Saturday night was, to many, the opportunity to get a much-needed break from the five-day streak of working nine to five only to receive an offensive paycheck. People always say that work never feels like work when you're doing something you love, a statement that Monica held close to her heart all throughout her years of training to be a chef. However, when everyone at your workplace hates your guts and wishes nothing more than for you to drop dead in the kitchen, no amount of passion for the culinary arts can make you enjoy work. Some days, Monica can feel her love for cooking slip away, and she desperately tries to hold onto that passion and to never let it go– because without cooking, Monica didn't really have much left to offer. She knows this is her dream, but God, it's so hard when nobody likes you.

And Saturday night was supposed to be the getaway from the five days of hell she went through every week at her new job. She was supposed to spend the night with the new guy she's seeing, have a great dinner– but not too great of a dinner, because she's very nitpicky with her food, and wash away the tensions of the week with some quick romance and fun. She's dressed in her favourite modest but attractive dress and her hair styled so that the waves frame her face perfectly, but all of it goes to waste when she notices the blinking red light on her landline, and listens to the voicemail that she somehow missed all day.

"Hey Monica– listen, things came up, and I don't think I'll be able to see you tonight. It's just– well– I'm not really sure how well we get along, and I don't think we should waste any more time. It's not you– it's me."

But everyone knows what that's code for: It's not me at all, it's entirely you.

And now, Monica was just a loser standing in her apartment alone, dolled up for absolutely no one.

She had gone on four dates with this guy, how did it take him so long to realise that he didn't like her? Why did he have to wait until Monica felt like there was a chance for her to maintain a relationship, only to rip away any hope she had? To rip away the one thing she was waiting for all week?

Just perfect.

Rachel was spending the night at Ross', giving Monica the whole apartment to herself, which she hoped to use for her own adventures in romance– but now it was just the same purple apartment Monica spent every other lonely night in. Some of this was her fault, though, for believing a guy could really like her as much as she liked him. When have any of Monica's crushes felt the same way about her? Very, very, very few. Part of her wanted to believe that things would be different ever since she became thin, and while guys look at her way more than they ever did, she can't help but feel that they can all somehow tell that she was unlovable. At first glance, they knew she was picky, cared way too much about things no one else did, and often turned to food for comfort– and that was why guys slowly lost interest after the first couple dates. Even if Monica was pretty now as an adult, she was still the weird girl she always was in high school. No amount of makeup or exercise could change that.

She flopped down onto the couch, unsure of what to do now. All the excitement slowly fizzled out, and she felt like a kid coming down from a sugar-high. All that was left was for her to wallow about her romance failures and wait for Monday to come, because at least at work, she had something to do. Maybe she could just pour herself a warm bath and hope that she can dissolve into the water like her beloved bath salts. Before she could go to the bathroom and prepare her relaxing soak, the unexpected noise of the door swinging open put an end to her daydreaming, and she quickly got up to greet Rachel and ask why she had come home so early. To her surprise, however, it was an entirely different person who had just entered the apartment.

"Monica? What're you doing here?" Asked Chandler, dressed in an old white T-shirt and pyjama pants. Monica always urged him to get new night clothes, since the shirt he wore began to fray at the ends from years and years of usage, but he never listened.

"You know, I actually live here." Monica joked, but the dissatisfaction was clear in her tone. Chandler knew her well enough that if she was resorting to sarcasm, she was seriously bothered by something– in heavy contrast to himself, who used sarcasm as a second language. Monica asked him for what reason he'd be barging in an what-he-assumed-to-be-empty apartment this late at night, but he ignored her question.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you on your date?" He asked, and came his softer and empathetic voice that she rarely heard. Chandler had a weird duality, he could either be someone who avoided all emotional talk with tasteless jokes, or someone who genuinely cared for another's feelings and served as a listening ear– right now he seemed to be the latter.

With a deep sigh, Monica explained how her date cancelled on her tonight, and on every future date they would have planned. In between sentences, she'd pause and allow for Chandler to make some sort of comment, but instead he patiently waited for her to continue, sitting next to her with one hand rubbing her arm. She leaned more into his side, and he caught a whiff of her freshly-sprayed perfume scent: Escape by Calvin Klein. The one he got for her 3 Christmas' ago.

She kicked her heels off and propped her feet up onto the table; normally she's heavily against having shoes laying around the floor, but she was too tired to care about her rules at the moment. Not wanting to hog up the conversation, Monica asked again why Chandler was in her apartment.

"Joey was supposed to leave me some left-over pizza, but he ate it all." Chandler grumbled. "Now he's off at some actor-party thing and I'm alone and hungry."

"That makes two of us."

Monica held up an imaginary glass to the air as a toast to their solitude, but now thirsty for something to drown out her sorrow, she leaves to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of wine. She poured out a glass for her and her friend, and while Chandler was much more of a beer man, he couldn't decline the expensive wine that Monica housed.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I'm not doing so hot either." Chandler took a big swig from his glass of wine, throwing his arm around Monica's shoulder once she sat back down. She let out an empathetic sound and assured him all will be alright. Recently, Chandler had discovered his girlfriend had been cheating on him–something that has happened to him numerous times by now– and while days passed since they broke up, he still hadn't fully recovered from the shock.

She could tell that Chandler was expecting a laugh from her based on the big smile he had, but Monica didn't find that funny at all– she found it heartbreaking. Chandler was one of the greatest people she knew, how could so many people take advantage of his love?

She nestled herself deeper into his hug, and settled in the nostalgic feeling of their embrace. Their conversation reminds her of a time long before Joey, Rachel, or even Phoebe became part of their lives– back when Ross was busy with Carol, and it was only Monica and Chandler in the little hallway they called home. It's not like the two grew apart ever since their respective roommates moved in, but she misses these intimate moments. She always forgets just how good Chandler is at making her feel comfortable.

"I assure you, Monica Geller, you will find your perfect guy one day, and he'll love you so much." Chandler brought Monica into a closer hug, stroking her hair with his other hand. "And he'll be as clean as you are, and as nurturing, and as good of a cook– actually, no, not possible. You'll always be a better cook than he is." This time, he succeeded in making her laugh, but that wasn't something he usually found difficult.

"How do you know that?" She groaned, swirling her cup of wine in her hand.

"Because, Mon', you're the greatest and most perfect girl in the world, and any guy would be stupid not to love or even like you– and especially to bail on you when you look this gorgeous."

His words light her up like fire to wood, and she hopes that in the dark shadows of the apartment, he couldn't see the shades of red painting her face. Why did he have to say something so embarrassingly sweet?

If she said 'Chandler always knew the right thing to say', then she would be lying, because Chandler had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time– usually in the form of bad jokes during inappropriate times. Above that, though, he knew exactly what to say when he needed to comfort Monica. It's confusing how different he can be when they're alone, he no longer feels like an insecure man who's scared to speak, but she's not exactly sure what he's like instead. He's just different– a good different.

Monica adjusted her position to get a better look at Chandler's face while maintaining the close distance between them, and all of a sudden, she forgot what she's about to say. She's unsure if it's the wine or the shadows or the fact that he's only a mere centimetres away, but Monica is beginning to realise just how beautiful her friend is. If only Chandler could see what she was seeing right now, because then he'd know just how good looking he really was– even in his raggedy shirt and messy hair.

Regaining her thoughts, she decided to return the comfort for her equally-as-unlucky friend. "For the record, I think any girl would be stupid to even think of cheating on you."

"I must have a thing for idiots, then." Chandler coughed. "It's like I'm some sort of magnet– hey, is that why Joey lives with me?"

And he made her laugh again. He's just so good at making her laugh.

She combed her fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it up, but when her hand graces his cheek and she feels the warmth of his skin, something came over her. For some reason, she has a strong urge to kiss him.

It's just the alcohol– whatever you do, do NOT kiss Chandler. Don't do it. Don't do it. Do. Not. Do. It.

But before she knew it, her hands were on his chest and her lips on his– which were soft, and tasted of the wine they shared tonight. Monica wondered how his ex-girlfriend could ever even think of kissing another guy. For a moment, she completely forgets what she was even upset about.

Suddenly she comes to her senses and immediately pulls away, realising her grave mistake. He looked at her with wide eyes, and Monica was somehow just as shocked as he was.

"Sorry– that was–"

Her apology was cut off by Chandler closing off the distance and bringing her back into a kiss– with one hand on her waist and the other on the crook of her neck.

It's weird– it's weird because of how not weird it was. Chandler was someone she had never expected to ever kiss in her whole entire life– it wasn't even an option in her mind! Because Chandler was her goofy neighbour and friend and nothing more than that, but here he was, biting at her bottom lip. If it weren't for the light sting from the pressure of his teeth against her skin, she would be 100% sure that this was all some weird dream– it sure felt dreamy.

The longer they made out, the more she didn't want it to end. Something about the whole thing just felt so right, like an itch that was finally itched. Chandler knew how to make her laugh, he knew how to comfort her, and as she just learned– he definitely knew how to kiss her. It's like they have been doing this forever; and even though it felt right, she knew it wasn't. She knew she had to put an end to this.

She pulled away, dragging Chandler slightly along with her as if they were glued together. He looked at her concerned,

"Is something wrong?"

With her hands around his neck,

"Let's take this to my room."