to be steeling himself, "Why don't you take my number? You don't even have to use it ever, but if you need anything, you can always call."

Chandler searched James's face. There was nothing sinister there. He was only a man who made a mistake. A man that Chandler connected with, which virtually never happened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell.

JOEY

Chandler's smile cast a warm glow over Joey. It finally felt like things were falling back into place with Chandler. Weeks dragged by of him struggling with the distance between them he could not define, but it was alleviated now. The pair were together. The duo back in action.

They were in the coffee shop, a group of three: Chandler, Phoebe, and Joey. Chandler was perched on the edge of the sofa right beside Joey and Phoebe on the chair. Joey was doing his level best not to stare blissfully at his best friend.

"I'm not going to see that," Phoebe groaned.

"I really think you'd like it," Chandler said.

Phoebe moaned. "You would rather see Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles than Titanic?"

"It's shorter," Chandler replied, "Joey said it was good."

"You both have awful taste."

"Joey has great taste," Chandler defended, "He's friends with me."

"Monica, Rachel, and I are going to see Titanic so you can come if you want to."
"What a warm invitation," Chandler said, "Really felt the love."

Phoebe rolled her eyes.

"I'll go to whichever you want, Chan," Joey said. He felt like a puppy with the way he followed Chandler around these days, but Chandler looked pleased and flashed a triumphant look at Phoebe.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked.

"Yeah, I should probably head out. Bye, Joe. Bye, Pheebs," he took a long, final sip from his coffee mug, set it on the table, and waved goodbye.

Phoebe moved to the couch beside Joey and rested her head on her knuckle, looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Joey asked.

"Oh, come on! I can see how close you guys are. How much have you hung out in the past week?" she asked.

Joey fought back a smile. "Everyday."

"See? I can tell he likes you. Why haven't you told him yet?"

"I've been thinking about it," he conceded. All the times they sat side-by-side and Chandler would rest his arm around Joey or the moments in between their visits with the rest of the gang, when Chandler would stand inches from him and smile softly and Joey thought for certain they were about to kiss.

And Chandler did smile again. He was happy to be alive like Joey had never seen before.

"Do it, do it, do it," she squeezed his arm, "He makes you happy, Joey, and you make him happy."

"Maybe."

"What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"He could be all Chandler about it and freak out."

"Won't happen. Promise me you'll talk to him?"

Joey couldn't resist. It felt right. He was finally ready. "I'll do it."

###

Despite all jokes, Chandler and Joey joined the gang on their excursion and watched Titanic. Joey sat beside Chandler and they spent the three hour run time whispering jokes to each other. Monica shushed them more than once. Joey was giddy. The group walked home, gushing about the movie, and Joey cherished the warm night air.

When they got back to the apartment, they went their separate ways.

Chandler sifted through the fridge and pulled out two beers. "Want one?" he asked.

"Duh," Joey settled on the breakfast bar stool and accepted the bottle.

"I think Ninja Turtles would've been as good."

"Probably better," Joey grinned.

"I missed this."

"Missed what?"

"Hanging out with you guys without feeling like I'm attending my own funeral."

Joey grimaced. "We acted like that?"

"It's okay. It was a weird time."

Joey paused, chewing on his next words. "I missed you too."

"We'll hang out more," Chandler promised.

"I have an audition next Saturday. Do you wanna come?"

"That sounds great."

Joey believed he performed better when Chandler was there. He was inspiration Joey didn't know he needed.

"Thanks for…" Chandler began. Joey waited patiently for him to continue, hanging on every word. His stomach was in knots. He would do it. Phoebe was right; he needed to get it over with. He was paralyzed by the prospect of Chandler turning him down, but he wouldn't allow that fear to petrify him anymore. "... Being there for me. I know you probably didn't want to sleep in my bed every night," he laughed, "It really helped."

"I don't mind," Joey wrapped his hands around the cool bottle. His face was hot. He was never this nervous to ask out women, but this was different. "I want to be there for you."

"Well, you don't have to worry about it anymore," Chandler lightened his tone, "I'm once again, completely well adjusted. The paradigm of mental wellness and sanity that you all have come to know and put up with."

"Chander," Joey's voice grew serious, "Why do you always talk like that?"

"Like what?" he asked.

"You're always saying bad stuff about yourself. That's my friend you're talking about."
Chandler looked away. Joey could have sworn he blushed, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. "I don't know. I'm not exactly my favorite person."

"You're my favorite person," Joey hadn't meant to say it, but it came tumbling out anyways.

Chandler coughed on his beer. "Really?" he finally managed.

"Yeah, really."

"Well. Me too. I mean about you. We covered that I'm not my favorite person."

It was hard to get Chandler to stop joking. Even when things had long stopped being funny, he couldn't quit. It was how he dealt with life. Joey saw how scared Chandler was to show vulnerability, even with him.

"When you were sick, it made me think about things," Joey began.

"We don't have to talk about it."

"Can I please?"

Chandler observed him. Joey could feel the anxious energy radiating from him. "Okay."

"It made me think that you're really important to me and I would hate to lose you. I care about you a lot, Chan. You've helped me out so much. More than with rent and stuff. Like, I kind of know myself better because of you. Does that make sense?"

Chandler stared at him deeply. Searchingly. His lips were parted and Joey could see the gears turning in his head. "No," he breathed.

Joey swallowed. "Do you ever feel that way about me?"

"Of course, I-" he turned away, face pained, "I can't do this," he raised his voice.

"What?" Joey nearly fell off his chair from the rapid change of pace.

Chandler pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't understand."

"Don't understand what?" was Chandler really turning him down this quickly? It seemed a second ago he was invested, that he wanted the same thing Joey did.

"I'm sorry. I have to go to bed," Chandler hurried to his room, refusing to look at Joey.

Joey stared blankly at the space Chandler occupied all of twenty seconds ago. He was alone with two half drunk beers. His best friend didn't want him. He put himself out there, his heart on his sleeve, the only time he ever confessed his love to anyone, and he had never been so hurt before. "Goddamnit, Phoebe."

###

Joey cradled his head in his hands. One moment, things were simple and he was relishing their return to normalcy, and the next he had never been so confused in his life.
"It was a mess," he griped.

"Tell me what happened," Phoebe pressed. She sat beside him, the only two on the coffee shop sofa. The rest of the gang were busy and Joey was glad for it.

"I don't even know! I was telling him how I feel and he seemed into it, then all of a sudden he's freaking out."

"What were your exact words?"

Joey groaned. "It's embarrassing."

"C'mon," Phoebe urged.

Joey tried to recall. "I think 'I really care about' or 'You're really important to me' or something."

"So you never actually said the words 'I like you'," she clarified.

"Not exactly."

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "This is Chandler we're talking about. He'd barely get it if you wrote it in Sharpie on the wall. You have to say the words."

"No, he knew. I'm giving up. I don't even know how I got hung up on this for so long," he shook his head. "I'm Joey Tribbiani, damnit," he was supposed to be a casanova, a womanizer, but this crush almost ruined him.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna find a date," he decided.

"Joey-"

"Listen, Pheebs. This hasn't gotten me anywhere. I gotta move on. Can you support me? Please?"

Phoebe looked reluctant, but he knew she wouldn't be able to say no. "Okay."

###

For all of his lovesick pining over a man, Joey was still enamored by women. There was something captivating about them that he could never get over.

He sat on the end of the bar in a dark club, lit by neon lights on the edges of the room, their locations carefully selected to allow the patrons the excitement and privacy or darkness.

He spotted a woman with straight, black hair that fell almost all the way down her back. She drank a vodka tonic — or rather, spun the straw gloomily in the glass. Her dark brown eyes were framed with winged eyeliner and the neon lights flashed across her almond skin.

Joey moved down four seats to be next to her.

"Another drink?" he asked

She regarded him dolefully. "Sure."

"You look sad," he commented.

She returned her gaze to the glass. "My boyfriend dumped me."

"His loss."

She smiled sadly. "I don't think so. It's my fault anyways."

"How so?"

"I cheated on him," she admitted. Late nights in bars often turned to confessionals. Joey was familiar with the phenomenon himself, having shared more than a couple secrets in the concealing dark and inebriation.
"Everyone makes mistakes," he offered, "What's your name?"

"You want to sleep with me," she observed.

"I-"

She stopped him, "It's okay. We don't have to do all this. I need to take my mind off of everything."

He nearly had whiplash from how quickly things were moving. Normally approaching women in bars took some finesse. "Uh, are you sure? I don't want to…" as much as he wanted this, he could see she was vulnerable.

"What? Take advantage of me? I promise, it's fine. This is my first drink and it was pretty damn watered down," she pushed the glass away.

"This is moving kinda fast."

"That's my line," she brushed her long, brown hair behind her ear.

He found her charming. She was intelligent and didn't play coy. "At least tell me your name."

"Angel. Yours?"

"Joey."

"That's a nice name," she said, turning to fix her eyes ruefully on the counter.

"Sorta looks like you hate it."

"No, it's not that. My life right now..."

"Me too."

She looked at him again. "Are we okay now?"

"Yeah, that seems like plenty."

"Pay the man," she gestured to the bartender and finally broke into a tentative, but genuine smile.

"A woman who knows what she wants," Joey grinned back.

They took a cab back to his place. The clock on the oven informed him it was past midnight. Chandler must have been asleep. When he was sick, he either went to bed the moment it became dark or Joey would find him up in the early hours of the morning when he stumbled out of bed to pee.

Stop thinking about Chandler.

Joey liked Angel. She was refreshingly blunt and uncomplicated. The intoxication of the excitement for both of them led them to be giggly and goofy, almost drunk, despite neither having enough alcohol in their bloodstream to affect them.

She dropped onto his bed and he sat beside her, not hesitating to lean in and kiss her. It was deep and heavy, but it didn't mean anything. He should be into it. He loved one night trysts, the fleeting adventure of meeting a woman and immediately falling into bed with. Something was wrong with him. It wasn't enough anymore.

He drew away. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," she said, and she didn't seem bothered at all. She laid back and rested her head on the pillow, completely unconcerned with Joey's refusal to continue. "What was she like?"

Joey cocked his head. "Who?"

"Your ex."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon. I can tell you're hung up on someone. I feel the same way. I don't care if we sleep together or not. You're not him."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe not to someone else. Tell me. What was she like?"

"She was… She was special. Hilarious. She always made me laugh. And kind. She wanted to help me, was there for me whenever I needed her. It felt right to be around her. If we spent every day together, it wasn't enough.

"She didn't see it though. She never saw how amazing she was. I wish she could have seen what I did."

"Why did you break up?" she asked.

"She just wanted to be friends."

"Ouch," Angel said.

"Yeah. It sucked. I never even really got to tell her how I felt."

"You loved her a lot."

"I did. I do. I dunno what's wrong with me. I'd never felt like this before."

"You'll move on eventually," she said.

"Really?"

"That's what people tell me. I never loved anyone the way I loved him either. It felt like the world ended. He was my whole future. I had it all planned out: the house, the kids. Then bam! Everything came crashing down."

Joey hadn't considered this. He assumed Chandler would stay with him, even if it was exclusively platonic. They still had their apartment together, still spent every day inseparable, but realistically, Chandler would find someone else. He would leave and Joey would be companionless with a hole in him that only Chandler could fill.

"Damn," Joey murmured.

"I think I'm going to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed," she said.

He didn't blame her and he craved to be alone as well. He wanted to wallow privately, as much as he found he enjoyed Angel's company. "I'll walk you out."

"Thanks."

He offered his hand and she accepted, allowing him to help her up. She followed him out the door and Joey came to a halt causing Angel to nearly crash into him when he found Chandler set in front of the TV.

He forced his legs to work and continued to the door. "Thanks, Joey," she said and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she was gone.

Joey returned to the living room and debated sitting next to Chandler.

"Who was that?" Chandler was the first to speak.

"Um, Angel."

"She was pretty," Chandler's tone was inscrutable.

"She is, yeah."

"Where did you meet?"

Joey didn't mean to lie, but it came out, "We met a couple weeks ago at Central Perk."

"You didn't tell me about her."

"I didn't know I was supposed to," he paused, suddenly vindictive. He wanted Chandler to be jealous. He wanted him to agonize the way Joey did. "We're dating now."

Chandler gawked. "You are?"

"Why is that so crazy?"

"You don't normally see girls more than once. I was surprised," he composed himself again, "I'm happy for you."

"Me too," Joey replied shortly.

Chandler returned to the TV, nothing more to say.


A/N: I don't know if anyone's reading, but if you are, I'm curious what you think? Thanks for reading 3