AUTHOR'S NOTE: Idk how important this is to know, but for context, Niki Lauda was a driver for Ferrari back in the 70s. Just so you know!

"Hey Joey. It's me, Chandler— I'm your new teammate, if you don't remember. Well, I'd be concerned if you didn't remember. We talked just yesterday. Whatever, that doesn't matter."

He should have rehearsed this. Instead, he was leaving Joey with the world's most desperate voicemail. Several attempts were made to craft the perfect message, each sounding more nervous than the last. Chandler tripped over all his words— just imagining Joey on the other end, unknowingly listening to the playing message, judging him, it messed with his nerves. But it was just a phone call. That's all it was. It shouldn't be so difficult.

"Just wanted to say I'm free this Saturday, so we can go somewhere if you want. Anywhere. Actually, Monica said there's this place near the hotel called King of the Fork. It's a coffee shop, apparently really nice. We can go there. It's right next to the hotel, can't miss it."

He curled his finger around the phone wire, tugging at the coil as if it would give him the strength to speak in a casual manner. It did not.

"Does 1pm sound good for you? Monica's got me doing all these crazy training sessions in the morning, so I can't go any earlier than that. If it doesn't, just call me back. If it does, well, call me back and let me know, or don't. I'll figure it out when I get there. If you're not there by that time, I'll just come back every hour. So don't keep me waiting."

He laughed nervously,

"That was a joke. I won't do that. Sorry, I'm a bit jittery. Just had lots of coffee."

That was a lie.

"You're busy right now, and I've also got some things to do with Monica soon— so…yeah. Sorry for the long message. Just let me know what's good for you. I don't mind. Well, see ya around. Or not. That's entirely up to you."

Chandler hung up before he could say anything more embarrassing, and sunk his warm face into his palms. He was never all that good with social interaction, but this was a new low. Did he even sound coherent? Likely not, but it gave Joey an excuse to call back for a translation. An excuse to hear that holy voice again.

What was he to do now? He laid back on the hotel bed, sheets softer than the ones back home but not as comfortable. Chandler always preferred New York for the simple reason that it was his home. He wasn't one to get homesick often, but there were passing moments in his day where he wished to see the Empire State Building through his window. The lights in Brazil did not shine as bright as the ones in Manhattan. They didn't have the same memories sparkling in between.

His hand reached for the bedside drawer, in search of something— anything, to keep him entertained. Inside was the hotel's complimentary bible. Chandler was unsure what edition it was, or if it was the one he prayed with growing up. He never bothered to learn the difference between them all. The difference in material was insignificant when he didn't care for the material itself.

He flipped through the pages as if it were the daily paper, catching glimpses of verses he remembered reciting back in high school. The memories caught up of having to stand up in the classrooms where he had no friends, reading aloud the words that never resonated with him— praising the Lord who closed his eyes when passing the Bing household. He wasn't so nostalgic for New York anymore.

Chandler had a bible back home, yet another gift from Nora. She passed down all these important items, yet wasn't big into practice herself. The only time he ever saw a bible in her possession was as a paper weight for her novel drafts. He was the only one in the family to have gone to Catholic school— his mother's way of protecting her son from the sin that seduced her husband, because only in that sense did she care for the Lord's words. Chandler's bible was tucked away in his closet, collecting dust since the day Nora brought it to his condo. The guilt of not reading it held him back from opening that closet for a long time. Monica was enraged to find the mountain of clothes piling up on his living room couch, but she didn't understand his issue. There were many things she didn't let others touch in her own home, but she didn't get why Chandler was adamant about leaving the closet door alone. It's because it wasn't his anymore. It belonged to He who watched him all day.

The weight grew heavier every second it sat in his hands, and he quickly set it back in the drawer and let the Lord claim that corner as another place Chandler couldn't touch. It'd be better if he stayed away from it, until he got to the next hotel and the next bible.

The day went by with forgettable errands. Meandering the streets of Brazil and signing autographs of anyone who managed to notice him through his disguise— a measly cap, because often Chandler was eager to be recognised. To have his presence acknowledged by so many at once, it proved he was really alive in times when days blurred into one and life was just passing him by. His name written in black marker was a reminder that he mattered to people. Even if they only cared for the results he brought home, it was enough for him. People who personally knew him rarely smiled at his mere appearance, but strangers on the streets would beg for a handshake, and he never once declined.

And once he returned to his hotel room, he felt that same joy as those fans on the street, when he saw the single thing that glowed in the dark: the red light of the hotel landline.

He jumped to the phone and pressed play on the message.

"Hey Chandler! Sorry, I was busy earlier. 1pm sounds good, I'll be there. See ya!"

What a simple response. Barely longer than a breath. Yet, Chandler yearned for those three seconds. He envied Joey's nonchalance, his way of getting across with so little. His charm made up for whatever he didn't say. He replayed the message five times more, acting as his lullaby for the night.

Tonight, he did not feel he was under God's almighty eyes. He felt as if he were under Joey's.

—-

April 1st, 1995

Saturday was his reward for the four excruciating days of extensive training that blurred into one, and even beyond US borders Chandler was denied a break from endless suffering. Alone in the coffee shop, he impatiently tapped his finger on the table's surface, focusing on the rhythm as he waited for Joey to show up and take his reserved spot. He figured a distraction would make time go by faster, but each minute was still sixty seconds, and each second was still a hundred years.

Though he usually enjoys meeting fans in public, he wanted today to just be between him and Joey. Two teammates getting to know each other, and building the chemistry needed for racing alongside one another. Purely innocent motives. He hid beneath a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap and a cheap surgical mask, hopefully enough to conceal his likeness from the rest of the world.

Anytime he heard the bell by the door ring, he'd whip his head up, only to be met with disappointment when it was just another Brazilian citizen coming in. Twenty minutes had passed, and Chandler began to wonder if Joey had changed his mind. If he realised he was better than the anxious boy, far too kind to be seen with such a mope. His fear got the better of him, as he was just about to leave the café and return every hour like he claimed he would.

But then the bell chimed once more, and its echo came with a gift. Like the church bells Chandler tuned out when he was young, only without the impending doom that preceded bible study. Chandler broke from his hunched over position to give the man's entrance his full undivided attention. His ears were blessed with its sound, and his eyes blessed with Joey's long awaited appearance.

Before he could raise his hand and signal that the suspiciously dressed man was indeed him, Joey already headed straight for his table, a look of relief on his face as he sat down.

"Dude, I'm so sorry I'm late, hope you weren't waiting long." He fell in the chair with exhaust. His heavy breathing warmed the short distance between the two. "I had no idea where I was going. I got lost, ended up in some alleyway at some point, it was scary."

Chandler found something so endearing about it all; Joey was concerned for the inconvenience, possibly just as anxious for every corner he turned and couldn't find the coffee shop. Maybe their fast-paced hearts were beating at the same time, both without ease in the absence of each other. Every thump against their chest calling out to each other, bringing them closer and closer, as if fate needed them together against all geographical odds. Or maybe Chandler was looking too deep into things.

Though curious as to what kind of journey Joey went on and how he even ended up finding the right place, a different question ran in his mind.

"How'd you know it was me?" Chandler asked. "Is my disguise that bad?"

"Nah," Joey waved his hand. "You're just recognizable. You've got really recognizable eyes. I knew it was you through the window."

Chandler wasn't sure how to respond. He adjusted his mask, hoping it was enough to cover his blush. How could he say such things without hesitance? How could he look directly into these so-called recognizable eyes without flinching over his own words? Everyone said they'd get along well, but so far, they couldn't be more different.

"Don't worry, I just got here." Chandler made up. He didn't want to see what Joey's beautiful features looked when contorted in sorrow. Comfort suited him well.

Joey leaned back in his seat, a king to his throne, so important yet so casual. "Phew! Thank God."

God would have to forgive him for his dishonesty, but it was worth it to see Joey's face light up. The lamp hanging above them served as Joey's halo, drawing out the flakes of gold in his iris'.

"So, you're a big coffee fan, huh?" Joey picked up the laminated menu set on the table.

"I guess. It really hits the spot on a…" Chandler paused, his voice descending to its natural sarcastic tone. "...hot, Brazilian day."

Coffee may not have been the greatest decision for today, but Joey didn't seem to mind. He still carried such happiness with him that Chandler desired.

"I remember you said you had a bunch of coffee when you called me." He mentioned, tracing his sharp finger over the list of various refreshments the establishment had to offer. "So I just figured maybe that was your thing. You had a bunch of coffee and then you ask me out to a coffee shop." Chandler grew excited at the idea of his message holding such significance, enough for Joey to remember. Perhaps Joey kept his voicemail on repeat as well, memorising the highs and lows of Chandler's pitch.

"Do you want something else?"

"No, coffee is good." Joey said with the same disinterest as someone who didn't like the beverage.

"You'd think it was a lot more than just good if you went to this one place in New York. It's small, but I'm telling you, their coffee is a game changer." While Joey was busy reading over the menu, Chandler kept his focus locked on him. "It's called Central Perk. If you're ever in New York, you've got to visit it. My favourite place in the entire world."

Joey tore his attention away from the menu in his hand, eyes brightening with recognition. "Oh! I've been there a couple a' times! Their stuff's great."

Chandler noticed that Joey talked similarly to him— better than him, even. He shortened his words like an American would. His accent was thick like New Yorkers he knew back home, no trace of Italian like he would have expected. It was all too familiar for a foreigner.

"Your English is really good." Chandler commented absentmindedly. "I can't imagine having to learn another language. I mean, English is stupid because of our spelling alone. I'm sure it makes you Europeans sick." and then it dawned on him, "Or, I guess they were the ones to come up with it. We just hopped on the train."

"Right…" Joey chuckled, causing Chandler to second guess his attempt at a joke. He should save the comedy for another time. There was intense thought behind Joey's eyes as if he were debating with himself, until he came to a decision. "Actually, English is my first language."

"Oh." was all that dropped out of Chandler.

"Yeah. My parents came to New York when they were havin' my sister Cookie, and then they had me. I did some karting there— as you know— but then we went back to Italy when I was eight. I kept racing there, but then we came back to the US when I was fifteen, and I've been here ever since. Well, when I'm not racing, that is."

He must've saw the the confusion on Chandler's face as he attempted to follow along the story, so he further clarified,

"I'm American."

"Oh my God." A wave— no, the full ocean's worth of embarrassment washed over Chandler. He sunk back into his chair, wishing the ground beneath him would crack and he'd fall to his demise. He lowered his cap down as if it would save him, but the brim did not fully extend around his shame. "I'm so sorry. I was born yesterday, and no one taught me how to shut my mouth."

"No, no— dude, don't worry." Joey reassured, extending his hand to Chandler's shoulder as an act of comfort. His discomfort dissolved under the kind man's touch. "Honest mistake, I get that a lot. Seriously."

"Really?" Chandler peeked through the shade of his cap in disbelief.

"Yeah! I mean, people are always asking me— uhh…if I always knew English, and I tell them…I have! And it's completely normal. I swear."

Joey had deceit all over his face, but not the malicious kind. Somewhere beneath the cool guy Chandler perceived him to be was adolescent innocence, a pure heart belonging only to someone young enough to not experience the ills of the world. A naivete Chandler basked in, reminding him of better days. He appreciated the white lie, and graciously took his guardian angel's words at face value. They were just two dishonest boys looking out for each other.

The silence that came post-misunderstanding was one Chandler could never bear, and so he did what he normally did and filled it immediately. "Monica mentioned you're in Formula 3000 right now. That starts up in May, right?"

"Yeah." The rare, timid expression Joey held immediately softened back to the relaxed one from earlier. "But I'm taking a sabbatical this year. Gunther wanted me to travel around with the team, directly train with you guys."

"God, if I could go a full year without racing, I'd be the happiest man alive." Chandler hung his head backwards, dreaming of the ideal scenario. The same travels, minus the horrible competition. That would be perfection.

But Joey didn't seem to see things the same way. "What? Why?"

"Are you kidding me? Even just a month away from these cars would be a gift. While everyone celebrates Christmas, I'll be singing carols about the season's end!"

"I can't believe this." Joey gawked. "You're a racer, but you don't like racing?"

"Who does?" Chandler laughed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Joey didn't seem to find it all that funny.

"I love racing. It's all I've ever thought about since I was a kid. You're telling me there's not a single thing you like about it? The cars? The tracks? The thrill?" Each word came with more excitement, and for a moment, Chandler could imagine the young Joey decked out in motorsport merchandise. Glued to the television screen that displayed every race. To Joey, it would've been entertainment. For Chandler, it was a distraction for every argument unravelling in the kitchen.

Chandler pretended to think seriously for a second. "I like the hot girls that come to watch."

"Now that, I can't disagree with." Joey smiled, but his gaze sunk to the table, clouded with broken perceptions. "But I find that hard to believe, that you hate racing. I mean, you're amazing at it. You're one of the greatest I've seen."

"That can't be true." Chandler said like it was a reflex.

"I can tell you're going to be." Joey corrected himself. "You drive like it's your favourite thing."

"Well, sincerely, it's been the worst thing to have ever happened to me."

Chandler never opened up so easily, to a stranger no less. But Joey's presence was all too comforting, he was given the same security as his old church confessionals but spared the judgement. Chandler was safe here.

"So why do you drive? If you don't mind me askin'."

It was a difficult question to answer. A whole can of worms that would be too much to clean up. So Chandler gave the shortest response he could.

"It's all I know."

"That can't be true."

"Guess we're both just saying things we don't really mean." Chandler laughed, but it came out vulnerable. His skin burned under the heat of Joey's gaze, itching to change the subject to something much more superficial. "So, you have a sister?"

"Try seven."

Chandler's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Whose parents could ever love each other that much?

Joey found his reaction amusing. "I'm the oldest son. Well, only son."

"Me too." Chandler said. "Only child."

"Must be quiet at home, huh?"

Chandler thought of every night spent awake, praying his parents would forgive each other and stop yelling. "Kind of."

"It was always loud back home. I could barely hear myself. You'd think it was bad to have a bunch of babies running around, but believe me, the worst was when they were all teenagers." Joey went on, "Do you know what it's like to have three different sleepovers happening at your house? All at once? Can you hear the squealing, Chandler?"

The image made them both laugh. There were lots of laughs today. Joey was funny in a way that didn't make Chandler feel like he ran out of use. A way that came naturally to him, he didn't need to try as hard.

"But they're all great. They're all my favourite people in the world. Havin' a bunch of sisters was so worth it, because that was seven free fans that came to all my races."

"Your family watches you?"

"Every single race." He said with a passion Chandler only dream of. "My family's always been so supportive of my career. I felt kinda bad at times, bringing this pricey hobby to my ma and dad who already had to pay for a buncha' kids. But they never made me feel bad about it. They just kept workin' and workin' to sustain it all." something serious flashed on his expression. "And don't get me wrong, I helped 'em with it! I worked every job I could. Mowed lawns, painted fences— I was even a newsboy at some point. Bike and all."

Joey was talkative— continuing to pull neverending stories from his past, each making him all the more admirable. They had known each other for barely over a week, but Chandler already had a rich idea of who Joey was. All of a sudden, his earlier inquiry made more sense. Only a couple loving enough to have eight children, could have a son as loving as Joey. Who spoke every word like it was his first.

But these feelings of admiration came with something uglier; a nagging envy that tugged at Chandler's neck. Joey grew up with parents who were willing to take risks and make sacrifices just so that their boy could live out his dreams. Chandler, on the other hand, couldn't even keep his father around for long. They grew more distant with every monthly visit and reminder of Charles' lack of care. Chandler didn't care either for racing, but it hurt much more to see that disinterest from your own father.

He set the sinful jealousy aside, afraid of the Lord's wrath for having such evil thoughts, and continued to learn about Joey. He didn't mind his tendency to ramble on. It was similar to his own, but Joey rambled with purpose. He talked about things that were actually interesting.

"How'd you get into racing in the first place?"

Joey's smile softened, about to tell the simple yet sweetest story Chandler would have the pleasure of asking for. "I was four years old, and my dad was watching the Spanish Grand Prix on our little TV. I didn't know much about racing at the time, but I watched with him, and…" He paused, a shade of shy pink painting his tan skin, "It sounds stupid, but it really felt like I was there, in the grandstands. The energy was so high. I remember that was Niki Lauda's first win, and I saw how crazy the crowd went and how happy he was, and I knew I wanted to do that. I wanted to make people proud like he did. My parents tell me I refused to wear anythin' that wasn't red for a long time, because I guess that was like my own way of prayin' I'd be on Ferrari one day."

How Joey could be ashamed of his passion was beyond Chandler. He should never be ashamed of anything. He should have the freedom to flaunt his love for Formula 1 as much as his big heart desired.

It made sense he'd want to be on Ferrari. Italian pride and all. Chandler had small, nearly insignificant connections to the team. Ferrari had New York millionaire Leonard Green as its team principal, an intimidating man that Chandler was always sure to steer away from when on the paddock.

"Monica's good friends with Rachel Green. Leonard's daughter. I kinda know her, too. But that's about as far as that goes."

The devious smirk from his first meeting with Monica returned. "Really? Guess I can just work my magic, get myself a seat."

Chandler buried his discomfort with laughter. What about that comment made his skin itch? Perhaps he respected the integrity of the sport too much.

"What about you? How'd you get into racing?" Asked Joey, prepping his elbows onto the table and leaning closer, interest clear in his eyes.

"That's a story for another day."

Joey whined like a child denied from his bedtime story."What? Why?"

"Because it's a long story, and you haven't even ordered your coffee yet."

Joey folded his arms, leaning back into the space he filled so graciously. "Well, maybe I don't want coffee."

"Then we might be in the wrong place."

"I told you about my past, and I want to hear yours now."

This made Chandler's heart nearly jump out of his throat, but he swallowed it back down. "Woah there, buddy. Dinner and a movie first."

"Deal." And it was this moment that reminded Chandler they did not know each other for years, despite feeling like so. Joey wasn't yet used to the sarcasm that coated every of Chandler's sentences.

"I'm kidding."

"I'm not."

The two simply stared for a moment, Chandler clearly not willing to budge and Joey not willing to move on. This would have been their first competition of many to come. He did not understand how Joey could open up about his personal memories so easily, and how he expected Chandler to do the same.

Joey was the first to cave in, a twitch in his lips when the words broke out. "Fine. But promise you'll tell me one day?" He said, a pining in his voice. "And you've still got to tell me about how you and Monica met. Don't think I forgot."

"That I don't mind telling you." Chandler admitted.

"So promise me about the other thing."

And before Chandler could say the empty words, Joey extended his pinky finger out, shaped like the absence around Chandler's.

A verse he flipped through earlier today flashed in his mind.

Don't say to the priest at the Temple, "I didn't mean what I promised." If you do, God will become angry with your words and will destroy everything you have worked for.

And Chandler couldn't risk it, he was already on the Lord's bad side for every skipped church visit and every curse that followed prayer; for every stray, evil thought he had towards the kind companions surrounding him; for the stain his father left on their family, dooming the Bing name to unfortunate solitude. But Chandler was confident he'd keep this promise sacred. He'd hold it soft in his hands, keep it safe from his own harm.

He wrapped his pinky finger around Joey's. "Promise."

"That's a pinky promise, so you can't break it. No matter what."

It was childish, but Chandler could do with a break from adulthood. Even if for just a single promise.

"I'd never."