AN: Whee. I'm rather proud of this fic. Sort of a companion piece to The Art of Losing, but you don't have to read it to understand this. Takes place in Season 5, anytime after they exchanged "I love you's"
Everyone worshipped Monica , even the ones that shouldn't be allowed into any church.
TAKE ONE: Richard smiled at her; eyes crinkling in a way that was both endearing and irritating, and brushed his thumbs across her temples, hands delicate from the need to not squish people's eyeballs (his fakely modest words, not hers)
"You're so beautiful," he muttered against her neck (didn't he know her enough to know that she hated being kissed there?), and she would wince almost despite herself (if she wanted to be complemented on a shallow level, she would travel to a seedy bar and let tired heartbreakers buy her drinks)
TAKE TWO: Pete had smiled at her, eyes alight with a triumph that was both irritating and a little frightening, and massaged her shoulders, hands delicate from doing no real work (her words, although she would never say them out loud).
"You're amazing," he would inform her in a business-like tone. (She could interpret that as a comment on more than her looks, if it were anyone but Pete saying that.)
TAKE THREE: Chandler had grinned at her, in that wonderful, slightly self-deprecating way that she had unsuccessfully tried to make more confident. His Frank Sinatra eyes would shine with an awe that could probably be matched only in her own. (her words, which she would gladly share with him once she could catch her breath.)
"I love you," he would breathe into her hair.
And it might have taken a while; but the last take was the only one that mattered, and in this case, there was no need for editing.