Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts when Joey and Phoebe leave the room. Well actually, all the important parts start before that– quite a bit before that, to be honest– but The Whole Situation starts when Joey and Phoebe leave the room.  

“Well, we certainly are alone.” Monica shrugs off her sweater and crosses the room to lay it on the couch. 

Chandler half follows her, making a detour to the fridge. This is the part where things could get awkward, in fact it’s the part where things might already be awkward and Chandler’s a step behind, conscious of his ability to ruin situations beyond repair, so he rushes to answer her, desperate but unsure of how to find words for what comes next. 

“ Yes! Good thing we have that, ‘Not in New York’ rule.” He pulls an apple out, tossing and catching it just to do something with himself. 

 “Right.” Monica laughs slightly, like she doesn’t really mean it, and shoot , that means he’s done it again, doesn’t it. But before he can say anything else and make the conversation worse, Monica continues. “Umm, listen since we’re–we’re on that subject, I just wanted to tell you that uh, well, I–I was going through a really hard time in London, what with my brother getting married and that guy thinking I was Ross’s mother…”

“ Right.”

“Well, an-anyway, I just—that night meant a lot to me, I guess I’m just trying to say thanks” Monica smiles affectionately at him, and like that, the awkwardness has dissipated. But in its wake lies something suspiciously like tenderness, and that’s almost worse. 

Chandler twists in place, still tossing the apple.

“Y’know, that night meant a lot to me too,” Chandler starts, trying to gauge how honest he should be, how open, “and it wasn’t because I was in a bad place or anything, it just meant a lot to me… ‘cause, you’re really hot! Is that okay?”

It’s true, and it makes Monica laugh– which was the goal– but it’s not what Chandler intended to say.

And when Monica says that it’s okay, Chandler squirms internally.

It feels like a cop-out.

Monica opened herself up to him, willingly sharing why that night meant so much to her, and Chandler was redirecting with a joke. The least he could do, the very bottom-of-the-barrel-scum, lowest possible bar would be him returning the favour. 

So he sighs, twists, tosses the apple one more time. 

“I, actually, there’s a bit more than that to it. I uh, I was kinda feeling pretty low too, with it being a wedding– you know, all “relationship focused”– and I was by myself and feeling shit about it, especially since I’m kinda, well…” He trails off, not really wanting to get into the why of it all, but he’s said too much and now Monica’s curious. 

“You’re kinda what?” She questions.

Chandler drops the apple on the table and pulls a hand down his face. Ugh . 

“I’m kinda pathetically hung up on someone and it was nice to forget about that for a bit.” Hopefully Monica will let this thing lie, will sense that Chandler’s already out of his comfort zone and really doesn’t want to talk about this. But Monica’s a dog with a bone, and she’s never known how to let go of anything once she’s got her teeth into it. 

“WHAT?” She grabs him by the shoulders, and bye-bye escape plan. “Who? When? How?” She starts shaking him, speculating. 

“Monica, please, I really don’t–”

“Is it Kathy? Still? Cus you haven’t really dated anyone since–”

“Is this really necessary? You don’t need to–”

“Or! Is it Janice? Please tell me you’re not still in love with Janice?”

“What? No!” Appeased, Monica lets Chandler struggle out of her grasp– he’s definitely gonna be feeling that later, and not in the fun way. “I’m definitely over Janice, okay? And Kathy too.”

“Well come on, tell me. Maybe I can help you.” Monica pulls him towards her, holding his hands gently. “Just cus we had sex doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you with your love life. And it’s not pathetic to be hung up on someone, you know that, right? Besides, you know I give good advice." She ends sternly, eyes narrowing at him. 

“It’s not anyone that wants to be with me, okay?”

“You don’t know that, when did you break up?”

“Well, here’s the pathetic part.” Chandler laughs a little meanly. “We’ve never dated. In fact, I never even said anything, so, you know..”

“Well then that means there’s still a chance!” Monica’s eyes are so hopeful and passionate, a fiery determination to make sure all her friends get happy endings. He can’t tell if he loves her or hates her for it. It’s probably a mix of both. 

“No, Mon, you don’t understand–”

“Then help me understand–”

“Never in a million years would it ever happen–”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Look Mon,” Chandler says roughly, “He’s never gonna love me back, so just drop it, okay? It’s pointless.”

Monica stills, and for one relief filled moment Chandler thinks she actually might be letting this go. 

And then:

“...he?” 

Now Chandler freezes, blood rushing from his heart to his face and betraying him. He runs the conversation back through his mind, and curses himself for being so stupid, for getting caught up in the argument and letting something slip he shouldn’t. 

“I– Monica, I’m not, it’s not like that– I meant, I meant to say, it’s–”

Chandler’s cut-off by Monica firmly dragging him into a hug.

“Chandler, it’s okay.” Monica lets Chandler drop his head on her shoulder, taking short, stifling breaths into her hair. “I’m sorry for pushing.” 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know”  He mumbles into her shoulder. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to concentrate on not completely flipping out in a way that only Joey knows how to fix. 

“Still…”

He lets her fetch him a glass of water and lead him to the couch. He sits down heavily, nearly spilling his water on himself, and then takes too big of a sip too fast and ends up spilling anyways, coughing and spluttering all over the place. 

When he’s finally caught his breath, and Monica’s finished wiping her floors, they settle on the couch together, sides pressed from shoulder to hip. In a funny sort of way, choking on water managed to help him get his breathing back to normal. 

It kinda feels like she’s waiting for him to start this, which is almost always a mistake as Chandler has no idea what to say in situations when he hasn’t accidentally outed himself, much less now. So he starts with the first question she asked. 

“It’s Joey.” He rubs a hand under his nose. “In case you still wanted to know.”

“Oh.” Monica starts, and then, “Yeah, that makes sense.” 

“I’m not sure if I should be annoyed about that or not.” He turns fully towards her and looks her in the eye for the first time since she found out. “But yeah, classic Chandler. Always falling in love with someone he can’t have.”

Monica rubs his back compassionately.

“Well, you’re hardly the first person to fall in love with their roommate.” For a split-second she glances towards Rachel’s room, but then focuses back on him. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Easy for you to say.” Childish, perhaps, but appropriate. 

“I’ve been in love with people I can’t have before.” Monica retorts, glaring at him.

“I see, so you’re an expert in queer pining now, are you?” Part of him is focused on how saying that word feels, a mix of real-terrifying-freeing-big-weird-unfamiliar but most of him is focused on Monica, who for some reason tenses next to him. 

Huh. 

He probably wouldn’t have even noticed if they hadn’t been sitting so close, but there you are. 

And so he also sees the way she hesitates, the way she quickly looks towards Rachel’s room a second time before returning to him and responding.

“No, I suppose you’re right, I wouldn’t know much about that. But still,” She continues, more passionately, “You never know. Joey could be into both.”

Chandler sighs. 

“Even if he was, I highly doubt that I’m someone that he’d go out with.” 

“Are you kidding? Chandler, have you seen the way Joey looks at you? I mean, you two would be perfect together!” 

She’s starting to get his hopes up, and that makes Chandler feel a little mean. 

“Perfect the way you and Rachel would be perfect together?” He mutters, for once sure he’s reading things correctly and snapping at the first deflection he sees. He’ll feel bad about it later, undoubtedly, but that’s a problem for future Chandler. Afterall, what’s a little more guilt and self-hatred?

He hits the nail on the head. Mostly because it’s not hard to recognize yourself in the mirror, and he’s seen Monica's expression on his own face too many times to count. 

Monica gapes at him. 

“How did you– nevermind, that’s not really important.” She slumps against him and the couch, looking balefully at the empty room on the right. “A fine pair we make. Alone and in love with our stupidly attractive, straight, roommates.” 

“You don’t think that maybe Rachel..?”

“...do you want to talk about the possibilities with Joey, right now?”

Point taken; Chandler shakes his head. 

Instead, he leans his head against hers.

“You want to get out the ice cream, or should I?”

He can hear Monica’s smile in her voice when she replies. 

“I’ll get it, if you get the wine.”

Actually, the wine might be more than a bit responsible for The Whole Situation, come to think of it. 

They’re a few drinks in by the time they wrap back around to talk about their love lives–or lack thereof– and the (im)possibilities of getting together with their roommates. 

“If only, there was some kinda way to just test the waters a bit, you know?” Monica whines. 

“And it’s not like we can just ask them, that’d be like lighting a neon sign saying ‘ look at me! I’m gay’ .” Chandler takes another bite of melted ice cream.

“Well…maybe there’s something there.”

Monica’s got her plotting face on. 

Oh. No.

“Maybe, if I asked Joey, and you asked Rachel…”

Chandler protests immediately, vehement and loud. 

“No! No, no no no no no!” Chandler stumbles off the couch. “You want me to subtly ask Rachel if she’s into women? And I don’t know if I trust you to ask Joey about him without bringing me into it!”

“I could so!” Monica pouts. “But you’re definitely right about you. ” She gets to her feet unsteadily, nearly dropping her glass as she does so. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll just start trying to set you two up.”

“I, what?” Chandler squeaks out.

“You know, play matchmaker, that sort of thing. And if Joey’s into you, he’ll go along and something will happen, and if he’s not, he won’t even think that anything’s up, and you’ll be in the clear! It’s foolproof!”

“Woah woah woah, cool your jets, Missy. No way am I letting you do that.”

Monica smirks. 

“And just how do you plan on stopping me?”

“Well,” Chandler babbles “Maybe I’ll do the same thing for you!”

Monica squints skeptically at him. 

“You. You are going to try to play matchmaker with me and Rachel.”

“That’s right, I will. And I bet you that I can get you two together before anything with me and Joey happens, mainly cus nothing’s going to.” On some level Chandler is aware that what he’s proposing is insane, that this will 100% come back to bite him, but they’re a little bit drunk and a lot fired up, and that’s enough for them to start a stupid, secret bet. 

“You’re on, Mister! And you are going to Lose!” 

With a light shove, Monica shows him the way back to his apartment and Chandler belatedly considers what the hell he just got himself into. 

Shit.

Chapter Text

The Golden Hour is lovely in New York— or so he's been told.

6:30 AM is too early for any sane person who hates their job and their life to get up, so Chandler typically sleeps until he runs the risk of being late, rushes to get out the door before 9:00, and just barely makes it to work on time.

So when he wakes up with the clock at 6:33 and there's a dark shape reaching over him, he screams.

The shape screams, and there's a brief moment where all Chandler can think is that he can't believe he's gonna meet his death in a fuckin slap-stick comedy routine— not even an original one at that— but of course it'd happen to him.

And then the ominous shape turns on the lamp next to his bed and turns into Monica the ominous shape, and he flops back against his pillows, heart still racing.

"Monica," he gasps "What the fuck. I thought we had a deal; no more staring."

Completely unrepentant, she rolls her eyes at him.

"Chand-ler."

He buries his head in his blankets.

"Wake-UP already, I need to talk to you." Monica gives his blanket a sharp tug, pulling it over his head and down his chest.

He grapples with the sheets, twisting his fists in it in hopes of holding on.

"Can't this wait till it's not ass o'clock?"

The blankets slide further down.

“We need parameters!” Monica pulls the blankets off completely and holds them behind her, guarding her spoils.

“Anything but my face; I've got work tomorrow and it wouldn't do to have the boss becoming suspicious." He cracks automatically, half-asleep and twitchy.

“Chandler!” She moves onto the blinds, violently yanking the strings and shoving open the curtains.

He whines and covers his eyes, rolling over and smashing his face into his pillow. Maybe, if he draws this out long enough Monica will get fed up and leave—

A set of ice-cold hands press into his back.

He squawks and pushes himself away, right over the edge of his bed. He lands roughly on his butt—barely avoiding braining himself on his bedside table.

Monica stands over him, looming maybe, all cross looks and harsh lines, and Chandler might be an idiot most of the time, but he's had more practice than your average person at losing. While this has not made him more graceful, he can usually see when he's been in the ring with someone out of his league.

Case in point: Monica 1—Chandler zilch.

"Might I be of service to you?" He mumbles half-heartedly, scrunching up his face at her.

She rolls her eyes again and drags him to his feet.

"Yes," Monica stresses, "I said that already. We need to figure out the rules of the bet, pronto."

You can blame last night's alcohol, or the early hour, or Chandler's dead-ass brain, but it takes him a good moment to puzzle out what she's talking about before it slams into him like a Wile E. through a brick wall.

Oh shit, he's fucked.

"Mon, lets look at this in the light of day, now that we're both sober, and really consider whether or not we want to do—"

Monica reaches down and jabs a pointy finger into his chest.

"We made a deal, and I'm not backing down. If you," Here she jabs him again, "want to forfeit, that's fine, but I still want to know what I get for winning when I do."

Now, Chandler wouldn't exactly call himself a competitive guy, look to the aforementioned losing, but something about the way Monica says it raises his hackles.

And really, what does he have to lose at this point?

Monica is clearly gonna go ahead with this stupid plan, and if he's gonna be set up with his crush anyways, there's no way he's not gonna retaliate.

He jumps up, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Fine, fine , fine. I'll play, if you're really sure you wanna go up against the Chan-Chan Man."

Yes, against popular belief, he can hear himself too.

Monica stares at him.

"Well, what's the "Chan-Chan Man" willing to give up when he loses?"

Chandler winces.

"We don't think that the whole situation is enough? And besides, the last time we bet anything that was important, you lost an apartment."

Monica looks chastised for a second, before brightening.

"Would you bet the Chick and the Duck—"

"NO."

"Alright, it was just a thought."

"Well, you can stop thinking it." Chandler snaps back, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You know what? Fine. You SHOULD keep the chicken, seeing as how you ARE ONE."

Chandler's about to send some sort of scathing comment her way, maybe about birds of a feather or eggs in baskets—never mind that he already had a dumb conversation with Joey with egg metaphors—but then the door swings open and a grumpy Joey stumbles in.

"What is with all the shouting?" He squints at Monica and then Chandler, and then wips his head back to Monica, eyes now comically wide and blinking, like his surprise has overcome the need for his eyes to readjust to the light. "And why are you here?"

They both pause.

Shit.

For a frantic second they look at each other anxiously, trying to think of a plausible-fucking answer, before both their brains go in over-drive, and they start jammering over each other.

"SHE'S HERE CAUSE—"

"I'M OVER—"

"COULDN'T FIND MY—"

"NEEDED TO HELP HIM—"

"AND IT'S ONLY 6:45—"

"I'M, MAKING CHANDLER GO EXERCISING AGAIN!"

To give credit where credit is due, at least this is a reasonable answer.

To give Chandler a kick in the pants, now he'll probably need to start exercising.

Joey sighs at them long-sufferingly, as if he hasn't woken people up at odder hours for weirder shit. He just gives Chandler a long look, like he's trying to figure out if Chandler has suddenly gotten a rare disease that makes him want to go jogging or if he's just finally gone off his rocker, but ultimately Joey just nods at him, and leaves him be.

But before he goes, he turns to Monica and says

"Hey, don't work him too hard, okay? Last time all he did was complain for a week." The words are a little rough but the tone is kind, and when Joey gives him one last Look, soft and slightly concerned—like he knows this isn't just about exercise but he wants to encourage Chandler anyways— Chandler stiffens, because the only other option is melting and he refuses to do that in front of Monica.

Joey shuts the door behind him, and Chandler flops on his bed again.

Monica looks at him expectantly, and he groans.

"Fine, okay, I'll do a work-out plan with you, alright? But no stakes, deal?"

Monica slumps, giving him a fierce glare —that's undercut by her pout— and leans back against the wall.

"Alright, fine." Her pout deepens for a second before slipping off her face entirely. "Hey, this means I win something no matter what!"

Chandler gives her 20 seconds to do her victory dance before he's jumping off his bed and pushing Monica out the door.

He knows that they'll probably need to actually go over some real rules about this thing at some point, but that can happen later (preferably after he's had coffee).

He updates his mental scoreboard.

Monica 2—Chandler zero.