AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi everyone! Just wanted to quickly say thank you to everyone who's been reading and leaving comments on this story. I am still kind of new to this website and don't really know how to use it, and sometimes it won't let me reply to your reviews. So this is a big thank you to everyone for the kind words and for sticking with me throughout this story. I also want to say that I am trying to upload these chapters weekly, but if they are ever late, please forgive me. I never intend on abandoning this story so if I go a long time without an update, please know I am working on it! That is all. Hope you enjoy!
Why do people apologise? Usually as a recognition of one's own offences, and as a promise to never do it again. Apologies are so that it becomes clear that we regret our actions, and that we are looking to change. Above all that, we apologise to mend relationships. Apologies are so that people aren't mad at us anymore; so that they don't think of us negatively; and so that the two parties can continue being friends. So why was it that when Chandler apologised to Monica, she only seemed more upset? It was a question that plagued his mind for days.
Nothing that Chandler did worked– every decision he made seemed to drive Monica further away from him, and he was running out of options. He believed that the concern of everyone catching on would be enough to make Monica play nice, but that didn't stop her from acting bitter towards him. Chandler wishes he could crawl into Monica's brain to find out what thoughts have been forming in there; he hates this secrecy that's come between them. Nothing has ever gone unspoken between these two– they told each other everything, down to the dirty details. By now, he was entitled to know what she thought of him, and why she'd glare at him anytime he walked into the room.
He could try talking to her again, but there was a fear holding him back– afraid that her reason for acting so cold was that she could never see Chandler the same ever again now that she saw the ugly and vulnerable side to him. This uncertainty bought him time, holding out for the possibility that all she needed was more time; but how much longer could he tell himself that? It had been weeks since their last normal interaction, nobody needs that much time. Especially the efficient Monica Geller.
Speaking of time, it was just about time for him to go home. The past several hours at work had been spent doing anything but his work. The path to his office door was littered with crumpled up balls that he had been throwing for even an ounce of entertainment. Unfortunately, his company's paper was not made of rubber, so his game of catch was completely unsuccessful. Having his own office definitely had its perks, but he'd be lying if he said a part of him didn't miss the cubicles. Being in his own office kept him disconnected from the rest of his peers. While he never had many friends here, he could at least make small talk with people in the neighbouring cubicles; but by becoming their boss, he was now their enemy, and the only people Chandler ever found himself talking to were associates much older than him. Observing the mainland from his faraway island was a difficult solitude, but tolerable enough considering his salary. Security always trumped his well being.
After packing up his belongings and saying goodbye to absolutely no one, he made his way outside of the building where he'd wait for a taxi to show up and take him home, and quickly, he noticed he wasn't the only one waiting. Standing just a couple feet away from him, holding her hand above her eyes to block the sunlight, Elaine looked around the road for a bright yellow car. Turning her head, she noticed Chandler staring at her, and flashed a shy smile.
"You're Chandler Bing, right?" Her long dirty-blonde curls bounced when she turned to him, and he was so focused on the movement of her impossibly-shiny hair, that he completely forgot to respond back to her. She furrowed her eyebrows while maintaining her grin, somewhat concerned for the gawking boy. "I'm not sure if you know me, I'm Elaine– I used to be near your cubicle– if you remember."
"Oh, trust me, I remember." Chandler said absentmindedly, and it becomes visible how he's losing her with every second he continues acting like a creep. He rubbed his eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry– I'm– so tired…"
"That's…okay" Her words dragged out. "I'm sorry if this is kind of forward, but if you're free this weekend, would you like to maybe grab drinks with me?"
Was he dreaming? He rubbed his eyes again, but there she was, still standing in front of him with that concerned look on her face. He cleared his throat and put on the most nonchalant front possible.
"Sounds good. Wouldn't mind." He always resorted to caveman speech in the rare moments he was the one being asked out.
"Great!" Elaine fiddled around in her various jacket pockets before her eyes landed back on Chandler. "You wouldn't happen to have a paper and pen, would you?"
Quickly, he pulled out a small notepad and accompanying blue pen from inside his jacket pocket– something he picked up from Monica, who's constant need to be prepared was something he both mocked and deeply admired. He handed her the pad and watched as she quickly scribbled down a series of numbers, then returned it back to him. A taxi pulled up for her and she waved goodbye; before he could ask her if they could share the cab, or if the number she wrote down was indeed her phone number and not some sort of nuclear code, she was gone like the wind.
Looks like Chandler Bing won the lottery today, because what were the chances that the girl he liked asked him out first? It was like God wanted to apologise for every curse he put on Chandler since the day he was born, and for a brief moment, Chandler completely forgets about his other issues. Eventually, a second taxi came to pick up Chandler and he soon arrived home to his apartment building. His initial plan was to go straight to his apartment and take a nap that bordered on hibernation, or squeal in excitement after being on the receiving end of an ask-out, but by the time he reached the front door, he saw an angry Rachel dragging out a frantic Ross by the ear– both dressed in black tie attire.
"How could you! Why would you get that as a gift!?" She yelled, loud sharp thuds following her heels as she stomped out of the building. Rachel wore a long sage dress that matched Ross' pocket square.
"Ask yourself!" Ross cried, followed by a painful wince as Rachel pulled on his ear even harder.
The couple rushed past Chandler, and all he could do was flash Ross an empathetic smile, knowing it wouldn't really help the poor man. He really hoped that they would have had the gift fiasco during the birthday party itself for peak comedic value, but witnessing the urgency to find a new gift was also amusing. Did he feel guilty for sentencing Ross to the hell that was Rachel's wrath? Only a little bit– the only thing he truly feels bad about right now is not having popcorn to accompany this wondrous sight.
Chandler walked into the building, and sitting in her white chef uniform by the bar stools was none other than Monica. She sat there slowly working at her ice coffee– he couldn't tell what the beverage was from where he stood, but it was a safe bet. Monica always ordered ice coffee when she came home from work, and Chandler would usually switch it with his piping hot regular coffee while she wasn't looking just to see the shocked look on her face when she burns her tongue. When this became a consistent trick, she should have known better and been more careful with her drinks around Chandler, but at some point he noticed she would look away for a long period of time and would only face her coffee once she heard the shuffling of Chandler's sleeve. Becoming an unspoken but welcome tradition between the two, she allowed for the switching to take place.
Putting all his concerns aside, Chandler approached Monica and took the stool next to hers, hiding Elaine's paper into his pocket. He peered into her cup; plain espresso.
"How could Ross do such a thing? If only someone had warned him." Chandler spoke obtusely, assuming that Monica had witnessed the same humorous event that he did. She must have had the fortune of seeing their live reactions– how lucky.
She took a sip from her big coffee mug, a noticeable twitch in her eye as she downed the bitter drink, but she pushed against the discomfort. "Sure, if only."
He waited a moment for her to continue– perhaps to ask about his day or to talk about her own, but that was all she had to say at the moment.
"Soo…how was work? Any threats on your chef's hat today?" He pointed towards Monica's hat that sat on the bar counter. His attempt at facilitating conversation was not as successful as he hoped.
"Does it look like there's anything on there?" She replied bitterly, holding up the clean and plain hat for him to observe.
Like watching a bad voiceover, Monica's spiteful tone sounded foreign coming from her mouth. Chandler did his very best at keeping his chin high and treating Monica as he regularly does, but frustration grew within him. Her comment tipped his bottle of patience.
"Hey, Mon? This petty thing you've got going on isn't cute. What's going on?"
Before he finished his sentence, Monica was already out of the stool and heading towards the stairway, leaving her coffee behind. Chandler rushed behind her, voicing his concerns in a stern voice he rarely used. His calls fell on deaf ears, with Monica continuing to ignore him up until they reached the door to apartment 20.
She swung the door open and stomped into her home. "Leave me alone, Chandler."
"I can't do that, Mon, because you clearly weren't happy with that either." He held the door open before she could shut it behind her, letting himself in against her wishes. Chandler was tired of this silent treatment. "Why can't you just talk to me? With your words? Y'know, like an adult?"
Monica followed the path to her bedroom, but by the time she reached the couch, she swiftly turned in place to face him again. Perhaps he was hallucinating, but he could have sworn he could see smoke coming from her ears.
"I don't know, Chandler! I can try, but you'll probably run away before I get to say anything meaningful!"
"Oh my god– we're still on that!?" Chandler tried to keep his volume down, but he couldn't help but feel agitated when Monica brought up his already-accounted-for actions. Reopening old wounds was at the bottom of Chandler's Favourite Activities. "How could you still be upset? That was forever ago!"
"To you, maybe." Monica spoke in a small voice, looking down to her chest where her crossed arms laid. For a moment, Chandler felt relieved that she had calmed down– until her eyes locked back onto him in a single sharp motion. The furious glare suggesting she was not going to back down anytime soon. "It's probably hard for you to keep track of time when all you're thinking of is which girl is going to sleep with you next!"
Chandler blinked with incredulity. Initially clueless as to what she was referencing, he quickly remembered their conversation about Elaine. He's shocked that Monica even managed to remember her– he dug one of his hands back into his pocket, clutching the paper in his palms. Monica was always able to see right through him, and he wouldn't be surprised if she could sense the presence of another woman's number on his body.
The statement towards his character did not sit right with Chandler, painting him as some sort of perverted monster for wanting to pursue a new relationship. "Oh, that's it, huh? You're mad at me because you think I'm some sort of man-whore?"
"I never said that." She shot back, clenching her hands into fists; knuckles almost as white as her uniform.
"Oh, please, Monica. Just say it. Say whatever's on your mind! Please, I'm begging you!" His loud voice wavered as he pleaded, desperation evident. There was a crazed look in his eyes coming from the amalgamation of confusion, anger, and hopelessness. He took a step closer to her, making Monica's posture visibly stiffen.
"I don't know who you think I am, Chandler. I don't know why you'd think I'd be okay with that."
Everytime she spoke, she just left Chandler waiting for more. She continued to dance circles around whatever seemed to be the problem, and it made him want to rip his own skin off. Monica has always been so straightforward, so why is it so difficult for her to just speak her mind all of sudden? What is holding her back? Every vague word was another vein popping out of his head.
"Okay with what? What are you talking about!?"
"Chandler, you seriously cannot be this dense!"
Hearing these digs from Monica, the most nurturing figure in his life, was unsettling. It begged the question of how many of her words were from the heat of the argument, or negative sentiment she secretly harboured for years.
"I can't believe I have to spell it out for you, but most girls don't like it when you have sex with another girl almost immediately after sleeping with them." Monica snarled, stepping closer towards him to assert herself. Guilt formed in Chandler's core– Monica's claims were false as he never slept with anyone, but the paper in his pocket proved her accusations weren't entirely baseless. "What, do you think I wouldn't care? You think it feels good to see you move on so quickly?"
The significant height difference had no effect on her dominance, as she held enough power to keep him on his toes. The sudden change in distance startled Chandler, his heart thumped loudly against his chest, about to break out at any moment– if she were standing any closer, she could probably feel its vibrations. His focus shifted between her two eyes, not too far from his own, and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts and come back with a response. "Hey, news flash? You had sex with me only because your date bailed on you. I don't feel very peachy about that either!"
Her initially crossed arms immediately flailed out. "That's completely different!"
He towered above her, pointing his finger to give him some sense of power. The intensity of her emotion melted him like butter, but he had to stay strong. "It's not– don't act like you chose me for some special reason! I know for a fact that had he shown up, I wouldn't have crossed your mind once. In fact, you could go out and have hundreds of guys fall to your feet and you wouldn't ever think of me–"
"How dare you accuse me of that!?" She interrupted. Her voice ripped through his ears, anguish echoing in his mind. "Do you think I value you that little? Is that how you really see me?"
"No, that's not what I mea-"
She interrupted him again, only a breath away from his face. Her usual pale skin now a light red from the yelling, a colour that made his heart flutter. "I had sex with you because I care about you. Because you mean something to me and because I knew out of everyone, you were the only one who could make me feel better. You really think I would have slept with just any guy?"
Chandler was incredibly frustrated with Monica right now, but her assertiveness triggered something else pent up deep inside of him. An eerie quiet filled the room. Everything began to feel tight; the tie around Chandler's neck that he was desperate to rip off; the walls that seemed to slowly close in around the arguing duo; Chandler's throat, with his words getting caught in his windpipe. Monica looked him up and down, and he finally exhaled, realising he had been holding his breath in response to her subtle eye movement. She stood close enough to him that he could catch wind of the melon scent she wore to work that morning: Escape by Calvin Klein.
It was impossible to tell who leaned in first because at the speed of light, they smacked their lips together into a hungry kiss. Her hands went straight to his face, warm from his anger, which had now transformed into a deep desire for her touch. Chandler's hands travelled all over her back and eventually landed on her waist, pressing her body closer to his– for once, he felt satisfied, having finally bridged the gap that kept them apart these past agonising weeks. There was no defining taste to her tongue and yet, Chandler couldn't get enough of it. The cloth of her uniform had only increased his irritation, itching to pull her clothes off and feel the light muscles of her arms.
Suddenly, Monica yanked him by his tie and led him back to her bedroom, still eating at his lips like fruit. She fell back onto her bed, pulling Chandler down with her. The thin fingers Monica loved so much tugged at the buttons of her shirt, and she assisted Chandler in taking off the hulky garment and throwing it off to the side, revealing her undergarment. Light freckles covered her chest and gave Chandler an almost nostalgic feeling– Monica always covered her freckles with makeup, and he never noticed them until his hands were grazing over her bare skin oh so many nights ago. Since then, he yearned to see them again, and here he was admiring the true and beautiful pattern of her flesh.
Every movement between them was careless and filled with haste. Quickly, she loosened his tie for him and freed him from his blazer and button-up. Her well-kept nails dug into his back, the light pain enough to bring a sound out of him. She bit at his lips– hard. But Chandler enjoyed every second of it. She could draw his blood out for all he cared– he might deserve it after everything he's put her through.
His hands clenched the sheets around them, and he did whatever he could to avoid breaking away from the kiss, afraid one of them would come to their senses and put an end to what they knew they'd come to regret– but he never wanted this moment to end. He poured all the built up tension into Monica, and with his mind focused solely on their collective pleasure, he could care less about whatever he was so angry about.
Their movement calmed down as they came to a finish, and both parties laid flat on the bed, side-by-side. The air was hot with their heavy breathing, and when Chandler turned to look at Monica, all he could do was admire the glisten of her sweaty skin. He watched as her chest rose up and down while panting, his stare interrupted when she returned the gaze. Eyes wide, clear that she had never experienced anything as intense as what they had done– her mouth opened ready to say something, but no words could come to her mind.
Chandler substituted for her. "Is it a bad time to say that I'm sorry?"
"Well, better late than never." She breathed out. "I'm sorry, too."
He'd have to be careful as to not fall into the habit of using sex as a means to cope– as this was now the second time he slept with Monica to rid himself of his negative emotions, but there wasn't much he could do when his best friend is just so good at what she does. They made an incredible sexual duo– why put an end to history in the making? There likely was a better way for Chandler to express and expel these pent up feelings, but this way was fun.
Suddenly, it hits Chandler that Joey is likely waiting for him back at their apartment– but the warmth of the bed was one he did not want to give up. Unfortunately, Monica seemed to have made the same connection.
"You should probably get cleaned up and leave before anyone sees you." She said, getting out of bed and looking for where she had thrown away her undergarments. While rough intercourse was fun, the clean up wasn't as much.
His eyes lingered on her figure as she looked around the room, biting his lip so that he'd stay quiet. There was a perfect opportunity to make a quip at how doing just that put them in this predicament, but perhaps the wound was still too fresh, so he kept his response concise: a simple nod. He quickly dressed himself and made sure he looked presentable so as to not arouse any suspicion, and he was out of the apartment; looking both ways before he crossed the hallway.
Chandler took a deep breath and walked into apartment 19, now feeling like a new man. Joey's bedroom door was closed, but he could hear a light drilling behind it. The drilling ceased and Joey walked out of his bedroom, a confused look on his face when he saw his friend standing by the door.
"Oh, were you just about to leave?"
Now Chandler was the one confused. "No, I just like to stand around doors for fun."
Joey rolled his eyes as he usually did to his roommate's uncalled for sarcastic remarks. Chandler clarified that he had just walked in, and asked how Joey wasn't aware of that fact.
"Well, I was in my room drilling– didn't you hear?"
"No– I did! That's my bad." Chandler gulped, thankful for this easy out. He tossed his briefcase onto the foosball table and headed for the bathroom, before something caught his eye. In Joey's hands was an orange vase, scribbled over in various shades of yellow and green. Joey held it close to his chest like an infant, and noticing the curious look on Chandler's face, he began to explain.
"Phoebe took me to this cool pottery place, we spent the whole mornin' there! This is mine– the instructor said I did really good for my first time!" He showed off the amateur vase, asymmetrical in every view with small chunks broken off. Joey's hands were covered in the orange dust, likely from smoothening the vase– hence the electric drill, Chandler thinks.
"It's…" Chandler wants to make fun of the hideous pottery, but he loses to Joey's big charming grin. The whimsical paint job clearly done by Phoebe had an additional effect on his conscience. "...very creative."
Joey patted Chandler on the shoulder as a thanks, making Chandler wince now that his suit was covered in orange dust– but once Joey got closer to him, something triggered his senses. "Hey, is it just me, or do you smell somethin' fruity in here?"
"Uhh– no! Must be the…the fumes? From your drilling?" Chandler made up. He carefully observed Joey's face, waiting for the moment for his friend to piece together Chandler's current smell and Monica's signature scent and come to the conclusion that the two slept together and that it was somehow not the first time that happened– but he quickly remembers how much he's overestimating Joey's quick-thinking, as the questioning boy shrugs and returns to his bedroom. A win for Chandler.
He walked into the bathroom to prepare himself a shower. Before he began to undress, he emptied out his blazer pockets so that nothing valuable would accidentally go in the laundry with the rest of the clothes, which is when he finds Elaine's number. He looks at the now crumpled paper in his hand– he had been waiting all week for this exact moment, but all of a sudden, that excitement was nowhere to be found. This sudden disinterest was peculiar to him; Chandler is aware of this opportunities' rarity, so why wasn't he jumping at the landline and dialling the number while twirling his hair?
He tosses the paper into the trash can next to him, because something's telling him that he won't be needing it for now.