A/N- I'm so sorry its been so long since I last updated, I've been really busy. I will try to update sooner with the upcoming chapters! However, I thought today was the perfect day to upload since it is Matthew Perry's Birthday, and is therefore dedicated to him. Happy Birthday Matty!

I'd just like to say a massive thank you once again to all those who have reviewed and for all your support! I really appreciate it!

In response to the question about whether the other four will be making appearances, all I will say is yes but I'm not going to reveal how much or how often just yet. I will say though that there was the tiniest hint in the previous chapter in regards to one of the characters and their connection to the story.

I should probably also address the fact that, yes, Fleet Street is the infamous location of Sweeny Todd, who if you don't know, murdered his customers, and served their remains in pies. Whilst I do love the musical and the movie with HBC and JD, there will be no references to human filled pies in this fanfiction, so you don't have to worry about a chapter ending with a Chandler filled pie haha!

Anyway, sorry for this long A/N - I hope you enjoy the chapter!

When Monica found herself at the bottom of the virtue ladder two years ago, she decided to not actively search for a better life than the one she had. She never searched for a better job (despite being offered one by her best friend), nor for a better living situation, and definitely not for love. Instead, she just accepted that this was her life now. It was a choice she had willingly made and to be honest, one she didn't regret.

She had a difficult time growing up, often working her fingertips to the bone at ungodly hours whilst her father and brother chiselled away down below in the depths of hell. She was lucky if she even had a bath once a month, and even then, the water had become tepid by the time Ross had finished in the tin tub. Still, she cherished the times her mother would gently wash her down with a sponge and would massage her scalp soothingly, combing out any tangles she had in her hair with her fingers.

Her childhood was definitely a tough time and one she wouldn't forget.

But this line of work, whilst not virtuous, gave her a degree of control, and for Monica, that was important. Her responsibilities these days weren't even comparable to the ones she had years ago. Her main concerns now were things like getting a decent amount of sleep, maintaining her curly mane of hair, or remembering to cleanse and douche herself after every client once they had finished with her. In Monica's book, these were pretty light burdens to bear. Ultimately, – at the expense of her moral soul, of course – if she wanted to stay in bed late every morning, then she damn well could.

However, when she first began her walk along this path, she forced herself to create a list of unspoken ground rules to follow. There were the typical ones you would expect, like don't get pregnant, don't let a man coerce you into committing an act you don't want to do and don't be consumed by guilt or shame. But her main, utmost rule was to not let a client lead her astray.

So why was this guy, who was standing there with his hand outstretched, making her feel things she really didn't want to feel?

Monica rose her eyebrows at his hand that was still waiting to be shaken, and she had to bite her lip to keep the smirk off her face.

Realising she wasn't going to respond to his introductory gesture, he awkwardly retracted his hand to his side, squeezing it into a fist embarrassingly. He rocked on the balls of his feet and a slight hint of pink tinged his cheeks as his eyes darted around the room, feeling so out of his comfort zone, he wanted the ground to split open and swallow him up.

Monica squinted at him quizzically as though he was a puzzle she was trying to work out, the hint of her smirk still threatening to show itself on her face.

"You've never been here before, have you? Or to any brothel for that matter?" she finally said. It came out as more of a statement rather than a question.

Chandler stopped rocking and fixed his eyes on a pattern in the wooden floor, also biting his lip but for a very different reason. He suddenly felt ridiculous, realising how naive he must appear. His lack of response gave her her answer.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, Monica finally smiled at him, "I'm Miss Geller."

"I know," he quickly responded without thinking.

Monica's eyebrows shot up, questioningly.

"I err, I found you in a pocket guide…" Chandler mumbled the end of his sentence, suddenly feeling mortified by his confession. God, this was not going well.

However, this time Monica wasn't faring much better. She now also matched his pink cheeks.

"Oh. Right. I forgot those were sold down the market."

Chandler just smiled at her sheepishly.

She cleared her throat like she'd done with Estelle downstairs and walked over to her bedside table, wedging open the drawer thanks to the broken handle that was sitting unhelpfully on the floor.

He watched her curiously and couldn't help but notice the way her soft curls, which had fallen out of her updo, grazed the pale skin of her back. She had multiple pins in her hair which held up her loosely coiled bun that sat halfway down the back of her head. Despite her back facing him, he averted his eyes in case she suddenly turned and saw him staring. He didn't want to explain that one.

Monica pulled out a tiny wooden stick, and in the darkness that filled her room, he realised it was a matchstick. She quickly thrust its head upwards against the wood of her wardrobe, successfully igniting it, the flame creating shadows against her walls and furniture - not that she had much. Chandler watched her as she carefully lit all three candles in the room: one on her bedside table, one on the floor near the door and the last one that sat on her small desk situated by the window. The room was now basked in a warm glow and provided the slightest amount of heat, just enough to bring feeling back to your fingertips.

Now that the room was somewhat lit, Chandler, who had been captivated by her grace as she moved from candle to candle, suddenly remembered what he was doing there. And what the next anticipated stage was. A sudden panic rose in his chest as he realised how big of a mistake this was. There was no way he could go through with this.

Monica noticed that the pink tinge on his cheeks, which was there barely five minutes ago, had now drained from his face. She guessed why – this was not the first time a client had regretted entering her room, though it was a rarity. Before she opened her mouth, Chandler beat her to it, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stumbled out his words.

"Actually, you know what, err, this err, this is wrong. I shouldn't have- I should just… I'm sorry for wasting your time, I'll just lea-"

Chandler was backing away towards the door as his words tumbled out frantically. It would be a miracle if she had even managed to coherently understand anything he'd said, but as he twisted his body away from her and placed his hand on the rounded doorknob, he felt a grip on his arm. He stopped and noticed she had gripped his overcoat, preventing him from leaving. Turning to face her, he saw her face and, he wasn't sure but…it almost had a hint of desperation upon it.

"Don't go." Despite the expression on her face, her voice gave nothing away. It merely sounded like a simple statement rather than a plea.

"I really should-"

Monica cut him off, "You paid for my time, did you not?"

"Yeah but-"

She cut him off again, "Exactly. My time. Not just explicitly for pleasure. We don't have to do anything."

Chandler furrowed his eyebrows, "I'm not sure I understand, Miss."

Monica sighed and walked over to her bed, lifting the hem of her dress slightly so that she could comfortably sit down. "Why did you choose me out of that pocket guide?"

Chandler cleared his throat awkwardly, "Well, err, your description sounded perfect, almost as if you were written for me. The way you were described, the fact that you are a similar age to me and…ohhhhhh."

Monica smiled as the penny dropped for him. "And?" She prompted him.

"And that you were good with words. Someone who is adept at the art of conversation."

Monica just continued to smile as she nodded at the chair by her small desk at the bottom of her bed, inviting him to sit down. He paused, debating whether he should, but only for a moment before he relented and sat down, turning the chair slightly towards the foot of the bed where she was sitting sideways, her back resting against the wall.

"So, now that we've established that we don't have to actually do anything that is usually expected in a place like this, talk."

Chandler ran his hand through his fairly long hair, which reached the nape of his neck and rubbed his palm there.

"Well, erm- I'm Chandler," he smiled awkwardly.

Monica couldn't help it, she let out a chuckle. God, she barely knew this guy, and already she was fascinated by him. She wasn't sure what it was? Whether it was his awkwardness, his shy nature, or his innocence. But she liked it.

"Yes, I think we established that when you introduced yourself fifteen minutes ago," she laughed quietly.

"Oh yeah…" he scratched the back of his neck again.

"Why don't you start with where you are from because, and don't take this the wrong way, you don't look as though you're from this area. Your…attire tells me that you have…well something I don't. Not that I'm complaining, I'm just genuinely interested."

Okay, so she just wanted a bit of background information. This he could work with. "Okay, well er, I'm from the other side of town, sort of. I live on the other side of Hyde Park and err…"

Chandler stopped when he noticed a brief shadow of melancholy swept across her face.

"Are you err…are you okay?" He gently asked.

The shadow was gone as fast as it had appeared and a wide smile, too wide to be authentic, graced her features.

"Of course. So, you live on the other side of Hyde Park?" She attempted to continue the conversation.

And he did.

She sat there, listening intently as he told her about his parents, the fact that they owned a business and that they spent most days teaching him about money, what running a business entailed and the importance of continuing their family legacy. She couldn't help but scrutinize his features – he was different from anyone else she had met. He was attractive, but not in the conventional sense, not like all the other typical Victorian males. Instead, he had a certain element about him that made him stand out against all the others. His skin was pale like hers, contrasting against his hair, which was a rich, dark brown, yet with the subtle hues only time brings. His eyes were cornflower blue: deep, expressive, and full of emotion. Soft creases framed his mouth every time he smiled. A smile that radiated humility and love. But her favourite feature was his nose. It was sharp and angular and was so striking that she had to refrain herself from leaning over and stroking her fingertip down the bridge.

"So, what type of business do your parents run then?" She asked after he finished telling her practically every detail of his daily life.

"Oh, they run a coffeehouse called, wait for it…Hyde Perk."

Monica rose her eyebrows for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "Wow, that's…"

"Original, I know" Chandler finished for her, and they both laughed at the hilarity of it. For the first time in years, Monica felt like a child again: happy and free of pain. Emotional pain at least.

Their laughter began to die down, and Monica asked what she had been dying to ask since he had sat down.

"Chandler?" That was the first time she had actually said his name tonight, and she wasn't opposed to how it rolled off her tongue.

"Why did you come here tonight. Not to me explicitly, but to a brothel in general?"

Chandler bit his lip, contemplating his answer.

"Because I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted to experience that feeling of being with someone and feeling needed. Wanted."

It took a few moments for Monica to fully comprehend what he was saying until it finally clicked, and her mouth dropped open slightly.

"Oh. You mean, you've never…" She trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence without it sounding too crude.

"I'm a virgin," he sighed, "twenty-one and a virgin."

Monica's heart nearly broke at the forlorn look on his face as he fixed his eyes back on the desk.

"Chandler, that's nothing to be ashamed about. Just because everyone else rushes into it, doesn't mean you should. And to be honest, I'll let you into a secret…it's completely overrated. I guess it's different if you're with the right person, but well…I guess I haven't found them yet…" She smiled at him.

"Thank you," he responded sincerely. He was about to add something but instead played with the cuff of his sleeve, debating whether he should or not.

Finally, he spoke after a few moments of silence. "Would you… would you teach me?" He asked in a voice so quiet she had to strain to hear him.

That was a question she definitely wasn't expecting, and she once again, found his innocence endearing. How could she say no?

"Of course. It'll cost you though," she winked at him.

Chandler laughed and let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He looked down at his watch and was shocked at the time.

"Oh wow, I should really get going. I paid you for an hour, and it has been an hour and fifteen minutes. Here let me pay you a little extr-"

She cut him off, "Don't worry about it, it's fine. I'm sure you'll be paying me enough in the coming weeks anyway."

A blush returned to his cheeks as he returned his wallet into his overcoat pocket. "Okay, if you're sure."

He walked over to the door but turned suddenly, a thought popping into his head.

"Wait, I've just realised I've spoken this whole time about me and yet, I don't know a single thing about you?"

Monica just smirked at him.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

He playfully sighed when she shook her head.

"At least tell me one secret about you?" He tried once more.

Monica looked thoughtful for a moment before she leant forward and murmured gently in his ear.

"You will be the one I'll be thinking about before I fall asleep tonight." She knew it was wildly inappropriate to say that and way more forward than she has ever been before, but something compelled her to say it.

Chandler's eyes widened, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing and instead placed a delicate kiss beneath his ear lobe.

"Good night, Chandler," and with that, she shut the door on him.