AN: Slightly angsty; less mushy than I would have liked. Oh well, I still like it. Companion piece to Nothing to Do on the Editing Room Floor, but you don't need to read it to understand this. Set in season 5. The title is based on the song by American Hi-Fi and a poem by...to my shame, I forget who the poem's by.
No one had ever told Chandler that they loved him.
Janice had painted poetic words across the sunset they were supposed to walk into; then ridden off into the sunrise with the Mattress King, revealing the sunset as only a cheap set; a billboard ad for orange juice. She had left him dropping "I'm sorry's" as though she were still around. As though she deserved them.
Chandler had dried up his tears and put them on ice for later.
Kathy had been the "later". She was the girl everybody wanted to be seen with; he was the guy who had been given too many chances.
She'd spun him a story, where he was at fault, and he's been losing so much that he might as well be throwing the games.
Everyone had tried to convince him that she wasn't worth it; he'd won in the end
But the winning just looked too much like losing
And he was winning all the time.
It was clear that he'd never be able to win with Monica; she was too competitive to let him.
And that was just the way he liked it, because all he'd ever wanted was someone to actually say the words; not skirt around them with well-meaning consolation prizes.
Monica made him want to throwthe game; just to revel in the feeling that he'd never get a consolation prize from her, but the sincerity that was behind ever small gesture or syllable of his name on her lips.
He just prayed that she'd never promise to be his sunset.