AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whaat? A full chapter of Mondler being affectionate? In THIS story? I can't believe it! And this is our longest chapter so far!

This is your guys' treat for being so patient and staying with me for so long. I will be honest, these next couple chapters are not going to be nice, but we're getting close to the end! So please bear with me!

This chapter was also a difficult one to write, but I hope I did well and everything feels natural. I also have trouble with writing dramatic/emotional scenes, which is funny because this fic has been filled with those, so I hope they've been good enough for you all.

Well, it's not entirely okay. It hurts a little.

Their pages of rules have become taller than them. Don't make eye-contact for too long or someone will notice. Don't talk for too little or someone will notice. Don't talk about romance or sex or the other person or anything or someone will notice. Someone is going to notice, and if they do, then it's the end of the world– because who cares what Monica wants?

Monica doesn't see Chandler as much as she used to. Everyday, she sees the Chandler that would rest on her collarbone and melt into her chest, whispering songs of praise and how he looks forward to doing this again– but she hasn't seen the playful Chandler that taps on her shoulder and pretends it wasn't him, and she misses that Chandler's presence. They've decided that if it gets too difficult to be around each other and act normal, then it would be better not to be around each other so much. The two being together in the same room became a rare sight, with one hiding out from the rest of the group; but it's okay, Monica still sees him sometimes. They just don't get much time to talk when she does.

"It won't be that bad– think about it. It's only for however long one of us is single." He told her that night, his voice light as if it were nothing. He softly dragged his hand along Monica's arm, but it did nothing to provide her comfort. "It's not like we'll never see each other. Just…less."

Monica stared at the red colour on her nails that begged for a new coat, chipped from the constant biting. She should have objected; yell at him for suggesting such a stupid idea and grab his hand, making sure he'd never leave her sight ever again. She should have known better from the last time she lied about how she felt.

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

Yet, she never learns. So now, here she is, sitting alone in her apartment with no one to talk to. It's astounding how her life hasn't changed one bit in months.

Rachel isn't home, she rarely is these days. She's been spending a lot more nights at Ross' place, which means Monica and Chandler get to have their fun more often. Sometimes she wishes Rachel would never come home– maybe then, Chandler would stick around a little longer in the morning. Then they could talk about their lives and the most recent movie they each watched and how, according to Chandler, "any guy would be stupid not to love or even like you". Does he even remember saying that to her? Would he say it again if he saw her like this, feeling so alone and uncared for? Or would he stand as far away as possible, avoiding the eyes of everyone around? It's not like it mattered, Monica was still going to let him in later that night. He could never talk to her ever again and she still wouldn't deny his sexual requests, because at least he'd be around. None of it mattered. They had been clear about that from the very start.

It doesn't help that Phoebe has been interrogating her every chance she got. Monica assured her that she and Chandler made up after a long, heartfelt conversation– which couldn't be farther from the truth– and that they were completely okay now. That, however, did not mix well with the fact that she and Chandler haven't been within two feet of each other in forever. Phoebe grew more suspicious, but it seemed she was stuck on the fight theory.

"Did he say something about one of us?" Phoebe inquired, spit-balling various ideas as to what Chandler could have possibly said to have angered Monica. She wasn't getting closer.

"No."

"Did he say something racist?"

"What? No!"

Phoebe looked away in disbelief, fully confident that would've been the correct answer, for whatever reason. Then, a lightbulb turned on in her head. "Oo! He called you something! Did he call you something?"

"Phoebe–"

"Fat? Ugly? Mean? Bossy? Freak? Slut? Whore?"

"Oh my god, Phoebe!" Monica put an end to Phoebe's rambling, somewhat offended that she could list so many derogatory words.

"So none of those? Oh my god, it was something worse!"

Monica let out a deep sigh. Ingrained in her brain was the same speech she gave Phoebe every day since her conversation with Chandler: Everything is fine. We're handling it. You don't have to interfere, and frankly, it's nobody's business but ours.

Phoebe, being both the kind-hearted and naturally curious girl she was, never gave it up. Monica's words went in one ear and out the other, and the very next day, she'd come back to pester Monica once again about what their fight was about and how she can help. At one point, Monica had a strong urge to just give up and tell her.

"We're fighting because Chandler and I had sex and then he wanted to go date another girl and I was upset because for some reason, I couldn't let him go. I need him in a way I can't understand, but to him, I'm completely disposable. That's why he wanted a new girl. That's why he won't sit with me anymore."

But she can't fall down this rabbit-hole again, because that's only going to drive them further apart. This time, she knows why he's being distant, and she knows he doesn't want to be; but it still hurts. She just misses him. So much more than she ever thought she would miss someone who lived right across from her. It's not so easy to ask for him to hang out platonically– she doesn't remember how to. Their private interactions have now solely been about sex. Even when they weren't doing it, the idea always lingered in the air, waiting to be caught. It was the only way to ease the tension that grew between them as they sat alone, trying to think of something to do.

Aside from Phoebe, no one else seems to have noticed anything off. They've made comments about Chandler's whereabouts here and there, but nothing more than simple wonders. That should be a good thing, Chandler says it's great, but part of her feels melancholic about it. If no one noticed how different this usually touchy duo were acting, then perhaps she overestimated how close they were in the first place.

This didn't stop her from worrying, however. Eventually their secret had to get out– either one of them will reach their limits and confess to everyone about what they've been doing; or Phoebe will piece everything together on her own; or worse of all, in a moment of extreme impulsivity where they can't wait until their roommates are gone, they get caught in the act. There were so many ways this could all go wrong. Now with the worry of the state of her and Chandler's friendship, she can't remember what made her confident enough to enter this arrangement in the first place. The initial scandalous thrill now felt like genuine danger.

She's not going to be alone for much longer. Chandler was going to visit any time soon, and they'd do the usual. Have sex, and never talk to each other until they have sex again– what more could you ever want? She was already prepared, wearing her dark red bathrobe with nothing else underneath; the lights were dim and her bed was made to impress him with her tidiness, as if that wasn't something he already knew about. Slowly, he started feeling more and more like a stranger, and Monica knew she had to do whatever she could to keep a hold on him before he's gone from her life forever; the only way to do that was to sleep with him.

With perfect timing, a not-so-unknown visitor knocked at the door. They were soft knocks so as to not possibly alert any neighbours, but in Monica's quiet solitude, they were loud like thunder. She got up quickly, adjusting her robe to cover her skin just in case the person at the door wasn't who she was expecting– but when she slowly opened the purple door, she saw the familiar smile that she had been aching for all day.

Though the sun had already begun its descent into the night, Chandler had to work overtime to clean up a mess made by one of his subordinates. While being on-time was incredibly important for someone like Monica, she didn't entirely mind his tardiness once she saw him in his handsome business attire.

"Hope you weren't waiting long, the files for one of our clients were completely wiped somehow which would have meant we'd fall behind the net usage quota and–" Chandler rambled on before understanding Monica's wide eyes as a sign that she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He simplified his explanation. "Someone lost the numbers and I had to go find them."

"It's fine, I kept busy." She lied through a small grin. Though she used to have no problem being honest with him, now there were thorns of shame pricking at her skin. It would be embarrassing if she told him she had been doing nothing but wait around. It's not like her life was centred around him; that's just pathetic. She doesn't want him to think of her as pathetic; not any more than he probably already does.

He brushed his hands along the sleeves of her robe, slowly lifting them until he reached her elbows. From there, he knew he wanted to savour his experience– which was a selfish thought, since Joey was just across the hall, waiting for his buddy to come home any minute.

"Oh, so now you want to touch me?" Monica teased; but as much as she meant for it to be a simple joke, hints of genuine offence bled through. She was only valuable to him in secret.

He frowned lightly, looking down in shame before reconnecting with her gaze and putting on a small, apologetic grin. "Come on, Mon'. You know how it is…I just don't want anyone to find out about u- about this. That's all it is, I'm sorry."

She grazed her thumb against his bottom lip, admiring the curvature of his meek smile. The contact was light, but enough to excite Chandler, as she could feel his arms quiver slightly. Quickly, she loosened his tie for him and freed him from his blazer and button-up. Watching the well-dressed businessman Chandler become a mess was something she could never get bored of. She tousled his hair to further the rough look; it suited him well.

With no time to waste, their lips were already intertwined as Chandler led Monica back into her own bedroom. They manoeuvred around the furniture without needing to look, having almost perfectly memorised the floorplan of the apartment considering how often they do this same dance. The two flopped onto the floral print bed, giving Monica the perfect opportunity to imagine for a moment that they were in the midst of a flower field– far from the people they tried so hard to hide from. A field of roses was far too romantic, so instead she pretended they were scorpion grasses. To match with his eyes.

The ravenous intertwining turned into a trail of soft kisses around Monica's face and down her neck, and before he could continue any further, he looked up for her permission. She smiled at the sight of her lipstick smeared all over Chandler.

"You're so pretty." She giggled.

He rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

Chandler continued showering her collarbone with his affection, before feeling her body lightly tense in his arms. He quickly raised his head again, afraid he may have crossed a boundary. It's not that Monica didn't want him, but she was too distracted by other matters to fully enjoy what they were about to do. The concerns of everyone finding out were clouding her mind still– what would everyone think?

"Are you alright?"

Chandler's previous sultry voice ascended into a soft tone of concern, peering up with worry deep in his eyes. Monica adjusted her position, now sitting upright on the bed, with Chandler following her lead.

After seconds of hesitation, she finally blurted out: "I can't stop thinking about Phoebe."

Chandler looked at her bewildered. "...well, that's the last thing most girls want to hear during sex, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel…"

"No, not like that!" Monica shoved him lightly with a chuckle. "I mean– I just can't stop feeling worried that she's going to find out. That everyone will. Do you know how much she's been interrogating me recently?"

"I know! Oh my God!" Chandler exclaimed. "She's always staring at me when we're together, I feel…violated." He shivered humorously.

"I mean, it's just tiring. Nothing I say will make her back off." Monica spoke in a low voice, her eyes dropping to the bed sheets as she slowly traced the floral pattern with her finger. "I hate lying to her. To everyone."

The air grew sombre as seconds passed without speech. Chandler readjusted his position, now leaning against the headboard with his hands resting behind his head as a cushion, becoming fully comfortable. "I get what you mean. Joey's been asking a lot of questions, too."

Monica looked up inquisitively.

"He's worried that I'm always coming in from somewhere in the morning– he even caught me sneaking out one night. I just keep telling him it's work stuff, and I think he believes me, but I don't know…I feel bad about it all." He continued, staring up at the ceiling. His lips sucked in slightly as they usually did when he was in deep thought. "Maybe he thinks I'm caught up in some illegal activity, or something."

By his cadence, she could tell he was joking, but something about that statement didn't feel far from the truth. The constant sneaking around makes Monica feel like a criminal– one that her friends would never trust again if they found out she had been secretly sleeping with one of their own for so long, without a single word to the people she claimed were the most important thing to her. She used to tell Rachel absolutely everything; now she can't even discuss her weekend plans.

She hesitated for a second, before asking a question that made her ears burn. "Do you think any of this is wrong? Are we bad people?"

Monica was expecting– hoping– for him to do what he usually does. Immediately lean in, eyes wide and all dramatic, and tell her that she could never be wrong. That Monica Geller doesn't have a single bad bone in her body. Then he'd do that thing where he holds her close, whisper sweet words of how she was the greatest woman in the world who should never feel guilty about anything, and seal the whole package with some sort of witty remark. But he just sat there, staring at the ceiling. Savouring the flavour of Monica's words, and in silence, agreeing.

"Bad people don't usually ask questions like that, if that's any consolation." It wasn't.

Perhaps she can't expect too much from him; it must be difficult to give advice on a situation that you yourself are caught up in. It hurt her to see that Chandler, who always knew exactly what to say, couldn't tell her that things were going to be okay for them. It hurt her even more that she couldn't do that for him.

"I just don't want to lose everyone." She added.

"You're not going to lose everyone!" He protested, breaking his stare with the ceiling and finally looking at the sad girl in front of him. "You're not going to lose anyone because they're never going to know about this."

They were meant to be comforting words, but this blanket of secrets didn't feel so warm anymore. Their disguise wasn't strong enough for Monica to feel secure, and the fact that the sake of all of Monica's relationships was relying on a single huge secret didn't make her feel any better. Chandler must have noticed this distress, because he sat up and inched closer to her.

"And besides, I'll still be here, right?"

Because through everything, Chandler was always there for her. And in this hypothetical situation where everybody finds out and the two are ostracised for their taboo, then at least they were guaranteed each other's company. At that point, they'd be all the other person had; just like the two 20-year olds who lived across from each other, with no one else's presence but their own.

"I guess…I'd hate for anyone to think I'm a slut, though." Monica said absentmindedly.

Chandler's posture straightened, that dramatic expression she yearned for finally coming into fruition. "Why would anyone say that?" He exclaimed, his tone mixed with both offence and genuine confusion.

"Cuz…you know…" she trailed, suddenly finding it difficult to explain herself when he was staring at her so intensely, like a child in trouble with their parent. "What was my first response to getting dumped? Throwing myself at another guy."

"Monica, no one would think that."

Phoebe already does, clearly.

Her throat begins to feel like it's closing in, swelling with the fear of opening up to Chandler. The words were stuck on her tongue– all she wanted to do was cry out to him, spill all of her emotions onto the bed so that someone could finally hear her. So she could, for the first time in forever, tell the truth. It killed her to hide herself from the one person who understood those feelings best, because they couldn't risk crossing that bridge and having no return.

"Nevermind, forget I said anything."

"No, come on, Mon'! Don't do that!"

She hurriedly began untying her robe, her tone becoming shaky. "Let's just get this over with so you can go home and no one will have to question your whereabouts or whatever." At some point, Chandler had to have grown tired of all her venting and complaining. He came here for one thing, and it sure as hell was not a conversation. It was never just a conversation.

Before she could fully undress, Chandler grabbed her hands and held them on his lap. "Just talk to me, Mon'. Please?"

He sounded desperate. Memories of their heated argument flashed in front of her eyes– yet again, they were at such a standstill in their communication that he had to beg for her to say something to him. Monica may have been the cruellest woman in the world for putting him through all this trouble, then expecting his comfort afterwards.

She kept her focus down on their intertwined hands, afraid of what would become of her if she were to meet his empathetic gaze– he was the flame to her wax.

"I'm horrible, Chandler. I seduced you because I was sad, I used you. And I treated you so horribly, I don't know why you're still friends with me after that."

The words fell out one after another, going against the screaming voices in her head begging her to stop. Honesty was only going to scare him away; Monica knows Chandler. He wouldn't be able to handle it if his low-commitment partner told him about all her complicated feelings– but the grip on her hands encouraged her to speak more and more. The pressure around her neck loosened, allowing her to relish in this catharsis.

"And I miss you. So much, Chandler."

"I'm right here, Monica." He reassured hesitantly.

"No, you're going to leave…" She sniffled. "We're going to have sex, and you're going to leave, and I won't know when I'll get to talk to you again."

In the moment that he stayed silent, Monica couldn't confirm if Chandler was really there. The tears obscured her vision, leaving his figure to nothing more than the shades of pink that made up her bedroom. He could've been gone if it weren't for the warmth of his skin on her hands.

"Mon', none of what you just said is true." He finally spoke, the uncertainty in his voice now nowhere to be found; he was confident in what he was saying. "I'm friends with you because you're the most caring and loving woman I've ever known, and because out of everyone in this whole entire world, it's you that always cheers me up– whether that's through pep-talks or late-night sex, I don't mind either." He laughed.

Once he noticed the tears still rolling down her face, he continued speaking. "-and I'm not going to leave. I'm never going to leave you, Monica. I'd stay here forever, if I could."

"That's not true." She hiccuped. "I'm just easy, aren't I?"

"Easy to love? Absolutely." Chandler grinned, and God, it's just impossible to cry when he has that adorable smile. His hand caressed the side of her cheek. "I love you, Monica."

Her heart beat, that raced so fast that the individual beats became impossible to discern, came to a halt.

He added, while wiping away her stray tears with his thumb, "You're the greatest friend in the world."

A wave of disappointment washed over her immediately. Even if for just a second, she had hopes that someone loved her for more than just the care-taker friend she was– but she got carried away, because this was Chandler. He knew the worst parts of her too well to ever love her differently.

The illusion she created of time becoming frozen dissolved when Chandler spoke up again, this time in a low-whisper, as if they were in hiding. "Can I tell you something, and you promise not to judge me?"

"Promise."

His lips hovered, clearly regretting saying anything at all; but in this moment of transparency, their first heart-to-heart away from the peering eyes of their friends, he gained enough confidence to be open. "I think compared to all the girlfriends I've ever had, I feel the most secure when I'm with you." he coughed out.

"Why would I judge you for that?"

"I don't know…isn't that pathetic? My best relationship is with a girl I'm not in a relationship with?" Now it was his turn to avoid meeting her eyes; his figure became small, slouching over, as if he were kneeling to the woman in front of him. "I can't believe how lucky I am to be friends with and to be intimate with someone like you."

"I could say the same."

"No, no…you deserve someone as amazing as you are– or however close you could even get to being that great. Far from someone like me."

Nothing pained her more than hearing Chandler talk negatively about himself, and in these moments she cursed every single person in his life who could have ever made him feel that little. "Chandler, how long have we known each other?"

He paused to think. "I don't know, nine years? ten maybe?" Either way, it had been a long, long time.

"Don't you see how crazy that is? Two people being best friends for that long?"

"Well, you have to. I'm your neighbour."

She slowly ran her hand through his hair, admiring its soft texture. "Even if you lived on Mars, you would still be my best friend, Chandler. I don't think there's anyone else on this Earth who's as funny and sweet and understanding as you are."
"Well, yeah, you just put them on Mars."

Monica leaned onto his chest, resting her head against Chandler's neck. Part of her expected him to jump back, but he let her get close; an invitation she hadn't gotten in a long while. "You're not pathetic, Chandler. You're the furthest thing from pathetic." She whispered, tracing circles around the top button of his shirt. "If you saw yourself the way I do, you would know just how special you are."

She could feel his chest rise up and down, but for a moment, it stood still. Chandler wrapped his arms tight around Monica, lifting her into a proper hug. "And if you just saw yourself the way I see you, then you wouldn't worry so much about finding your soulmate."

"That's it! We'll just trade our eyes."

They giggled into each other's sides, still holding on to the other's shoulders as if their lives depended on it– to Monica, it did. It felt like these past couple weeks, he had been slipping through her fingers, and as desperate as she was to cling onto him and make certain that he wouldn't ever leave her side again, Monica knew this wasn't forever. Eventually, Chandler would find a girl and their arrangement would come to a close. He could be with this new girl in public, not have to worry about how it'll affect his other friendships, and this girl could live with the comfort of knowing Chandler won't leave her– a luxury Monica could only dream of. He says he'd stay here forever, but it was an empty promise– he'll stay as long as he's single, just like they agreed upon.

The sun was fully gone, and darkness filled Monica's bedroom, their only illumination coming from the moonlight peaking through the window. Chandler still held onto her, his grip tightening, and it was this moment that she finally saw him again; not the intimate Chandler, not the playful Chandler, but the compassionate Chandler who could ease her pains; the one who could wallow with her, and together in their solitude, slowly come to terms with their romantic struggles. The sweet taste of nostalgia lingered on her tongue of a time when they could easily talk about their troubles without fear of judgement. They ruled out emotional talks, but Monica couldn't care– she just wanted to be held by her friend again without needing the promise of sex. She just wanted to mean something more, because he meant everything to her; and with how carefully he held her hair and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, she can safely assume that Chandler felt a similar way.

At this point, neither of them were in the mood to have sex. It felt good to just sit in each other's company, free from the expectations they've set for themselves. Their bodies became a tangle of limbs once shifting to laying down, blinks away from slumber in the calming atmosphere they created.

"Won't Joey be suspicious?" Monica whispered. Throughout their many hookups, Chandler's main concern always remained the same. Monica found it peculiar that he wasn't caught up on timing by now.

"I told you I wasn't going to leave." He whispered back, his eyes closed so that Monica could enviously admire his long eyelashes. His hand was extended out beneath her, stroking the soft fabric of her robe. "I'll just tell him something in the morning."

"Like what?"

"I'll think of something. I always do." He reassured, slowly fluttering his eyes back open. This was normal now– to wake up only centimetres away from the person you weren't dating. They were definitely an unconventional duo, and in the midst of order and reason that Monica surrounded herself with, she could welcome a little unconventionality.

Instinctively, she brushed her lips against his– her touch barely leaving an impact, but enough to form a smile on his face. Perhaps this was too intimate of an act, but neither seemed to mind. Only God knows when they'll next have a moment like this– Monica has to savour whatever she can. While she doubts his words, the sincerity of his promise rang in her ears; he'll never leave her, not again. Monica hates not being certain about things– she needs to have confirmation, or else she's riddled with the anxiety of the unexpected. However, all she can do right now is trust him; trust that nothing will come between their friendship again.