December 22nd, 1995

Winded, sweaty, limbs throbbing as if he's never moved them before; Chandler unlocked the door to his condo and let Monica and himself inside after their early morning training session.

"I bet you miss this, huh?" Monica teased, not even slightly shaken up after their vigorous exercise. She was made of titanium.

Chandler had a witty remark ready in mind, but it all came out in huffs and puffs that Monica dismissed with a laugh.

Things had gotten breezier these past two weeks. With Joey back in his life, colour seeped back into his world. He scoffs at his own naivete of thinking he could actually survive without Joey for so long.

Chandler made the conclusion that these impure thoughts were okay as long as they stayed nothing more than just thoughts. Actions speak louder than words, right? God couldn't be upset with what Chandler didn't do, it only mattered that he was at least trying to stay away from evil. The bible never once said "Thou shalt not fantasize about thy best friend", so he was safe.

All it meant was that he would never get married and he'd die alone— which, realistically, would have happened had he been straight anyway.

Monica never pushed Chandler about his Central Perk breakdown and what it all meant; she didn't even question when Chandler would make a 'j' sound and then bite his tongue. If she had doubts, she kept them to herself. She probably enjoyed all this free time Chandler suddenly had.

She sat down on his sleek couch, crossing her legs and looking around the cluttered living room. This home was like a jungle to her. "When will you ever tidy this place up?"

"When St. Jude himself tells me to." Chandler said as if it were a joke, but these days, he often depended on signs from God and the saints to do just about anything. Sometimes he'll flip a coin and tell God to give him tails if that means he should call Joey, and he would keep flipping the coin until he got tails, because it's what God told him to do. The saints might have a problem with him using the Lord's name in such vain, but Chandler found it hard to care once he was on the phone with Joey and the passing hours turned into short minutes.

"Would you clean if I told you to?" Monica asked with a tilt of her head.

"Depends. Will you send me to Hell if I don't?"

"Something like that."

With that, Chandler decided to pick up the pair of socks on the floor and toss them back into the closet. Baby steps like this put a smile on Monica's face, but he noticed she was oddly giddy this whole day.

He fell onto the empty couch space next to her. "What happened to you?" He asked, as if happy was the most offensive thing one could be.

Her grin widened, showing off her pearly whites. "Guess who won't be on Williams next year?"

Chandler sighed. He'd never escape this sport. "That's probably the worst way you could tell me I didn't get an offer from the team."

Monica lightly punched his arm. "Not you, silly!" She giggled. Chandler didn't know much about girls, but he could imagine this was the same mischievous joy they had during highschool slumber parties. All that was missing was an obnoxiously pink bedroom and a Tears for Fears CD. She leaned in closer, with a slight whisper, "It's Timothy."

A rare sight to be seen; something racing-related actually piqued his interest. He sat up straight out of disbelief, shocked that the star driver was leaving his father's team. "What? How? Why? Who told you?"

"Richard just announced he's moving to Benetton in 1997. That means…" She drummed her hands against her lap, "There's a spot open on Williams! And it's yours!"
"You're kidding!"

How did Richard make such a quick decision?

Monica's hesitant expression told him that he didn't.

"Well…it's not official, yet!—"

Chandler stood up, escaping to his kitchen in an attempt to look busy. "What is this, Mon'? First you want me on Williams, then Ferrari, now you're trying for Williams again—"

"Hey. I didn't try for Ferrari. I had Ferrari. You were the one who got goosebumps last minute." She chased him down into the kitchen, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"It wasn't last minute, I told you I didn't want to go there." This was yet another thing he could not explain to her.

"Because you said you wanted to be on Williams. And now you're telling me you don't want to be on Williams?"

He pretended to search for something in his cupboards, with Monica following close behind him. "I don't want to even be in Formula 1, Monica."

But his need for validation would always trump his indifference to motorsport.

"I don't get it. I really don't." Her voice crescendoed into her manager-cadence. "You've got an amazing job, Chandler. The most fun job in the world. And you're good at it. And you have all these opportunities, but you just sit there! Like a sloth!"

"Thanks." It came out dry.

"I'm serious. This is the year you prove yourself to Williams—"

"You said that last year."

She continued speaking right over him, "—this is the year Richard will be looking for a new driver for his team. And when he sees you blazing down that track— which you will, because you won't have Kip holding you down— then he'll want to sign you immediately."

It was a shame that Monica never got into these cars. Stars shone bright in her eyes whenever she talked about racing.

"It's seriously perfect! You get this new teammate who, no offence, will look like nothing compared to you, and Timothy's ready to move out— this has to be God's doing!"

It would make sense if it was; this was God's way of distracting Chandler away from Joey by stringing the Williams seat in front of him like a carrot to a pig. But he had his priorities in order.

"Alright. Race-talk is banned now. We'll talk about this some other time." Chandler ordered, spinning in place to face Monica.

She didn't believe him. "Will we really?"

"We'll see." He smiled, walking back out into the living room and sitting on the couch, like the world's most boring goose chase.

"Fine." Monica humphed.

She then shot a glance over to his calendar, which clearly lacked attention as it was still on September's page. The calendar he kept up was a gag-joke he received from Kip last year— one of those pin-up calendars with shirtless firefighters to celebrate the start of each month. In hindsight, there was a reason Chandler kept it still. And there was a reason why it was still on September's sweaty page.

"Are you planning on doing anything for New Years next week?" She asked, but she could easily make an inference.

Chandler mockingly observed his nails. "I don't know, I think my parents are planning something together." He waited for a reaction, but found Monica to stare back at him with an unsure expression. "How could you not tell I was joking?"

She muttered and she shrugged, before moving on quickly. "I'm planning a New Years get-together."

"Is this a work thing?" He asked, fearful.

"Not necessarily. It's mainly friends— you, me, Ross, Rachel, others. Invite whoever you want." Monica was not one to stand still. She began to clean up the clutter around his apartment, starting with the mess of magazines littering his kitchen island. "I didn't know you read Entertainment Weekly."

"I, uhh— was curious." There seemed to be a lot of things he kept hidden from Monica. It was slightly upsetting, knowing that she used to be the sole person he could be open with. Now she couldn't be more behind. "I'm down, but who would I even invite? I have no other friends."

"Of course you do! You have Kip!"

"I doubt he'd wanna come." He said, and when Monica gave him a ticked off look, he had to clarify. "Not because your party is lame or anything— he's just— he's lame. He'd wanna stay home with Melissa, I bet."

"Look at you," She cooed. "You called her by her name instead of his stupid wife."

"Are you proud of me?"

"Very." She praised. "Okay. If not Kip, why not Joey?"

Chandler pondered. Why not Joey? Now that he thought about it, Joey was never properly integrated into his life back in New York. Monica had only seen him a couple of times on business matters, and Ross hadn't met the man at all. This would've been the perfect time to introduce his old life to his new; meet the parents, as some might say.

"I'll ask. I'm seeing him later today, actually."

Monica rolled her eyes. "You already told me that a hundred times this morning."

"Right, and you've never mentioned Williams before?"

Monica patted his shoulder with a challenging smile. "I'm heading out now. Let me know what he says— Oh, and please go shower. You stink."

"Love you too."

With a kiss on the cheek, Monica was out of the door, leaving Chandler alone to daydream about later tonight.

He stood in front of the door to Joey's apartment— his building wasn't as far as Chandler initially feared, meaning it wouldn't be so weird for him to drop by randomly if he wanted to. His heart throttled in his chest, cracking his ribs with every pulse. They hadn't visited each other's homes until now, and this felt a lot more private than any of their other meetings; even hotels were just borrowed rooms. Behind this door was a world unique to Joey— the only place that could rival heaven.

Having been buzzed up from the ground floor, he entered the unlocked apartment without a knock. The interior was nothing like he expected; to be fair, what Chandler imagined was a lot more abstract, so he knew there wouldn't be any sort of clouds or angels greeting him inside, but this was still far from his expectations. Red leather couches with animal print throw pillows sat in the centre of the living room, and a peculiar dog statue stood tall beside it. Mirrors and modern paintings all over the walls, and what struck out to him most, was the large window that took up a whole wall. It all felt so raunchy— how could an apartment as snobby as this belong to someone so sincere?

The question would soon find its answer once Joey emerged from one of the doors. He was dressed casually— black t-shirt and loose jeans, a cross necklace on his chest, and an expectant smile once he saw his friend.

"Ehhh? Whadya think?" He asked, waving his arms around in admiration of his apartment.

"It's quite the bachelor pad." Chandler meant for this to be an offensive comment, but Joey only looked proud.

"You won't believe how many chicks this bachelor has brought back here." He pointed a thumb towards himself while falling down on the red couch, slapping the empty space beside it to lure Chandler. It sickened him to think of Joey calling a woman over like this— every inch of this apartment had been touched by hands not belonging to Chandler, and he was not the possessive kind to be bothered by this, but all those hands had something in common that Chandler forever lacked: they were all girls.

He sat down next to him, putting on his most manliest face to hide the discomfort. "I can't imagine."

"Girls really like this cheetah-print stuff." Joey held up one of the pillows, tracing the pattern with his fingers. "They jump onto me the second they see it!"

"I don't think it's the pillows doing that, Joe."

"Then what is it?"

Naive Joey. It was peculiar how someone so innocent could have a magnetism as strong as his. It wasn't possible that he was unaware of his charm considering how often he'd flaunt it, but Joey had a paradoxical balance of adult charisma and sweet boyishness. Chandler wouldn't have it one way or the other— it was this equilibrium that pulled him in.

"Nevermind." Chandler moved on. He gave the apartment another look around, taking in all the mismatched furniture. He could tell that everything in this room had a story, and most likely, those stories were told to other girls who sat right where he did. At least for them, those stories would end with a good time. Chandler would only get a fist-bump.

He then asked about the obvious. "So, you decorated this place yourself?"

"Yeah! Chose everything on my own— down to this guy over here." Joey leaned back to pat the dog statue, but Chandler didn't see it as anything special. It was tacky, really. He must have noticed the disinterest on Chandler's face, because Joey hushed in shame. "But I guess I, uhh— went a bit overboard. I only got this place last year."

"No no, It's nice." Chandler rectified, still looking around. Everytime his eyes shifted, he'd find something completely new. "It's very you."

Offhand comments like these were risky, because one day, he'd become too comfortable on the smooth leather couch and say something too honest. Chandler was always a little on-edge around Joey, now that he knew he needed to be careful about everything he did or said. He'd likely never be able to fully relax with him.

"I'm glad you like it." A shy smile appeared on Joey's face, and Chandler's efforts to contain himself tripled. "You want anythin'? I've got beer."

Chandler politely declined. "Can't, I drove here."

"So?"

"So… one beer always turns into three, and I need to drive back home afterwards."

"And..?"

Chandler raised an eyebrow. "And? Have you ever heard of this tiny little thing called the law?"

Joey chuckled, always falling victim to Chandler's sarcasm. "It's one beer. It won't do anything to ya."

"You drive cars for a living. You shouldn't be encouraging this!" Argued Chandler.

"Fine, whatever! No beer for you!" Joey playfully shouted, pointing an authoritarian finger. He reached his arm around the couch and opened the mini-fridge that Chandler didn't even realise was there, fetching himself a beer. Like he said, there was always something new about this apartment.

Chandler fiddled with his fingers. He knew he shouldn't be so nervous around Joey anymore considering how long they'd known each other by now, but ever since admitting his own feelings to himself, it felt like meeting Joey all over again. This time, with a clearer idea of what exactly the spark between them meant.

"Monica's thinking of hosting a New Year's thing."

"Mhm?" Joey took a swig from his beer. The drink looked like it tasted good; so did he.

Chandler pushed the thoughts back. "She told me to invite as many people as I wanted to. You wanna come?"

Joey jumped at the opportunity, sitting up straight like an eager puppy. "Absolutely! Tell her I'm there yesterday!"

Chandler smiled. But hopefully not too much. He smiled an appropriate amount. Was there an appropriate amount of smiling? Did Joey care? Before he could say anything, Joey asked,

"Oh, can I bring Phoebe? I really want you guys to meet."

Joey brought her up a lot, which annoyed Chandler. He didn't know much about her aside from her job and the fact that she and him were apparently similar— but this was not enough for Chandler to like this faceless friend of Joey's.

"I don't know…might be weird. Monica doesn't know her and all. Y'know? And then it's like— why is this stranger in my home!? That's something Monica would say." Chandler's excuse continued to build upon itself without his control, as usual.

And as usual, Joey didn't really get it. "I thought she wanted as many people as possible?"

"...right. That's also something she would say."

"Come on, it'd be fun! You'll get to meet my friend, and I'll finally get to meet yours!" Joey enthused, before worry etched onto his face. "You uhh…you have other friends, right?"

"Of course I have other friends!" Chandler shoved him, sending Joey to the other end of the couch, which earned him a roar of laughter. Joey laughed often; it was his reflex for everything. Chandler thanked God for this.

Joey kicked back, entering them both into a playful tussle. This is what Chandler imagined normal boys did when they were young— fighting in the mud, coming home late, yelled at by their parents because they missed dinner. It felt good to be a rowdy boy for a moment, because lately Chandler didn't feel like a boy at all. Or maybe Joey didn't feel like a boy. Maybe he hated the differences that brought men and women together and the crucial similarity that would keep him and Joey apart.

Eventually their childish play fighting came to an end when Joey grabbed hold of Chandler's fists, rendering him unable to defend himself. Like his own personal brand of handcuffs, Joey's grip was strong. Chandler hoped his hands would leave marks that'd never fade, forever serving as a reminder of his touch— and this made him wonder, when did he become so starstruck, to the point of even enjoying pain?

After conquering his opponent, Joey flashed a mischievous grin. Chandler recognized this confident glare from their arcade race in Monza, and he only realised now how much he both missed and feared it. With Kip, at least it was said that a rookie like Chandler would never realistically match his teammate; but Joey as direct comparison meant Chandler had proper competition. This was nothing new, all warnings Monica gave him a long time ago— but it felt different now that Chandler knew Joey as more than just the overhyped charming driver. Now, he was someone he didn't want to beat, and someone he wasn't sure he could.

The anxiety goes away when Joey licks his lips, tasting his victory and flexing his strength. Suddenly, Chandler realises just how close they are and just how long Joey's held him, and his face becomes hot.

"Got ya!" Joey finally said after an eternity.

Chandler's gaze flickered between his eyes and his lips, struggling with where to settle. He stayed still, leaving it to Joey to break this connection. He was curious to see how long Joey would let this go on.

"I went easy on you." Chandler defended himself.

"First I'm a cheater, and now you're goin' easy on me."

The smell of his cologne was inescapable.

"You're still a cheater. Kicking is never allowed. It's an unspoken rule— no, it might actually be the most spoken rule out there."

"Can't you just admit that I beat ya?" Joey asked, as a challenge more than a whine.

"I'll do that when you really beat me. Fair and square. No home-arcade-advantages, no kicking."

Their clothes felt like cages.

"Alright. Next year, then. I'll beat you in a race and you'll have to admit I beat you." Joey was still holding onto him, tighter if anything.

"We'll see."

Chandler looked to the grand window behind the couch, and came back the debilitating fear that prevented him from coming here for so long. He shook his hands out of Joey's, and whatever tension filled the air just now quickly disappeared. Chandler jumped over to the window, too quick for the leather imprint to catch up.

"Hey, mind if I close the blinds? It's way too bright in here."

Though they were high up in the building, he couldn't risk any paparazzi stealing a shot of them in the private abode. Chandler would do anything to protect their friendship, and more importantly, his secret.

Joey nodded hesitantly. Chandler hurriedly shut the blinds, enveloping the apartment in an intimate shadow. This scared him further.

"Maybe we can keep the blinds open. Maybe we can just go to a different room."

"What are you talking about? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just—" Chandler figured his fears weren't entirely irrational. "Don't want the paparazzi peering in, y'know?"

"Really? I thought you loved those guys."

"What gave you that idea?" Chandler slithered around back to the couch, sitting down close enough that their thighs rubbed against each other. He took advantage of his impaired sight, not that it was all that dark anyway. He loves moments like these where Joey welcomed it all without a flinch.

"I dunno…anytime I see ya doin' an interview, you're always cracking jokes and smiling," Joey explained, swirling the bottle between his far-spread knees. "And you always talk about what this or that magazine is sayin' about you or how you're just racing 'cuz other people like it. I thought you liked all that fame-stuff."

"I do." Chandler always knew this to be the case, but he just hasn't been able to shake that article out of his mind. Even after deciding to forgive himself and his feelings, fear followed him. The attention he used to love and crave was slowly becoming a burden. Fans recognising him instantly on the streets became less and less fun the more it happened. He stopped carrying around a pen in hopes people wouldn't ask him for autographs anymore.

"Then?"

"Then…" Chandler trailed off, looking for an out from this subject. This conversation just required too much explaining to carry on.

As a decoy, he snatched Joey's bottle and took a quick sip. His fingers where Joey left prints in the condensation; his lips where Joey's once were. Only now did he appreciate being a man, because only men were allowed to steal from each other like this. A man and a woman could not pull this off but these two could, because one of them saw this as a playful attack, the other saw this as their first kiss.

"Hey!" Joey called out, leaping onto Chandler to retrieve his beer.

The tackle sent them both to the other side of the couch now, where Chandler laid awkwardly against the headrest. Joey hovered over him, reaching out in an attempt to reclaim his drink. From below, Chandler could see it all— the tight pull of the muscles in Joey's arm, the hard edge of his collarbone, and then the small cross dangling from his neck; their supervisor. Despite all this, Chandler kept the beer bottle far away and steady in his hand.

"What happened to the law?" Joey asked, growing frustrated the longer he was denied his beverage.

Chandler was breathless. He waited and waited for Joey to fall down and for their lips to meet, but instead, they were fighting over beer.

"I picked up a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card a while ago." He said, fighting back the urge to sink his fingers in Joey's lustrous hair. "One sip won't kill me."

"I coulda told you that."

"You could have." Chandler was running out of wit. A war raged beneath his chest, all of his excitement and fear and lust and yearning brewing together to create a feeling no one else had ever known. This fever he had went beyond human language. Nobody in the world felt it like Chandler did. Nobody in the world gave it like Joey did.

It was quiet without his rapid heartbeat; dark without the glow of Joey's warm skin; heavenly without Chandler's crime.

Sometimes he questioned if Joey did things like this on purpose. When he flipped his hair or wore tight shirts, did he do it to entice Chandler? When he leaned over his shaking body, was it to seduce him? Was it to make him another pair of hands that graced this apartment?

But then, while Chandler laid defenceless, Joey grabbed the bottle of beer back and sat upright. They laughed, and reality hit him. Chandler came to Joey like a moth to a flame. Joey came to Chandler like nothing more than a friend. Every bit of sexual tension was just Joey kidding around. And it would be like this forever, no matter how many beer bottles Chandler stole.