The screen of his Dell XPS M2010 flickered, virtually stretching a few panels on the display that made Chandler blink his eyes. He was tired. But so was his laptop. Taking a quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall of the living room, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only five hours away from his meeting with his first client as a creative director. And he had yet to decide which pitch to present to them.

He had a creative block.

And he hadn't been this annoyed since Ross published his joke—maybe it was a degrading joke but it was his despite whatever Ross said. He loved his job. He desperately didn't want to fail the first responsibility given to him after being promoted to a job he was good at.

Stretching in his chair, he grimaced at the pain shooting at his lower back, which reminded him how he wasn't in his twenties anymore. Back then he would push his limits for a huge amount of money just so he could save them instead of spending them. Right now, he probably spent more than he saved.

The corner of his lips curved into a small smile at the memory of his twenties. Who was he kidding? He didn't bust his ass at work for more money. He only did a bare minimum just so he didn't get fired. He got promoted instead—apparently, he was good at what he did. He delegated tasks out of spite because his subordinates had been mocking him behind his back. He got praised for good leadership instead.

Things sounded so good and easy at work, and yet he was never truly happy. Not until he got back to meet his carefree roommate and his two rowdy female neighbors—one of them happened to be his roommate for life.

Chandler's tired smile eased off when he noticed some movement at the door of his study room. His brows raised in mild surprise to see his five-year-old son gripping the edge of the door, staring at him with an expression Chandler couldn't fathom. The kid looked... constipated?

"This is not the way to the toilet, Jack," he quipped in the old-fashioned Chandler-style sarcasm.

Jack's grip on the door tightened, and his lips pulled in as if he was holding back on something. Chandler frowned slightly at the reticence. Between the twins, Jack had always been more like Monica since his birth, despite being genetically impossible. From his eyes to his talkative competitive nature. The fact that he was silently observing worried Chandler a little bit.

"You know this is not a zoo either, right?" he tried again.

The boy bit his lips and breathed deeply. That was when Chandler realized the boy was imperceptibly hyperventilating, his gripping hand slightly trembling, a film of sweat sheathed his forehead. A sight that disturbingly reminded him of his own childhood.

His fingers rested on the buttons and the wheel of his mouse twitched hesitantly, his mind racing through the possible course of action. Here he was, a forty-year-old man, trying to weather parenting and still wondering if he was doing it right. It wasn't easy. He was still learning how to. But if there was one thing Chandler knew more than anyone was how he wished he was treated by his own parents.

Between all the money his parents showered him with, no luxury could ever replace a warm hug when you needed it.

The thought seemed to have rounded his resolve. Before his mind could think about how to do it in a cool way, he picked himself off his leather chair and wrapped his arms around Jack. Jack impulsively wound his little arms around Chandler's neck before resting his cheek on Chandler's shoulder, and Chandler had never known arms that small could cling this tight. There was a comfortable warmth that came with the realization of why Jack sought after him at four in the morning—he was Jack's security.

"Did you have a nightmare about a scary-ass clown or something?" Chandler rubbed Jack's small back gently. The boy had grown up for the past five years, but his palms were still half the size of Chandler's.

"They ate daddy," Jack mumbled through his shoulder.

Chandler's brows raised skeptically. "And here I thought the clown is scary because he doesn't have a head."

Chandler doubted the thing that ate him in Jack's nightmare was a clown, to begin with. But the boy was probably too rattled to share the details at the moment. Or maybe too comfortable given the fact that the boy went lax in his embrace. Either way, Chandler didn't care. His mind was swimming around the fact that his boy had a nightmare about losing him, and that was enough to lighten his messy disposition.

After a few minutes, Jack was safely tucked back to sleep. Chandler decided to just get at least an hour of sleep instead. His weight dipped the mattress of his bed causing Monica to stir on her side.

"What time is it?" she murmured with her eyes still closed.

"Almost five," Chandler pulled the blanket over him.

Monica's eyes cracked open in a squint. "Why did you wake up so early?"

"If by early you mean yesterday morning, then it's because I had work yesterday. And I have work in another three hours too so I should get some sleep."

Monica glared at him for the Chandler-like answer. "You didn't sleep? What happened?"

"Work happened," Chandler shrugged. "I can't seem to get my pitch for the customer right."

"That's because you're too self-conscious," Monica muttered sleepily. "You always work better when you don't try too hard and just be yourself."

He hated that she was always right on point. Yet it was one of the reasons he loved her too. Perhaps he was focusing too hard to impress on his first gig that he forgot to enjoy the journey. "And then Jack had a nightmare so I decided to just sleep."

She sat up immediately. The notion of her son having a nightmare seemed to have woken her up. "What? Is he okay? Did I put him on the wrong side of the bed last night? Oh my God! Did I not tuck him properly before bed? The long pillow should always be on the left!"

"Relax. He's fine. I put him back to sleep already," he reassured her and added for good measure. "With the pillow on the left."

She let out a sigh of relief, running her fingers along her hair to calm herself down. "Thanks."

He didn't answer. He blamed the fact that he was tired from working overnight. The memories which came rushing in were not welcomed, but surprisingly they didn't hurt as much as he thought they would.

Did your father ever hug you?

No. Did he hug you?

"I used to have night terrors," Chandler smiled sadly at the memories. "They were always during the early night. My parents were up but neither cared."

They never hugged him. He tried so hard to impress and to get them to care. It didn't work. That was probably why he constantly felt the need to avoid conflict, to lie and joke about his own failures just to be noticed.

It was left unsaid. But Monica looked down at him, and she just knew, like she always did. She scooted closer. Chandler instinctively circled an arm around her shoulders as she snuggled into him.

"You're not going to call in sick?" Monica joked. An attempt Chandler appreciated.

"I haven't called in sick since I quit Tulsa," he shifted slightly, pulling her closer for comfort.

"I know! Who are you and what have you done to my husband?"

Chandler rolled his eyes. "Am I even going to get some sleep here?"

Monica grinned teasingly, but her arm around his torso tightened snugly. "And Chandler?"

"What?"

"You can have unlimited hugs from me and the twins till the end of our lives."

He knew. He would be there to hug them too. Of all her crazy and wild shenanigans, Monica was the kindest and sweetest woman he'd ever known. Being a husband, a father, and a newly-appointed creative director might be difficult. But hell, he wouldn't miss any of them for the world.

"Thanks to you, I even get my parents' hugs now, albeit thirty years late," he closed his eyes with a grin on his face. "Now let me sleep. At least for an hour."

Monica chuckled lowly, one hand reaching the switch to turn off the light. He was drifting slowly when Monica's soft voice broke the silence again.

"Chandler?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you wet your bed?"

"Yes, I did. It came with the package of denial. Now shut up."

She laughed. But Chandler decided he loved that sound. After all, she was Monica. She had long accepted him and his past before he even accepted himself.

The End.