A/N: Thank you all for the continued support! Back to Chandler. A tiny trigger warning for a mention of suicide at the end of the chapter – I don't know if it's enough to warrant a trigger warning but better be safe than sorry. I really feel like I poured everything into this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Friends or Mondler.

The streaming sunlight stirs me from my sleep to the feeling of a small, warm body wrapped in my arms, and all recollection of the previous night comes crashing back.

It startles me when I realise that I'm here, in Monica's bed, practically cuddling her, and I don't panic. The usual burning instinct to run away is completely and utterly absent. Instead, I feel content; at peace for the first time in longer than I'd care to admit. I wonder whether she's really awake, too, having similar thoughts.

Who am I kidding? She'd freak out if she saw us like this.

I have absolutely no desire to move – not now, maybe not ever – but I fear that Monica will interpret my current position as me seeking emotional intimacy, rather than just physical comfort, which I'm absolutely sure is what this is, and I know that if she were to realise how entangled our limbs have become, she'll be sure to sever our arrangement. And so I carefully free myself from her and roll over to my side of the bed, ignoring an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

We both lay still for a number of minutes, or maybe hours, who knows? Time seems to stretch on forever as I find myself wishing I was holding her instead and thinking about how I hope these awkward, silent mornings can become something different.

"Monica?" comes a voice from outside the bedroom. Is that… Joey? Why is he here, especially at this time in the morning? And doesn't this woman lock her door?!

She was occupied otherwise, I think to myself, remembering how what was supposed to be a quick stop by at Monica's had turned into… well, this.

"Fuck," I hear Monica mutter immediately, as if she had been awake the entire time.

She hastily exits the room, hopefully having grabbed a robe, without acknowledging me as my back faces away from her.

I stupidly follow her lead, putting yesterday's clothes back on and making my way out the door, my confusion and curiosity overriding any awareness of the implications and consequences.

They're in the middle of some food-orientated discourse when Joey's eyes widen at my entrance.

Shit.

Monica is absolutely fuming, and I can't exactly blame her. This would make Joey go getting all sorts of ideas, and… well, he'd be right.

"Chandler? What are you doing here?"

I have no idea what to say. To my surprise, neither does Monica, apparently, and our silence is incriminating.

"Oh my God! You? And, and you?!" he says, point at us both.

"No! I mean… we're not together, it's just, just casual," I stammer, not very casually, not sure of how much Joey knows about Monica's occupation. Her expression looks grateful, though, so I figure he doesn't know much.

"Oh, nice!" Joey says excitably, giving me two thumbs up and a wink as Monica continues to face me.

"Anyway, I didn't know you two were friends," I say, swiftly trying to change the topic.

"Oh, I would hardly call us friends," Monica says quickly. "When Joey moved in a few weeks ago, I was in the middle of cooking and I said he could have some, y'know, as a little "welcome to the neighbourhood" gift. Or "welcome to the apartment building" I guess – whatever…" she says, and I smile as she goes off point.

"Anyway, he's kind of been obsessed ever since, so every now and then, he comes in and invades my dinner table – and my fridge."

"Dude, have you tried her food?" Joey asks as if possessed by a sense of other-worldly wonder and awe. "It is seriously good!"

I briefly catch Monica's eyes, the both of us undoubtedly reminded of the disastrous dinner we shared the other night.

"Uh, nope," I reply, and he looks flabbergasted.

"Well, you have got to try it!" he declares, suddenly grabbing a loaf of bread and a kitchen knife, as if expecting Monica to make a meal out of them.

"Okay, okay! I'll do you guys Breakfast," Monica announces, slightly alarmed, disarming Joey.

I revel in the delight that I get to taste her food again, and that she's going back on her earlier promise of not cooking for me anymore. Sure, it was a decision taken spontaneously to placate a weapon wielding Joey, but it's something.

I copy Joey as he sits down at the table, while Monica begins preparing our breakfast.

"So, Joey, why are you up this early, anyway? You know, I don't think I've ever heard a sound of life coming from your side of the hall this early in the morning. Or ever, in the morning, period," Monica quips, and I chuckle, getting the impression that being around these two a lot is going to be fun.

"Well, you know that show thing I'm in?" Joey begins, earning nods from Monica and I, "yeah, well that starts tonight, apparently," he finishes in an aggravated tone.

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, yeah," he dismisses with the wave of a hand. "it's great and all, but neither of my parents are coming to see me, or any of my sisters."

Chandler looks to Monica with raised eyebrows, and we give it a moment before something clicks in Joey's mind.

"Hey, you guys could come, free of charge!"

"Oh, uh, are you sure you can do that?" I ask, trying to find a way out of going on another date-like outing with Monica. "Because I – I really can't afford Broadway tickets."

"Sure I can, dude! I'm the star, I have the power," he proclaims, his eyes popping at the thought of his new status. "And besides, it's off-Broadway, it's not real Broadway!"

I meet Monica's eyes and shrug, trying to communicate that I'm down if she is. It's not like I have anything else going on. It's free, and hey, it might actually be good. I'm not immune to the charm of live theatre.

"Sure, Joey, why not?" she concedes, presenting us with bagels, pancakes, and waffles, and Joey gets stuck in immediately.

"Great!" he exclaims with a mouth full of food. He devours it in a flash and I don't exactly blame him – who'd have thought simple breakfast staples could taste this amazing?

"I gotta split," Joey announces, getting up from his seat. "Be at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, seven thirty tonight?"

"Uh-uh," I say, not having expected him to go so soon, leaving me alone with Monica, as the latter quietly agrees with me.

"See ya," he says, still chewing on something as he departs.

"Mon, I" –

"Chandler, stop," Monica cuts in, before I can apologise for stupidly revealing our activities to Joey. "I'm, um, sorry he was here… I really didn't think he would just walk in like that," she says, seemingly ashamed.

"It's okay, really, I shouldn't have humiliated you like that… I mean, I'm okay with him knowing about, well, you know, but I shouldn't have presumed…"

"Chandler, it's fine," Monica chuckles, "Joey isn't exactly shy when it comes to sex – I think he can handle it."

I laugh a little at that.

"So, I guess I better get started on that contract, huh?" Monica says, clearing away the plates. It takes me a moment to register what she's talking about, but when I do I nod eagerly.

"Good idea. And I should probably be… at work, or something."

"Really?" Monica frowns.

"Yeah," I confirm, checking my watch, "a half hour ago, actually."

"Well, move it then, Bing," she grins, shoving my shoulder.

"Easy enough for you to say; you have the best job in the world. In theory, anyway," I add. She rolls her eyes but can't contain her smile.

"You know, with the way it's headed, it might be time for a career change," she giggles, and I know she's kidding. It's weird. We're here, openly joking about her occupation and our arrangement and it feels totally normal, almost domestic, even.

"And yet you're currently writing out the terms for our arrangement anyway," I say with a smirk.

"Well, you don't know, maybe the small print is gonna enlist you as my servant and declare all your earnings and possessions as mine. Maybe I'll never have to work another day in my life."

"Let me know how that works out for you when I get fired for being late to work, and we're both unemployed."

She laughs and I almost lean in to kiss her goodbye before I come to my senses.

"I'll meet you back here at seven and we can head down together?" I ask.

"Okay!" she replies, high-fiving my hand in agreement.

"Bye," I say, looking back at her as I walk out of the door, the smile not leaving my face once during my commute to work.

The evening couldn't come soon enough. The idea of getting to see Monica this evening had made work a thousand times more bearable.

I finally get back to my apartment at six pm, and make an effort to look good when getting ready, knowing that tonight could commence the official start of our arrangement. Shit. What the hell are you supposed to wear to an off-Broadway show? I realise I have no idea if there's some sort of implicit dress code or expected attire, so I settle for an open collar shirt and black trousers that I decide can pass as both smart and casual.

I cross over to Monica's apartment at five to seven, wanting to be prompt, and I feel anxious knocking on her door and awaiting her response.

I don't have to wait for long – I'm suddenly face to face with her, and she's absolutely breath-taking. Her dark, wavy locks fall down her back softly, perfectly framing her face. She's wearing a short, floral dress, and though it's not particularly formal, she's so gorgeous in it that I can't help but feel underdressed. I would feel embarrassed for being so obvious with my staring, if it weren't for the fact that I think she's staring at me too. Her eyes are fixated on mine, and I lose myself in them, forgetting everything. I drop my gaze down to her lips, a soft summer pink shade, and think how they have never looked more kissable.

She opens her mouth to speak, and I'm expecting awkward apologies or excuses, or maybe even a joke to break the mood, but instead, she simply tells me that the contract is ready.

I follow her through to the office and read through the document, before signing it confidently and enclosing a cheque. I can't believe that we're actually doing this.

I offer up the paperwork, unable to tear my eyes from her lust-filled stare, feeling myself getting more and more worked up at the sight of her. She takes it off me, her hand purposefully touching mine before letting the now disregarded agreements hit the ground. She begins stroking my skin and I swear she is trying to torture me.

"You know, we still have some time," she says sensually, knowing exactly what she's doing, and I reach breaking point. I pin her to the wall, the both of us breathing heavily, and I begin sucking on her neck fervently, Monica gasping at the sensation.

My hands massage her breasts through her dress, before working their way down her body and eventually reaching under her skirt. I gently caress her inner thighs and lower stomach before teasing the hem of her lace underwear and slipping my fingers inside, her increasingly loud moans encouraging me to go further and further, and I comply, unable to get enough of her panting my name.

She cries out as I bring her over the edge, and I feel an enormous sense of pride as it sinks in that I'm the one who makes her feel that way. It's my touch, my kiss that induces such a perfect response. She chose me.

And then, I remember that we're not exclusive, that she's not mine and I'm not hers, and it's like someone dumping a bucket of ice-cold water on my head. I retreat away from her as she recovers, glowing from her orgasm.

It's the first time I admit to myself that I might, probably, most definitely want something more than just sex with this woman, and I hate myself for being so infatuated with someone I barely know, someone I only met a few days ago, someone completely and utterly unavailable.

Our arrangement has only just begun, and already I know that it's not sustainable. I sigh as I watch her straighten her dress and fix her hair. I make a mental to distance myself from her if I don't want to get hurt again. And, for some reason, I know that this would sting even more than the last time – even the thought of losing Monica is a pain more intense than actually losing Kathy ever was.

I entertain the idea of breaking it off before things become too messy, trying to find a real relationship with somebody more attainable, but then she smiles at me, clearly satiated, and God, what I wouldn't do for her. I'll take her in any way, shape or form that she'll have me.

And that's just sex. Sex, which doesn't even feel like a lot anymore, compared to what could be. But it's so, so much better than nothing.

She must sense a shift in my demeanour, because her face falls to a frown, her eyes shining with confusion.

"Chandler? What… what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, smiling a smile so big that there's no way it could come across as sincere. She gives me an unsure look but doesn't question me further, and I feel so ashamed for putting her in this position.

The walk to theatre passes without a single word being spoken between us – it would have been awkward had it not been over in a matter of seconds. We take our seats and it becomes clear to me that she's not going to make the first move to start up a conversation, and I feel really, really bad that I've suddenly gone cold on this woman for as far as she knows, no reason. She might even be thinking it was something she did, thinking that I'm no longer attracted to her and want out. Which, obviously, couldn't be further from the truth, and I can't stand the idea of Monica blaming herself. I decide to swallow my feelings and act like nothing's changed.

"So, uh, have you seen Joey act in anything before?" It's a weak opener, but her face lights up as she realises that I'm not completely shutting her out.

"No, I – we're not really friends," she replies – she's not a soap opera fan, I'm guessing.

"I have," I declare with sarcastic pride, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? In what? Did he repay your loans with a little bedroom roleplay?" she smirks teasingly. I laugh, simultaneously shocked, embarrassed and kind of impressed.

"Not quite – I think that's more your area," I venture, unable to think of a witty comeback, and she scoffs. "He was in a soap, 'Days of Our Lives', a few years ago, playing a neurosurgeon called Doctor Drake Ramoray. You know, I heard that Joey was the reasoning behind the concept of life imitating art."

Monica snickers in response.

"So, am I in for a treat?" she asks coyly.

"If by 'treat' you mean ice cream at intermission and three hours with the Chan-Chan Man, then I would have to say yes."

I see her flash me a quick smile as the lights begin to dim in the auditorium, signalling that the play is about to begin.

About an hour later, the lights come back up, commencing the break between Acts.

"Well, that was… something," Monica says, as if like me, she isn't really sure what to make of the play – a modern-day 'Romeo and Juliet' remake subtly titled 'Ronan and Julianne', starring Joey as the titular male lead. It's safe to say that it's not going to Broadway, I think, as Monica continues her critique of the plays first Act. "Did you see the way he was looking at his computer screen? That's true love, that is. Personally, I think that a love declaration is way more romantic when communicated via email."

"Thanks for the tip," I joke before I can stop myself. And I really do mean it as a joke – I would never choose that method to tell her how I feel, but I know how it sounds and oh, shit, she looks mortified.

"I mean – I don't mean that I'll – you know, I don't have feelings – "

"Chandler, it's okay, I know what you meant," she says with a reserved smile, "don't worry about it. I'm gonna hit the restroom, and when I come back, you better have that ice cream you promised me." The mischievous glint in her eye is back.

A few minutes later, we both return to our seats, me with two ice creams, one of which I hand to her as she thanks me and we tuck in.

"So any predictions for the rest of the show?" Monica enquires enthusiastically.

I shrug.

"I mean, they both have to die, right?"

"Sure, but I think the question is more how rather than if."

"Maybe Ronan kills himself when it's been a whole day and Julianne still hasn't replied to his email?" I say mockingly. "But it turns out it was just this huge misunderstanding because Julianne was – get this – busy doing something else instead of emailing Ronan, and so when she finds out what he's done, she reads his last message one last time before topping herself, and dies cradling her laptop. Or, maybe he releases their sex tape in a fit of rage when she takes too long to email back, and Julianne commits suicide, obviously seeing no other way out, and dies knowing that her family were right about Ronan all along."

Monica bursts out laughing, and I soon join in, unable to believe that we're actually discussing this.

"Man, this play sucks," she says.

"Yeah," I say quietly, enamoured with the sight of her looking so happy, so free.

"I'm glad I got to see it with you, though," she confesses, looking up at me through long, dark lashes, almost shyly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. It's at that point when I realise that she's still got a smear of ice cream across it, and my hand involuntary moves forward to wipe it away.

"You've got a little something…" I whisper, her eyes widening as I clean the ice cream off, my thumb lingering a little too long and our eyes locked. I can feel her breath quicken, the warm air tickling my skin.

The lights go down and I draw back, looking away, but the moment isn't gone. The rest of the play has its moments, and at one point, during a particularly emotional monologue, I look over at Monica, only to find her gazing at me right back. She nudges my hand, accidentally or otherwise, and I take it in my own, interlocking our fingers together, keeping my eyes on hers. There's something about the romantic atmosphere and the darkness of the theatre that makes this all okay, and I cherish it, knowing that the moment the lights come up, it's all over.

A/N: Gotta love the messy ice cream trope! I don't know what it's like in New York, but in London, ice cream is like the staple interval snack at West End shows, so when I had them go to the theatre I just couldn't help myself. Also, I don't know if 'interval' or 'intermission' would be the correct usage here. And I don't know whether they even have them in straight plays, but whatever.

Sorry this wasn't up as soon as I hoped. I hope the scene where Chandler essentially admitted his feelings for Monica to himself didn't feel too soon, but I don't know, I feel like it's been pretty damn obvious since chapter one and I don't want this story to drag on too much. I don't think he's fully there yet, but I just don't feel like it's realistic for him to be so completely in denial about wanting more than a physical relationship with Monica when it's so blatant. I know there's way more fics with Chandler pining after Monica than vice versa (and I would love love love to see more Monica pining fics) but it just wouldn't work if it were the other way round for this particular story.

Anyway, please let me know your thoughts (is their relationship progressing too quickly? Am I overplaying the romantic/sexual tension scenes and need a better balance?) and thank you all for reading and reviewing so far! And next chapter looks set to be Rachel's first appearance. Also, my tumblr is now chandlersmonica. :) Thank you!