A/N: I apologize for the delay between updates. Sick-toddler parenting, writer's block, and being down with Covid — all apparently go hand in hand (in hand) :/ But here it is, the final chapter of If It's Love. I don't know when Monica's canon birthday is, but for this story, we're going to assume it's in November.

I hope you guys like the ending :)

If It's Love

Chapter 13

November 1993

Twilight streamed through her bedroom window and landed on her face. She stood there alone, soaking it in. After all, she had only a few scant minutes before one of her friends would come in under the pretext of taking her downstairs for coffee so that they could bring her back up to the boys' apartment for her 'surprise' party later.

Every year for the past few years, she'd dread this day — being a year older and yet nowhere near close to having the things that she wanted from life.

This year, though... This year, it felt different. She finally had a good job with which she was happy and was on the verge of a promotion. She had a wonderful group of friends that was almost family at this point. It wasn't all that she wanted from life, but it was enough.

She heard Chandler's footsteps enter the apartment, accompanied by a calculatedly tuneless whistle. Apparently, the minutes were scanter than she had thought. He walked into the bedroom a moment later with a perfunctory knock and a gentle 'hey'.

"So they sent you, huh?" she smiled, tilting her head to look at him.

"Who did?" he feigned wide-eyed innocence for an instant but gave it up, quick, when she looked at him pointedly. "For some reason, Phoebe thought I'd be the best person for the task," he shrugged before coming closer to her and wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"What's the task?"

"Distracting you."

"You are pretty good at that," she grinned as she turned around in his embrace. His own smile was a reflection of hers, and it was quite possibly her most favorite sight in the entire world.

"Thank you, I think so too," he said immodestly, brushing barely-there kisses along her jaw until his lips touched hers in a soft kiss.

She kissed him back for a long moment before pulling away, giggling. "I don't think this is what Phoebe had in mind."

"Hey," he shrugged seriously as he pulled her down onto the sun-warmed carpet, both of them willing to forgo the bed for now. "I was told to distract you. She didn't specify how. I'm just using my imagination here."

She welcomed his weight atop by entwining her hands together at his nape. "Is that what you're using now? Your imagination?"

"Among... other things." He had the decency to look a little embarrassed as he began trailing kisses along the curve of her neck. "Happy birthday," he muffled into her throat.

"Thank you," she whispered back, partly for his wish, partly for something else. "This is the happiest birthday I've ever had."

That was the truth, and she wanted him to know that because, despite everything that she had in her life right now, he was the one who was wholly responsible for her happiness.

She couldn't remember a time when she had been happier. She could feel an immense contentment radiate from within, like a warm glow. But it felt strange — scary — when the precipice of that happiness was so high.

The niggling unease in the pit of her stomach warned her that a storm was brewing, because sex wasn't just sex anymore. Chandler wasn't just Chandler anymore.

What had begun as an escape from the dreariness of reality was now emotional in a way sex had never been before. It was something much bigger and so utterly intertwined with every part of who she was.

He pulled back to look at her, his clear blue eyes moving across her face, over her features, like he was trying to imprint it all indelibly on his memory. He met her gaze finally, and she could see something intense sharpening in his. Her heart raced up, more than it had any right to, given the sort of relationship that they were in — Just sex. Nothing more.

Falling into bed with your best friend might or might not be a good idea, but the moment it stopped being just about sex, that's when problems arose. As desperately as she wanted to cling to the status quo, during the moments when she forced her to be honest with herself, the terrifying truth came forward easily — that this thing was no longer just about sex.

It was all about him and the way he made her feel with just his presence in the room. Like her life would lose all its meaning if he weren't in it. She had never felt that way with Kip — with anyone — before.

It felt dangerously close to love.

She also knew something else — the fall from this precipice would be their undoing.

There had been reasons why they'd wanted this to remain a purely physical relationship, all those months ago. Those reasons still remained valid, despite the metamorphosis that their relationship had gone through; even if she had to pause over and over every single day to remind herself just what those reasons were.

"Kiss me," she breathed as she pulled him to her. Just sex. Nothing more, she reminded herself as he fit his body against hers in a way that left little doubt of where he belonged. But rather than a reason, it just felt like she was trying to convince herself.

She just hoped that he would keep up his end of the promise.

I certainly won't be declaring my undying love for you, ever.

~.~

February 1994 – Beach House

And he'd done just what he'd promised to never do, that too when she'd least expected it.

"I'm in love with you." His voice was so quiet that the roar of the waves crashing upon the shore almost threatened to drown it.

But the air around her had suddenly stilled, so she heard it. She heard it — clear and sharp. Still, she whispered back, "What...?"

Kip hadn't liked saying 'I love you', at least not to her. He had never conveyed that sentiment as such, but she'd always known it from the way he used to react around those words.

She had been the first one to say it during their relationship. Her voice had quivered with the trembling vulnerability of a twenty-two-year-old who was saying it to a guy for the first time. She didn't remember what had prompted her to say it. They'd been dating for months at that point, and she just remembered feeling that it was time for such a declaration. It'd just been the timely thing to be said.

Kip had looked stunned before giving a surprised laugh. "That was quick," he'd commented. "Me, too," he'd added after several long seconds, as if by obligation, gracing her with a shiny smile that looked so fake, like a piece of plastic painted to look like metal.

She knew then that it hadn't been the right thing to be said. By the time the relationship came to an end, two months later, he'd never once said it on his own.

I'm in love with you.

Chandler had been looking at the sky as he said it. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were glistening. "I am," he nodded. "I'm in love with you."

Maybe she had been delusional, but to say that she was blindsided was an understatement. The jolt of shock that she felt then jerked her heart like a physical force. Through its thundering pace, though, she now knew that this moment had been inevitably fatalistic.

Every single second this past year had built up to this. Every touch, every kiss, every utterance of 'What would I do without you?' that they'd tried to mask as two friends being something just a little more than friends — they'd all led to this. She had led to this.

"I've been in love with you for a long time now." His whole being earnest, his tone was unequivocal, and his eyes bored into hers.

At that moment, not a thing about him was fake. She knew in her bones that his words were true.

Not now, she could also hear the desperate voice in her brain. Not now.

She felt the tension in her hand drain as it rested over the amplified thump, thump, thump of his heart. His body, though, stiffened, like he was bracing himself for impact.

As she stared in a daze at his startlingly unguarded face, every cell in her body balked at what was about to happen. "Chandler," she murmured his name, a whispered plea, begging him to understand her reason behind what she was about to do. She strengthened her resolve as she pulled her hand away from the warmth of his body. And then she uttered just the words that would make everything crash over. "Don't do this."

~.~

March 1994 – Present

"I miss him, Joe." It wasn't just him that she missed. She missed the strangest little things about him, things that she had always taken for granted since the beginning of their friendship; the warmth of his gaze on her back when she wasn't looking, the silent language that they'd mastered over the years, in which they didn't have to say a word and yet could speak volumes, the effortless ease with which he would know what she was thinking by just glancing at her across the room.

This was the first time she'd admitted it to someone since she'd last seen him. She didn't know what she'd been expecting as she said it, maybe for some momentary relief, but it didn't provide anything of the sort.

What it did provide was an opening for Joey. "Then talk to him, Mon," he pleaded, stepping forward. "He should be home right now. Please. Just go talk to him."

And say what? she wanted to demand. That she missed him? That 'missed' was woefully inadequate as a word for what she felt? Or was she supposed to say how sorry she was for breaking his heart? Surely he knew that already and was still avoiding her for days now. What good was talking going to accomplish, if anything?

"He doesn't want to see me," she shook her head. "You know that." They were at what felt to her like an impenetrable impasse. Time was the only thing that could help them now. And she would give him that. She would wait for him.

That's when Joey's sympathetic demeanor turned angry. "Can I just ask you one thing — Why?" he snapped. "Why?" And he immediately held up his palm, fixing her with a flinty stare. "Before you say 'You won't understand, Joey', try me."

She had struggled to explain her 'why' to Chandler that night, watching the tears roll down his cheeks, and then watching him walk away with that look on his face that was burned into her brain.

It wasn't because she didn't love him, and she had told him that.

It was because, within a little more than a year, she had managed to lose a boyfriend, a roommate, and a job. She had lost everything that meant something to her. And Chandler... He meant everything.

Not now. She'd heard the desperate voice in her head begging him. Please. Please don't do this. Not now.

"Do you know how long-" she breathed a few times so that she wouldn't cry through the rest of this. "Do you know how long I've known Chandler?"

"No," Joey shook his head.

"Okay," she nodded. "I was with Kip for seven months, Joey. At one point, I really did think that we were in love. And do you know how that ended?" she asked him rhetorically. "With two people who couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other; who had nothing at all to say to each other."

"I don't know Kip," Joey shrugged. "But from what I've heard, he is not Chandler."

Through all this mess, Joey was beginning to see something. She was indeed scared, like he had suspected. But he would never be able to fathom how deep that fear went.

When she was nineteen, Chandler had looked at her guilt-ridden face and squeezed her hand tentatively as he'd said, It's okay, Monica. Really.

A month later, he'd spent his Christmas with her family since his mother had been on her third honeymoon, and he had no idea where his father even was. She and he had sat together alone in the living room, facing the crackling fireplace, and she'd told him about culinary school and her dream of becoming a chef one day. He'd listened with intent attention, holding her gaze, before murmuring, You're going to be a wonderful chef.

As Rachel's presence in her life started to diminish, she'd sought him out more and more, because he was warmth and happiness and friendship in a way no one else had ever been for her. And unlike Rachel, it didn't look like he intended on disappearing.

When he moved in across the hall, she'd been giddy. How many people got to live right across the hallway from their best friend?

Of course, it was perfect, blissful — just like she had known it would be. He would spend more time at her place than his, almost as if he lived there. He would hug her and cheer her up after a lousy day, cracking jokes that were sometimes funny and sometimes not, but she would always laugh.

He was already more than a best friend then, but he was still Chandler.

With one impulsive move from her, everything had changed course, almost instantly.

She loved him, too. God, she did. She loved him more than life. But when he had uttered those words, it'd felt as if he was sweeping her legs out from under her feet, rattling the last stable remnant in her life.

Loving him was akin to breathing for her; it was natural, easy, and so right. But it needed to remain structureless. Tacking a label on this and calling it a relationship would only make it rigid and unyielding — susceptible to crumbling. She didn't need that, not now. What she needed now was stasis.

Him.

Joey was right. Chandler was not Kip. Because, unlike Kip, Chandler was indispensable, and that was the problem.

"That's not the point, Joey." The desperation to get her fears across felt all-too-familiar. "I've known Chandler since I was eighteen. He is my best friend." She paused to think her statement over, because she was no longer sure about 'is'. There was one thing that she was sure about, though. "If we get into a relationship and screw it up, I don't lose just a boyfriend," she shook her head as her throat threatened to convulse. "I lose my best friend."

"And what about now? Who have you lost now?" he returned genuinely, looking perplexed. "Monica," he continued with a sigh when she didn't reply. "If you were worried about all these things, you two should have ended it months back. I just-" he furrowed his brows, his eyes suddenly blazing with accusation. "Do you think it was fair to Chandler, to lead him on like that?"

"I didn't– " The sudden doubts over her own actions forestall the instinctive denial. The only thing that she was sure of anymore was that she had never, ever meant to hurt him.

"Okay, yeah, that was a cheap shot," Joey relented, because even he knew that she had led Chandler on only as much as Chandler himself had led her on. "But what did you think was going to happen, though? Did you think that you two would just be..." he waved his hands in the air, agitated, "fuck-buddies till the end of time?" he bit the words out, but just as they came from his mouth, he looked ashamed of himself. "Sorry," he apologized quietly, shaking his head. "I can't- I just... I just don't understand any of this, Monica."

What did you think was going to happen, though? Joey's statement echoed in her head. Somewhere along the way, the finite nature of their relationship had just... ceased to be. She had noticed it but had never stopped to think about it since even the idea of processing what it meant had been so utterly terrifying then. Even now, as she stood under Joey's wearied gaze, she didn't know the answer to that question.

Joey stared at her for what felt like forever, and then he quietly asked, "Do you love him?"

Since when did such innocuously simple questions become so hard to answer? But if she were being truthful to herself, the answer was quite simple, too. "Of course, I do," she conceded with the smallest nod, feeling the familiar sting prickling in the corners of her eyes and rising back up her throat as she did.

"Are you in love with him?" he addended bluntly. As she stared back at him, letting him intuit her silence, he repeated his statement by punctuating it with a few crucial seconds. "Are you. In love. With him?"

"Joey," she closed her eyes, inhaling. The coffeehouse's door opened as someone entered, letting in a sudden gust of cold draft. She hugged her arms around herself as she realized that she was shaking. She remembered saying 'Love is too big a word for me right now' to Chandler that night. Now, as Joey asked it so easily, it made everything else seem irrelevant. All her fears and doubts just hung about her, trivially inconsequential.

Things were rarely that easy, though. They just couldn't be. "It's not that simple. He needs time. I understand that. I'm willing to give him that-"

"He is moving," Joey cut in impatiently.

It sounded like a non sequitur but something about it instantly made her stomach churn. "What?"

"Chandler," Joey clarified unnecessarily. "He is moving to London."

She wondered if Joey was telling a cruel lie to gauge her reaction, but he just stood there, looking as earnest as he ever had. "What?" she repeated in a daze.

"In two weeks," he added, quieter.

She felt her legs shake and took a couple of steps backward until the back of her knee hit the sofa, and she sank onto it.

Joey stepped closer to her. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his expression having morphed into one of unveiled pity now. When she didn't respond, he didn't prod her further. "Talk to him, Mon." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. "It is that simple." He looked at her once more, squeezing her arm. "It really is," he murmured to her before he walked out of the coffeehouse.

~.~

The next morning, as she laid awake in bed, she knew it was well past nine and that she had to get up and prepare for her late-lunch interview with Steve. But she just laid there — still, cold, and numb — as rain poured outside and pelted against her window.

He was leaving.

How had it all come to this? How had this become her life, without him in it even as a friend?

Because of you, whispered her treacherous conscience. She didn't have the strength to deny it anymore.

There was some clatter outside in the living room, followed by Phoebe's voice calling out for her. She closed her eyes and willed her friend away to no avail.

"Monica," Phoebe tried again, standing outside her door. When the silence stretched on, she let herself in. "Mon, are you awake?" she asked as she entered and came over to the side that Monica was facing. "I brought all the things that you need for the menu today, and I also found this great-" she stopped abruptly when she saw Monica's face. "What happened to you?" she asked in shock, sitting down beside her on the bed, interpreting her friend's bloodshot eyes without even her reply. "Did you..." she began tentatively. "Did you talk to Chandler?"

"No," she shook her head slowly. Her eyes filled again. "I didn't talk to him."

Phoebe watched her face, as if waiting for something more — a better answer. There really was nothing else to say, though. "I'm sorry, Mon," she murmured. "If today is a bad day... Do you want me to call Steve and maybe have him move the interview to next week?"

All this time, she'd assumed that things would just go back to normal — whatever that could possibly be now — as the time passed. That maybe they could go back to how it had been before she had messed everything up by mixing their friendship with sex. It wouldn't have been all that she wanted, but she would have still had him with her and in her life.

But she had never once thought that things between them were so irreparably broken that he might never even want to see her again. Was he willing to put countries between them instead of just talking to her? The realization that he was so willing to give up on her so easily made something flare-up in her chest.

Yes, she was a hypocrite, but if Joey had indeed been telling the truth, Chandler was an even bigger hypocrite than she was.

You'll have me. She had believed Chandler every time he'd said it, even when he'd said it that final time, his voice cracking painfully. You'll always have me.

"No," she said immediately. "No," she shook her head, moving to sit up. She had two hundred dollars in the bank, and she desperately needed this job. "We're doing this today," she nodded determinedly as she got out of bed.

She could feel the paralyzing despondence morphing into something else. Anger. Betrayal.

If he was going to leave her like this, running away the moment things got hard after all the promises that he'd made to the contrary, that was his prerogative. All she could do now was to try and move past this. Past him.

Maybe if she tried hard enough, she would be able to do it as effortlessly as he had.

~.~

"We're having roasted salmon and fennel with pistachio gremolata for the main course," she said as placed the immaculately plated dish in front of Steve. This time, she was not floundering. Her long-missing determination was back in place. She was livid — livid with Chandler, livid with herself — and that anger was somehow translating into a relentless pursuit of perfection.

Just a few minutes ago, Steve had polished off the chicken terrine that she'd made for the starter. He gave the entrée an appreciative once-over before taking a bite. He instantly closed his eyes and made a sound of approval. "Wow, this is delicious, Monica," he nodded slowly. He opened his eyes again and grinned at her. "You should be a chef," he joked.

You should be a chef.

The statement was like a stone skipping across a lake, rippling through the room in a way that was palpable even to Steve and Phoebe, both of whom had no idea at all that it held significance to her. She swallowed a wave of nausea.

"Did I say something wrong?" Steve frowned, following a moment's silence.

She had to move on. If he was moving across continents to get away from her, what choice did she have but to move on? She had to. "No," she snapped out of it, forcing a smile. "Not at all."

"Good. I gotta say, Monica," Steve continued as he took a subsequent mouthful of the dish. "I have a fantastic feeling about our interview today."

"Oh." She looked at Phoebe, who gave her an ecstatic thumbs-up. "Thank you, I'm... I'm glad to hear that."

But why didn't she feel nowhere near ecstatic? This job would take her places that she'd thought she wouldn't be able to reach anytime soon, but life itself seemed to have lost all its charm and worth.

The 'why' was glaringly obvious. Nothing could be done about it, though.

He was leaving her, like she meant nothing at all to him.

As the interview drew to an end, almost an hour later, Steve devoured the dessert, too. Finally, he wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin. Rising from the chair, he came to Monica with an outstretched arm. "Congratulations, Monica," he said with a wide grin, picking her hand up to shake with his. "Or should I say 'Head Chef Monica'?"

"Oh, my god," Phoebe murmured giddily from behind her.

"Oh, my god..." she echoed Phoebe's response in stunned elation, still grasping Steve's hand. It was the first moment of happiness that she'd felt in weeks.

And that was when it came — the instinctive impulse to meet his eyes across the room, to share that moment, that happiness with him. She looked toward the living room in search of him, smiling widely, and froze when she realized what she had just done.

He was leaving.

"This was absolutely wonderful, Monica," Steve was saying. "I'm so excited about what you're going to bring to the restaurant in terms of experience and ideas, because this was just... just brilliant."

She turned back to him, her head spinning, watching his lips move as he continued to speak, his words completely failing to register.

"And thank you for making this happen," he was talking to Phoebe now, who moved closer to her and nudged her gently to respond. He turned to Monica again. "You saw the place right? It still needs some finishing touches, but if all goes per plan, it should be functional in two weeks. Can you start then? In two weeks?"

He is moving to London. In two weeks.

She closed her eyes, feeling suspended in time. She didn't move, and she couldn't breathe.

He was not leaving because she didn't mean anything to him. He was leaving because of how much she'd hurt him; because she'd had meant everything to him, too. Her ego dissipated into oblivion as she finally understood that.

It hurts, Monica, were his words that night. She crossed her arms across her belly, allowing the same ache that he'd felt to settle all over her body.

She was going to lose Chandler forever. She was letting him slip through from her life like a dream at dawn. For what? Because she was scared? Because she was afraid of losing something that she already stood to lose now, without even giving them a chance?

"Monica?" Phoebe nudged her again, this time harder, "Steve just asked you if you can start in two weeks' time."

She was indeed Cassandra of Troy, only her prophecy was self-fulfilling.

She opened her eyes when Phoebe tapped her arm a third time. She nodded slowly and with conviction. "Yes. I can start in two weeks," she said the thing that needed to be said now, but her mind reeled before a single thought crystallized.

She had watched him walk away once. She wasn't going to do it again. She would never do it again.

"Perfect," Steve smiled. "I'll call you over the week to discuss the finer details of the contract, the menu, and... well, everything." He shook her hand once more before he reached for the door. "Again, congratulations, Monica."

"Oh, my god, Mon, I'm so happy for you!" Phoebe squealed the second Steve left out the door, throwing her arms around Monica. "This is just so great!"

Even as she accepted Phoebe's embrace, it all felt hollow, and she understood the reason behind it so completely in her soul — this happiness wouldn't be hers unless she could share it with him.

Phoebe drew back with a wide smile, but it faltered when she saw Monica's face. "Are you okay? What's the matter?"

She shook her head. No, she was not 'okay'. "I need to talk to him, Phoebe." Her throat tightened as she tried to keep the tears at bay. "I need to see him."

At once, Phoebe understood exactly whom she was talking about. Her jubilant smile returned. "Yes. Yes, you do," she nodded, physically turning Monica toward the door. "Go, go, go!" she coupled her excited command with quick pats on her shoulder.

So that's what she did. Still wearing her apron, she ran toward the door and opened it, her pace picking up with every step, her heart thundering against her ribs. The distance between his door and hers was barely three feet, but by the time she reached it, it felt infinitely longer. She held the doorknob in her palm and paused, feeling breathless.

She had to see him. The yearning was unbearable. The one thing that she wanted now more than anything in the world was to see his face.

She twisted the knob swiftly and heard its loud protest in response. Joey did, too. He swung his head around toward the door from his place on the couch, startled.

She took in the living room, scanning it for Chandler's presence. She didn't find him there and felt a stab of trepidation when she found the door to his bedroom ajar but the room itself to be dark. She looked at Joey, who stared at her, tense. "Joey..." she trailed off. "Do you know where he is?"

Joey's countenance immediately softened with relief. Then he nodded.

~.~

The rain had stopped that afternoon, but the tiles were still wet, making his shoes squeak whenever he shifted from one foot to the other. The streets below looked meshed together from that height and were gradually beginning to twinkle with the lights being turned on for the evening.

He didn't come here often. In fact, he could count the number of times that he had been up here during the entirety of his tenancy on one hand. But for some reason, standing there on the roof now, the darkness of the evening enveloping him, he felt at peace. Or at least something very close to it.

He didn't hear her footsteps on the staircase, nor did he hear the door to the roof creaking open further. All those sounds merged with the noises from below.

What he did finally hear was her voice.

"Turn around, bright eyes..."

Unlike him from several months ago, she didn't sing it. She just said the words, her voice barely audible. But that was enough.

With both hands on the parapet, he'd been standing leaning forward and looking down. On hearing her, his back stiffened visibly. When he turned around after several long seconds, it was slow and cautious, like he didn't quite trust his own ears.

She took measured steps forward and came to stand before him, just an arm's length away.

He watched her walk toward him and took a deep, open-mouthed breath before pursing his lips together. His hair was longer, almost copperish in the twilight. Blue circles bloomed under his eyes. His eyes themselves held so many emotions as they glinted in the setting sun.

God, she had missed him. She wanted to touch him, run her fingers through his hair like she had done so many, many times before. But she didn't, because the moment felt too tenuous. She was scared that he would disappear into thin air like an apparition if she did. So she stood there, spellbound, watching him, taking in every plane and curve of his face that she had missed.

She knew then, looking at him for the first time in what felt like an eternity, that she'd made the most foolish decision of her life that night at the beach house, because his was the face she wanted to wake up to every morning. He was the one she wanted for the rest of her life.

She loved him. And it really was that simple. She was in love with him.

"Hey," he said softly, breaking the spell. His breath came out white against the cool air.

She had no coat on but just her apron. She felt her core tremble, but she knew it wasn't from the cold. "I had my interview with Steve today," she told him the most trivial of things that he didn't know.

That... that he hadn't been expecting. "Oh, um..." he swallowed. "How did it-"

"I got the job."

"Wow, that's- that's amazing," he shrugged, nonplussed. "Congratu-"

"And it meant nothing," she cut him off, shaking her head. "I was standing there, with my future before me, and it meant nothing without you in it." He kept silent, looking at her intently, but she noticed how his breath became all ragged and uneven, and her words came pouring out. "He told me I had gotten the job, and you were the first person I thought of. You were the only one I wanted there with me." She paused as tears threatened to silence her newfound braveness. "How can you leave me, Chandler?" she whispered, tilting her head to the side, gazing at him entreatingly. "What am I supposed to do without you?"

He looked away from her, his eyes falling half-close. He gave a quiet huff of a laugh, shaking his head. He turned to her once more, looking into her eyes, "I'm not leaving," he said simply. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to read his. So he elaborated, "I quit my job today."

She blinked, wondering if she'd heard him right. "What...?"

"I quit my job," he repeated. "It's mind-numbing. I hate it with every fiber in my body. And I figured that if I don't do it now, I never will."

Her heart squeezed almost painfully as it tried to get her through the shock of the moment, through the sliver of hope that rose without warning.

He was not leaving.

But then his choice of words started to stand out. He hadn't made a single mention about how he and she had factored into his decision. He had made no mention of her at all.

She realized with a sudden pang that just because she had made her choice, it didn't mean that he would make the same one. Especially with how much she had hurt him. It wouldn't at all be surprising to her if his love for her had turned into hate now.

That, again, would be his prerogative. Her feelings were her own and did not hinge upon his. Irrespective of how he felt about her now, she would tell him her truth.

Then something changed in his eyes, and her stomach clenched at the intensity behind them.

"And there was another reason, too." He reached a hand to intertwine his fingers with hers. His touch was like a jolt of static; something she had been craving and yearning for for so long. The sensation raced up her arm and settled in her chest where her heart beat wildly. "Do you remember how I used to tell you that you'll always have me?" he asked.

She nodded, her eyes blurring. Her own breath now came halted.

"I meant it. Every time," he murmured tenderly, his eyes glistening just like they had that night. "So," his grasp tightened on her hand. "There are no ultimatums here. No 'choose-me-or-lose-me' threats," he shook his head. "I meant it every single time, and I still do – You will always have me, Monica."

That was the first time she'd heard him say her name in weeks. She had carefully held her emotions in until then, but it all broke loose at that moment, uncontrolled. She threw her arm around his neck and held him fiercely, as if she needed him to live. She did. She did need him to live.

He staggered back a few steps from the force, and his hands shot out behind him to hold onto the wall tightly to prevent them both from falling over the roof. "Whoa! Hey!" he laughed breathlessly as he stabilized himself. "That was a risky move."

She pulled back and met his gaze, watching the smile drop from his face. "I love you," she told him, her heart thudding heavily. This time, with him, her voice didn't waver. Because this time, it was right. "I'm in love with you." This time, it was true. "I've been in love with you for a long time now."

"Monica..." he breathed her name again, his eyes welling. His expression removed her last trace of doubt.

Why had she assumed that they would fail? There was no litmus test for forever. Just the here and the now. Just him and her, and the sheer strength of their feelings for each other.

They were now so close that his breath mingled with hers. She cradled his face in her palms, looking into his kind, loving eyes. "I'm so sorry I was afraid. I'm sorry I put you through hell," she murmured. "I'm sorry I made you doubt what you knew was there between us." She lowered one palm and placed it on his chest, against the uneven thump thump thump of heart. "Because it is there. It has always been there," she nodded. "The strongest feeling you've ever felt," her voice sank to a whisper. "I feel it, too."

He responded by leaning in and kissing her. Warm and soft and slow. She felt like she was about to explode with pure joy.

She now knew what had happened to love.

This.

And if it's love... it was worth risking every single thing that she feared to lose. If it's love, with him, she stood to gain everything that she'd ever been looking for, her whole life.

He drew back gently, his thumb rising to caress her cheek. "I love you, too," he whispered into the air between them, his words ghosting along her skin. She closed her eyes and soaked them in through every pore. "I love you so much. So much," he repeated.

She felt a desperate laugh of relief rising to her throat. She drew him down and kissed him again until her lips felt bruised. "I missed you. God, I missed you," she told him in a strangled sob as she pulled away, clutching his shoulders tightly. "You really were going to leave for London?" she asked, the question sounding forlorn.

"Joey is the worst secret-keeper ever," he chuckled, but she didn't smile back. "I was, yes..." he relented. "Because I was angry, because I knew there was no way in hell you didn't feel what I felt for you," he paused, breathing quickly a few times. "And I was heartbroken," he admitted quietly.

The weight of his words made it difficult for her to breathe. "If it's of any consolation, I broke my own heart too in the process of breaking yours," she sniffled.

He smiled wryly and then enveloped her with his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "But then I realized I couldn't just leave like that. Not when I would still be hoping that you'd chase me to the airport and serenade me with Total Eclipse of the Heart at the gate," he laughed for a moment but turned solemn again. "I realized that I couldn't do that to you, because before everything else, I was your friend. And I don't intend to stop being one at any point."

"I love you," she repeated, because at that moment, it was a compulsion. An addiction. She wanted to keep saying it to him over and over and over again until he grew tired of hearing it — the very words that she'd been terrified of.

It turned out that all her fears had indeed been inconsequential, for she had never been less afraid in her life before. She'd never be afraid of loving him.

She laid her head on his chest, holding him tightly. "I love you."

"Me too, Mon," he kissed her hair before pressing his face against the curve of her neck. "Me, too." He inhaled deeply and just held her close, content. "I really did quit my job, by the way," he said, several moments later, his tone lighthearted. "I actually had to pay them to let me go, so there's a huge dent in my savings now," he chuckled. "But hey," he drew back to look at her, his voice turning soft, "I don't have to worry about any of that, right? After all, my girlfriend is the head chef of a brand new restaurant..." His voice wobbled at 'girlfriend', like he was still unsure. He looked at her with equal parts love and hope.

She knew what he was doing — placing his heart delicately at her feet again. Only this time, she wasn't going to treat it like her plaything.

"Yes," she nodded, smiling. "My boyfriend has nothing to worry about."

The happiness that flooded his features was a sight that she was sure she would remember for the rest of her life. He pressed a kiss against her temple before leaning his forehead against hers. "What will I do without you, Mon?"

"Hopefully," she whispered before she kissed him again, "you'll never have to find out."

Friendship, happiness, and love. With this wonderful man, she had found everything that she had ever been looking for her whole life.

~.~.~

A/N: Aaaaand... The End! :D Incoming extra-long-AN alert!

I realize this chapter was a 7.5k-word monstrosity, but I didn't want to drag it out any further.

I really, truly apologize for the delay with this chapter and updates, in general. I swear, I wasn't mucking about all these months and was really trying to finish off this fic. It's just that my son has been constantly sick these past few months, and then my whole family came down with Covid (perks of living in a slow-to-vaccinate developing country, yay!). And add to that, this chapter was just so inherently bloody hard to write.

This was the fic that taught me how difficult it is to bring two people back together after an incredibly bad break-up. It is. Even in real life, there is so much ego involved after a bad fight — even when you know that you were wrong and that the other person was right.

When I started writing this fic, I was even younger than the C&M of this fic, and I had a very naïve view of love. There actually was going to be a "romantic reunion at the airport" scene at the end. But when the time came for writing the chapter, it didn't ring true for Mondler, even to my younger self, so the story (and my writing) stuttered and then stalled.

The one thing that I've learned in the years since is that love and ego cannot coexist. For me, now, C&M overcoming their egos and fears is a more preferable end for them in this fic than a dramatic declaration of love at the airport. I really think I made the right decision in ending the story this way instead of my originally intended climax. I hope you feel the same way, too.

Contrivances are hard to avoid while writing fics with themes such as FWB-going-wrong, but I tried to keep them to a minimum. I have never invoked Thumper's Rule here before because I've always assumed it's pretty implicit in free, passion-project forums like FFN. But I'm explicitly requesting here — birthing my son was waaay easier than getting this chapter out. Blood and sweat (and snot and tears, if I'm being completely truthful) were involved in getting this chapter to behave. So please be kind in your reviews :)

If there is some interest, I might have an S1, Rachel-inclusive epilogue for this fic, but as of now, I consider this story very much complete.

I want to say special 'thank you's to four people: WendyCR72 for agreeing to beta this fic, even after so many years, Pepper9603 for her wonderful, invaluable inputs with this chapter, Purplepanther2601 for her lovely support and encouragement, and to wailfulfairytales who has so very generously offered to translate If It's Love to Russian (I will be updating the link to the Russian version on my profile, once it's available).

And of course, huge, huuuuge thanks to all you guys for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting recently and over the years — you are the validation of my instinct to come back to this wonderful site — Thank you :)