November 18th, 1995
A chill travelled through New York City; people began to break out their sweaters and jackets, and everyone who ventured outside for the day would return with a red nose and a shiver. Chandler would rub his hands together and shove them deep in his pockets, and he'd take one final look around the streets before they'd be drenched in snow. With every exhale, he'd watch the clouds escape from his lips and dissipate into the atmosphere, and he'd grow nostalgic for cigarette smoke. Before he left the house, he was always sure to don Monica's hand-knit scarf to shield him from the cold. Despite all this, he'd still call New York a warm city. It was warm because it was his.
His wrists were purple, not from the weather, but from where the chains of racing were let go. Even if for just five months, Chandler was a free man. No longer would he yearn for the day's end and dread what came after, because Lady Liberty stood tall in his home city. Though it was still early for snowfall, drizzling from above were millions of tiny snowflakes— not just any snowflakes, American snowflakes, because there absolutely was a difference. Chandler never considered himself to be very patriotic, but he just loved being home again.
The best place to keep warm when winter was right around the corner was undoubtedly Central Perk; it was a low-key coffee shop, one where not many people visited and where paparazzi hadn't yet caught him. Still, he sat on the orange couch with his hood over his head and his scarf covering up as much of his face as he could, just to be safe.
Monica curled up next to him, legs selfishly sprawled over the empty couch and forcing Ross to take the loveseat next to them. It had been a long time since Chandler got to leisurely hang out with Monica, and a much longer time since he got to see Ross, so he definitely felt guilty for his mind being elsewhere when he was with his friends; but he couldn't help it. Joey was spending the week in Italy to stay with his family, leaving Chandler to himself for the beginning days of their break. All he wanted to do was be with Joey, but instead, he was stuck with just his best friends since adolescence. Bummer.
"I really want to come along to these races sometime," Ross sighed, after hearing all the excitement secondhand from his little sister, his FOMO increased tenfold. "I just don't want to leave Ben while he's still young."
"He has other parents, y'know." Chandler grimly reminded him.
"Not the point." Ross hissed. "I want to be a good father, I can't skip out a year after he's born! These are some of his most formative years!"
To hear Ross care so much for the child he only saw every other weekend, it made Chandler bitter. Ross and Carol separated for the same reasons his parents did, and their different religious backgrounds were definitely not a selling point for God, yet they still managed to come together to support their child and keep him happy. So could Chandler really keep blaming his neglect on his parents' separation, or would he have to face the facts that he just wasn't ever deserving of their love? A great question to ask yourself on a Saturday evening.
"Why don't you bring Ben and his moms to a Grand Prix? That would be a fun little family vacation, wouldn't it?" Monica suggested, always finding a way to squeeze Formula 1 into every conversation, even if it didn't fit. This bothered Chandler, having finally been set free.
"I don't think Susan and I are at a place where we can be in a plane together for that long." Ross admitted, his hangdog expression looking down into his coffee cup. A waitress swung by to give him his brownie he ordered minutes ago.
Chandler couldn't shake the elephant in the room— or the lack thereof. Every conversation as of late was off, always missing something. He only now realised how dull life was when Joey wasn't around. With him so far away, Chandler felt antsy. Doing nothing but waiting for that plane to land in New York and for the friends to be reunited again. What did he do before meeting Joey?
"It'd be nice! You said Carol always wanted to go to Italy, right?" Monica said, unknowingly triggering Chandler.
"You know who's from Italy? Joey. He's there right now, actually." He mused. Chandler was similar to Monica, except it was Joey who he tried to shoehorn into conversation.
Through Ross' exasperated expression, he offered a tight-lipped smile before continuing to speak. "That's true…maybe I can bring it up next time I see Ben." He took a bite out of his brownie, "Wouldn't tiramisu be good right now?"
"Because the brownie isn't enough?" Monica teased with a smile, but she couldn't disagree. "I haven't had tiramisu in so long, I wouldn't mind some."
"You know who makes the best tiramisu? Joey's mom." Chandler mused again, "Well, I haven't had it, but he says it's good."
"That's great, sweetie." Monica patted his shoulder, a slight irritation in her tone. She returned her attention back to Ross who was midst eye-roll. "Carol would be off from school in July, right? I think we'd be in Germany by then."
"Ooo, Germany…" Ross let it simmer on his tongue, "Germany sounds nice. Lots of history there."
"Really? What happened in Germany?" Chandler quipped, but his joke continued to fly without a landing. Both siblings just rolled their eyes, which made Chandler yearn for the fireworks he'd get with a different audience. "You know who would have laughed at that? J—"
Ross slammed his hands against his armrests. "Joey would! Joey Joey Joey! Joey would have done this, done that!" His outburst came across more like a child throwing a tantrum than any sort of authoritative figure. "All you've done is talk about him! Give it a rest, man!"
"What? That is so not true." Chandler protested, turning to Monica for backup. "Is that true?"
Normally, he could always count on her to take his side against her brother, but instead, she gave Ross a hesitant look before turning back to Chandler and shrugging. "You do talk about him a lot."
"Well, that's only because we're friends. It's normal to talk about your friends." The more he defended himself, the guiltier he sounded. He tensed up and sat up straighter on the couch, effectively shoving Monica off of him.
Ross chuckled, shaking his head and muttering into his coffee, "Yeah, tell that to the journalists…"
"What journalists?" asked Monica, with a sort of innocent curiosity.
"Yeah, what journalists?" asked Chandler, not as innocently. A little more fearful if anything.
Ross' eyes widened. "Nothing. No journalists. No journalists said anything."
Monica always had to be on top of her driver's PR situation. She sat up straight on the couch, leaning forward towards her brother. "Ross, what are you talking about?"
Hesitantly, Ross pulled out the rolled magazine that sat next to his thigh, and quickly flipped to the middle section, holding it out to Chandler and pointing his finger at what would circle Chandler's mind for many days to come. Monica was a fast reader— she took one good look at the headline, and a worried groan came out from her.
"Look, it's not even a major publication. I doubt many people even read this magazine." Ross tried, but his words went in one ear and out the other.
In big, bold letters, the headline said Bing and Tribbiani: BFFs or BFs?
"If you're a long-time follower of Formula 1, you'll know that the greatest chemistry is actually off the track." Chandler read outloud, skimming through the long blocks of text. "Bing looks to be warming up to the new driver joining him next year, but it seems like the two are getting a little too comfortable."
In between paragraphs were various images of Chandler and Joey spotted in public taken throughout the year, and he could immediately recognise each memory captured; their first meet-up in Brazil, their long walk in Spain, the restaurant they visited in Portugal— all moments that Chandler was sure were kept secret, plastered on thousands of magazines circulating throughout the city.
He was too ashamed to continue reading out loud, but his eyes were still glued to the article.
"It's a marvel that Bing hasn't been caught in any dating scandals so far, but maybe that's because we've been looking at the wrong people he's spending his time with. It makes us wonder why we didn't notice it any sooner; he's clean, fashionable, kind and funny— there's just a very special quality about him."
His chest tightened as he read the brightly coloured magazine, covered in photographs of the two taken without their notice. It sickened him, his privacy having been so disgustingly breached. It's not like he could pretend that paparazzi was a new phenomenon, but this was entirely different. They found something he'd been hiding from himself.
"And if we know anything about the Bing family, and how their business is faring in Vegas— can we really say we're surprised?"
A single photo of his father, taken from his appearance at the Australian Grand Prix, covered in makeup and sequins. Charles dipped out of mainstream media by the time the divorce was finalised, and remained low-key at his burlesque show, so he wasn't someone Chandler worried about too often. But in this context, with the implication painted all over the page, it was clear as day that Chandler was wrong— that he and Charles were more similar than he gave him credit for.
"Looks like all the Bing fan-girls are going to have to back off— our boy may be on Sauber, but he's clearly playing for the other team."
Nowhere on the page did they say the word, but it felt like it was everywhere— leaking onto his arms, staining him in ink, exposing him to the world. Everyone who had a copy of this magazine would look at him with the same scrutiny God did.
Still clutching the magazine in his hands, nearly ripping the paper, silence fell among the three. Chandler finally looked up, a crazed look in his eyes.
"You guys know I'm not gay, right? Why would they think I'm gay?"
"It's just a stupid rumour, Chandler." Monica assured him, wrapping her arm around the stunned boy. "You know these companies, they make up drama they know everyone will read. It's just gossip."
He shook under her grasp. "Why would everyone wanna read this? Do I look gay? Is there something gay about me?"
Ross stared at him with an uncomfortable amount of uncertainty, one that confirmed Chandler's deepest fears. "Come on, man. They say this stuff about any guy that's not super manly."
"So I'm not manly? I'm feminine? I'm gay?" The word came out of him with venom.
"No, you're not—" Ross sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes and coming up with a new explanation on the spot. "You're not macho, you know? You've got that clean look! It's really not an insult, it's just…how people think."
"But Joey's manly! And they're saying he's gay! And they're saying I'm gay! But I'm not!"
"Chandler, why are you getting so worked up over this? We know you're not gay." She whispered the last word, because saying it too loudly would make them all dirty. Monica's comfort did nothing for him, it sounded distant— she'd never understand the gravity of this situation.
Chandler waved the magazine in front of her, "But they don't know that! And they need to know that I am not gay!" He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, them or himself.
Before he could grow any louder, Monica got up and began ushering him out to the back hallway of Central Perk, with Ross following closely behind. The three stood alone in front of the bathrooms.
"Chandler, calm down! You're going to make a scene!"
"Perfect! The world needs to know! Chandler Bing is not gay and Joey isn't his— my—"
The words were stuck in his throat. The walls closed in on him; oxygen slowly depleting, leaving him heaving in the back of the coffee shop. His legs suddenly felt light, his knees about to buckle at any moment, and he desperately clung onto Monica's arm to keep his balance.
He had tried so hard to suppress the idea— push it down far enough in the back of his mind and refuse to acknowledge what was happening to him. He believed that what he felt was an entirely unique feeling to him, a friendship so deep that no one else in the world would understand it but them. The way Chandler thought about him, dreamt about him, talked about him, wanting to feel his touch at all times and never let a second pass where he wasn't looking at him; these were not platonic feelings Chandler had. These were not Catholic feelings.
"Are you alright, Chandler? What's wrong?" Ross asked, but it felt like a stupid question.
"Why did you keep that magazine? Why didn't you throw it out?" Chandler's interrogation came in between gasps for air, staring down at Ross like he was his enemy.
"I— I just— I don't know! It didn't occur to me to do that…!" Ross' attempt at self-defence failed miserably.
"Do you agree with them? Do you think Joey and I have been seeing each other?"
"What the hell are you asking me, Chandler? Why would I believe this crap?"
Ross was so sure that Chandler wasn't gay. Ross was a smart man. He had to be right, no doubt about it.
"Chandler, I think you should go home. Get your mind off this." Monica suggested, rubbing her hand slowly against his back. She wielded her maternal strengths as best as she could, but there was no saving Chandler now.
Even in the middle of his breakdown, he couldn't keep his mind off of him. "Do you think Joey knows about this?"
"That doesn't matter right now." Monica shot him down. "Chandler, there have been worse rumours. This isn't so bad— people will forget this quickly once the next big scandal comes around, which it will."
Somewhere in Monza, Joey was having the time of his life surrounded by his loving family. He had no idea what was brewing in New York— unless the news had already spread around, and publications all over the world were hypothesising about Chandler's sexuality.
It had finally happened— Chandler was in the devil's hands now, tainted with evil. He delved too deep into his desires; what was meant to be an innocent exploration now became his worst nightmare come to life. The flames grew hotter around him, his fall from grace bringing him closer and closer to the hell he'd soon call home.
After denying God's guidance for so long, it only made sense that things turned out this way. Granted a curse that reminded him who was truly in power. Chandler was never in control— he still ran circles in God's palm, but this time, God would throw him away to the demons.
"I think I'm going to go home." Chandler concluded. He escaped Monica's grasp without so much as a goodbye, ducking out of the coffee shop and down the street, pulling his hood farther and keeping his gaze low. His walk eventually turned into a sprint, which turned into a jog, and then a full-blown run, trying to escape the fate he sealed himself in.
Denial didn't fit him anymore, not when other people began to catch on. Like the article wrote, Chandler got too comfortable, too cocky. He figured there was nothing wrong with behaving so intimately with another guy, because it always came with the acknowledgement that it was all strictly platonic; that Chandler felt nothing more than respect and admiration for the other man. But now, memories of Joey flashed in his mind, accompanied with the deep warm feeling Chandler mistook for envy. He really was attracted to a man. He really was a sinner.
Chandler ran around the city like a madman, slicing through the cold air as traffic honked loudly behind him. Random bystanders gave him odd looks as he flew past them— none of them knew they were in the graces of a Formula 1 driver, none of them knew that that Formula 1 driver was a secret, dirty homosexual. He didn't even know— or maybe he did, and he just couldn't say it out loud. Maybe he did, and it got preached out of him during daily prayer back in school.
Was he taken by Satan somewhere along the way, or was he backwards from birth? All those times his gaze flickered across passing men, or when his eyes wandered in locker rooms, and he felt deep shame for simply existing amongst his peers. It was excusable back then, it was easy to say he was just a weird kid. But now, when he still couldn't stop thinking about Joey and when he'd be back home, it was no use lying to himself about it.
Eventually, he reached his condo building, skipping past the elevator and running straight up the stairs and into his retreat. Grey with snowfall, the sky cast a gloomy light over his abode. Greeting him upon entrance was the trophy case drenched in shadow, and looming above it, a reminder of what Chandler disrespected. The cross that bore His power, His guidance, and His disappointment.
Chandler sank to his knees immediately, weak in His sight. He clasped his hands together and cried out an apology, begging to go back to the way he was, before Joey ever entered his mind. He begged to be normal again, assuming he ever was.
Even though he believed he was above religion, it was the validation from the saints above that kept Chandler's engine running. Joey worked as a temporary distraction but ultimately, Chandler had to answer to the true higher power. He couldn't abandon all those years of sucking up to God.
But did God have any reason to forgive him? After Chandler abandoned him for humanly pleasure? He disobeyed nearly every rule outlined in the bible, yet here he was, crawling on his knees for Jesus' acknowledgement. Hoping that divine arms would reach out and engulf him, convincing him it was all okay— but he was too far gone, because he still pictured those divine arms to belong to a certain Italian.
It was clear what needed to be done now. Chandler couldn't keep playing with fire and testing how far God's love could go, because he was running out of it, and quickly. It had been years since Chandler prayed on a regular basis, but the worship still came naturally to him, having been ingrained in him for so long. With tears in his eyes, he gave God a choice: either clean Chandler of his homosexuality, or rip out his heart so that he'd never feel again.