"Hey, Chandler! What the hell are you doing?"

Ross. The person tapping on my window and scaring the hell out of me is Ross. Obviously.

Don't get me wrong, I'm quite a happy camper because it's not the Geller patriarch carrying a shotgun, but now I feel sort of stupid for getting very worked up about it, and for taking so much time to figure out something so incredibly simple. First of all, it's not like I'm super famous in Long Island, and if the voice belongs to a man, well, then there aren't lots of options left.

I'm nervous, and I think it has something to do with me being actually here, and this being real, and Ross being outside, probably wondering what's wrong with me. Even if I'd like to tell you how I calmly open the door and get out while retaining all my composure, what I actually do is pathetically burst through it, almost face-planting Ross in the process. He steps back on time, though, witnessing the scene with obvious bewilderment.

"Hey, man," I nervously, quickly say once I'm outside, shutting the door of the car. "How did you- I mean, what are you- but how-" I stop and take a deep breath. Perhaps this will effectively make my brain put different words in a coherent order. "How did you know I'm here?"

Ross apparently thinks this is funny, because he laughs. "Well, you are in front of my house, dude."

Of course, that was a dumb question.

"Oh, yes, of course. And hey, what are you- you alone?" I ask, because when you unload dumb questions, you unload them one after the other, apparently. Ross just looks around for a second, kind of amused. While he does that, I realize how incredibly summer-y he looks, wearing shorts and flip-flops in my presence for the first time in the two years I've known him. So, Ross actually has legs, that's a revelation.

"Yeah, I think so," he says then, stifling a perplexed laugh and shifting the six-pack of beers in his hands. "Look, I'm happy to see you and all, so don't take this the wrong way, but why are you here, man?"

"Sure, don't worry, I just um..." I shrug, nervously scratching my forehead. "I wanted to talk to Monica, actually. I mean, if that's okay."

"Oh," he says, taking a moment to process this information. "Yeah, sure. I mean, she's at a party, which is where I come from and where I was going now, in fact," he finally says, lifting his beers, and I nod. "Just came by to pick more beers. You can come with me and look for her if you want, it's only a couple blocks away."

"Really?" I say, smiling a genuine smile. "That'd be great, thanks."

Then, just like that, Ross and I go; he leads, I follow. It sounds so simple in a world where nothing is simple, it's suspicious. On the way over, he offers me one of his beers, I decline. But he has one of his beers for himself anyway. He also asks me about my summer, I ask him about his. And then he starts pointing out all the obvious differences between Manhattan and the suburbs, which in the end turns out to be a peculiar way of telling me that he likes living in the city better. I agree. I drift and think about Monica. I think about Monica more, and I think about the scary proximity between Monica and myself.

But Ross is still talking, and maybe in another situation I'd care, but now I just don't, and to top it all off, he's somehow managed to turn the conversation to his favorite topic in the world, which is a topic I care about even less: Carol. He explains she's been here with him and his family this week, and that she just left yesterday. He says he misses her, because of course he does.

I ask him how she is, maybe out of masochism, and this causes Ross' face to pull into a goofy grin, and then he keeps rubbing his enviable happiness in my lonely, relationshipless face, and I don't think I'm listening, because I think I can only focus on the distant music coming from one of these houses, but it turns out I am, because he's saying something very poignant, and I'm sort of hearing him.

"This might sound corny," he's saying, "but she's the woman of my dreams, man, she's the love of my life. I just feel so lucky that she chose to be with me," he continues, his face brightening. "Ah, but I can't really explain all this, not correctly, at least. It just is, you know?"

And I kinda do.

I must admit that Ross is not a very innovative fellow - his relationship with Carol has never interested me much, yet I'm pretty sure he uttered those exact same words last time I asked. Funnily enough, while last time I just rolled my eyes behind his back and fought the urge to give him a friendly pat on the head, this time his words don't sound devoid of meaning, as if he were speaking in a different language. This time I know what he's talking about. I really do.

"But anyway, this is it," he says when I fall silent, pointing at the two-story brick house in front of us where there's music blasting from within. I breathe, I nod, Ross squirms. Wait, squirms? "But listen, man. Before we go inside, I wanna tell you something."

"Yeah, sure, tell me something," I nervously smile, but he keeps opening and closing his mouth without saying a word, and he keeps squirming in place, and so I decide to join him. "C'mon, man, you're scaring me."

"Ah, it's nothing, I just..." he trails off, exhaling. It's like he's struggling to find all the right words, and I truly don't know what to expect or what those right words are supposed to be. "I think she's in there with a guy, actually. I feel like I should tell you before you go in, y'know, just in case. I'm sorry."

And okay, that didn't quite feel like nothing. It's ridiculous how real this feels in my head, but I seriously think time has stilled in real life. Maybe I've just forgotten how to breathe, I don't know. Given how time seems to be detained, though, I don't fail to notice how my heart is hammering scarily fast against my ribs, and how blood is surging in my ears with impressive speed.

Fuck. How can I be so goddamn naïve? I've been so focused on my own misery, that I've never even considered the possibility that she could've moved on to better things. God. Of course she has moved on to better things.

Now Ross is swaying slightly in front of me, and this jolts me back into the real world, which is a world where time has not really stopped, and it's also a world where my face has just ridiculously blanked for a few seconds. He's looking at me like he's expecting me to say something, but I seriously don't know what I'm supposed to be saying.

To be honest, I'm heavily considering the option of running back home surrounded by my own shame, but I also know the urge of seeing her after having driven up here is incredibly huge, so I guess you can assume it's extremely hard for me to discern which option is more attractive.

"You okay?" Ross finally decides to break my silence.

"Yeah," I swallow. In reality I'm thinking that, well, not really, but thanks for asking.

"And, hey, you still sure about refusing that beer?" he semi-laughs, picking one for himself now that the other bottle's empty. I wave my hand in refusal again. I want to drown myself in alcohol, actually, but I also want to act like a reasonable person. Ross claps me on the back, understanding. "Okay, anyway, maybe it's nothing, who knows," he tries to reassure me, kind of lamely. "But we're still going in, right?"

"Right," I say, not in a really convincing tone, but Ross starts to climb up the porch stairs anyway, making his way through some people hanging in the porch itself afterwards. My legs, on the other hand, have decided to cheerfully transform themselves into jelly, because they apparently want to make even harder for me the 'easy' job of going up some stairs that lead to someone whose heart I mercilessly broke a few weeks ago.

But anyway, I finally give it a try, as best as I can, and I don't seem to fall flat on my face, so while I go up, I momentarily drift away from the entire world again, and I think of Monica with that other guy, and I think of the possibility of him being better-looking than me or, even worse, funnier than me. And oh, the horror.

Once those killer, five steps are behind us, Ross goes to the front door, opens it, and then we're welcomed by quite an unpleasant wave of loud music that seems to slap us in the face, and then the smell of sweaty, congregated humans, mixed with the smoke of something that feels a tad illegal. You can imagine our desire to step in is not too strong, but we do it all the same, which is when Ross begins to yell.

"MON'S HERE SOMEWHERE," he says over the music, probably not aware of how ridiculous he sounds and looks. "I'M GONNA GO TO THE KITCHEN, BUT SEE IF YOU CAN FIND HER."

"Alright, man," I indifferently say, looking around, crossing my arms, and acting like I don't know this deaf fellow.

"SORRY, WHAT?" he points to his ear. First I open my mouth again, but then I just give him a thumbs up, because it's a universal sign he'll probably understand. I think he might be drunk. "AH, OKAY. WELL, GOOD LUCK."

And then, before I can properly react, Ross is hugging me, like really hugging me in a squeezing kind of way, and he's yelling in my ear that he loves me, man, and that he hopes everything works out for me.

Now that I think about it, Ross was coming back from the party when I saw him, and he's drank like two more beers in my presence since then. He's definitely drunk. But it's okay, I like Drunk Ross as much as you can like an intoxicated person, even if his volume seems to go up to unearthly levels and he gets overly friendly. So I thank him for his nice words and hug him back, seriously meaning it.

And after this, just as quickly, he's completely gone, as if he's mysteriously evaporated. Now, of course I wish he'd keep shouting in my face for an entire hour, because I'm not ready to face the ugly truth of having to look for Monica only to see her laughing at someone else's jokes.

Okay, positive thoughts only, Chandler. Positive thoughts.

The thing is, I try to swim through the mob of people for a moment, craning my neck to check if I can see something, but when it turns out to be completely futile, I simply stop and sort of give up. This is so crowded, I can't even think straight - I never thought I'd wish Monica was a 6 feet tall woman, but now I sure do. I can't even discern anything in the far away distance (and I mean everything that's not within five inches from me), so I am only left with the option of examining the people who are directly surrounding me.

Just to give you an idea, to my right there's a horny couple making out in the middle of the room, acting as if the end is dangerously near and they want to make the most of it. With my luck, one of them is probably Monica, but I've actually checked: it's not her. To my left, there's this guy whose most noteworthy characteristics are his diminutive stature and douchey mustache, plus the fact that he's smoking all by himself this giant spliff, from which he takes a ridiculously enormous drag and blows the smoke in my face. I cough, yet he doesn't look bothered by his actions - I am not liking this party at all. I'm also starting to feel really bad for the owners of this house.

"Oops, sorry," another short guy says after crashing into me and splashing his drink over someone else. I turn around, starting to feel slightly anxious, yet still about to offer him some reassuring words.

"Hey, don't wor-" I start, but then I look over his shoulder, and Monica comes into view. Her back is pressed to a wall next to the stairs, and the most ridiculous thing is she's just standing in plain sight.

Something weird is happening. Maybe it is because I have low tolerance to marijuana, or maybe because I am just plain biased, because even if I know that this is as unlikely as it is untrue, I swear, in my head, she is actually glowing. Even in the crowded room, there's something about her that radiates out to me, it's amazing. She's just there, with a plastic cup in her hands, and she looks serious, but she looks gorgeous, and this glowing thing ends up being so blinding that it takes me quite some time to move, and even more time to notice the guy that's standing next to her.

He is all I can see now, though.

He's smiling at her with a perfect set of white teeth, and I decide to blame it on the reefer again, but he seriously becomes taller, stronger, and more handsome with every step I take in their direction, and damn, I'm starting to feel really self-conscious. I left my house in some kind of daze, not paying attention if my hair looked decent, or if my clothes were mismatched. I only know for sure that I'm too afraid to check.

Although when I look at his clothes, I stop worrying a bit - he's wearing one of those jackets (even in hell-like temperatures like right now, yes) that football stars wear during their golden years in high school, and I can't believe Monica's even considered dating one of those morons that will never get over their high school years, because nothing will ever stack up to them.

Anyway, I don't even have an opening line, but acting casual is the only card I've got up my sleeve, even if it's quite a ridiculously bad one, and so when I'm close enough to them, I grace them with excessive throat clearing, and then I say, as casually as I can, "Hey."

"Hey, bro," he says to me as if we're intimate friends, patting my back, which might sound friendly, but still, he says it like he's doing me a favor, and he does it with a definite air of superiority, and oh, I smell jerk.

Monica's head is turned in the other direction, probably because in all my casualness she hasn't even heard me, but since this ex-high schooler Prince Charming is saluting someone, her head turns, and she finally sees me. Her eyes widen, and her words and ideas seem to catch in her throat.

"Chandler, wha-what are you doing here?" she stumbles over her words, her eyes skipping around the room like she's somehow expecting a cameraman to burst through the front door to tell her that she's obviously being the punchline of some practical joke.

"Oh, you know this guy?" he says into her hair, and I officially feel very offended. I know I've been in his presence for around 20 seconds (which is enough), but the way he talks about me, how he feels totally unthreatened by my persona, and the way he patted my back as if to imply I couldn't get a girl like Monica in a million years. Oh, man. I hate him. "Who's this? Your brother?"

"No," Monica says, shortly. I've been reduced to the feared brother category, this is fantastic.

"Oh," he says. This doesn't really make him happy, so he fidgets a little in place and takes a quick sip of his drink. He's being possessive over my ex-girlfriend - what is happening? Uncomfortable silence ensues. That is, until he fights it. "Well, then introduce us, no?" he insists, poking her in the arm. Monica kind of looks at him in disapproval because of this, and I sure feel a bit better.

"Sure," she says after a moment's consideration, and then points at me, "This is Chandler. And Chandler..." she points at him, "this is Dan."

"Stan," Stan corrects her, Monica ignores him, and I feel much, much better.

"Why are you here?" she asks me, not Stan, even though his presence here is also questionable.

"I wanted to talk to you?" I answer her question with another question, realizing how unsure I am of everything. Lately, I just seem to end all my sentences with a question mark, even the ones where a question mark makes no sense at all.

"Well, I'm sorry, but she's with me, not you, man," cuts in Stan, and I'd definitely punch him in his smug face if I wasn't aware of how little intimidating I am perceived by the rest of the world. Monica shoots him more disapproving looks, because you don't bossy around Monica Geller, my friend. Rookie mistake.

"Look," she starts, handing him her plastic cup, "why don't you go get a drink, and in the meantime, we're gonna talk outside, okay?"

"Oh," Stan says first, but before I can hear what he says later, Monica's gripping my arm and dragging me to the backyard, where she looks for some privacy and gets it: surprisingly, it's the only place in this house that is completely deserted.

"Who's that guy?" I ask once we're out, because I can't resist myself. Sidenote: there's a porch swing here that we both seem to ignore.

"Dan?" she asks while stepping down the stairs of the back porch. "I don't even know him."

"You mean Stan, right?" I say around a small laugh I'm not able to repress.

"Chandler, come on, why are you here?" she says, exasperated, cutting right to the chase. I stop in the middle of the yard first, giving her the opportunity to determine the distance between us, which ends up being quite significant.

"Oh, I just..." I trail off, suddenly feeling like a deer trapped in the headlights, everything I've prepared the whole way over flying out of my head."I just wanna make things right," I clumsily say around a shrug, not finding a better expression. Monica sighs ruefully, which I'm smart enough to know is not a good start.

"Right how? You haven't done anything wrong that needs to be turned into a right here," she says, quite wrongly, by the way, but I don't want to interrupt her. "I just, I loved you more than you loved me, which happens all the time, and it's okay," she continues, and how many times has she said that bullshit to herself, I wonder. "And who were we kidding, anyway? Young love never seems to last, by the way, and we shoud've known that, so please, I just wanna go back inside, because Dan is waiting for me, and overall, this is just a terribly bad idea, and you shouldn't have come here in the first place," she babbles, turning around already and making her way up the stairs, and while I am perfectly aware that I keep saying the wrong thing at all times, I'm starting to get the feeling that she always flees from the place in these crucial moments, too.

So, I briefly wonder what could possibly make her stop and listen to me, and only one thing comes to mind, and I shout after her, "I love you!" clearly trying to demonstrate my stupidity one last time. Silver lining is, at least she abruptly stops, allowing me to come up with something cleverer, or a little less stupid. "Wait, no," I say then, shutting my eyes in defeat, "that came out all wrong, I had like, a speech prepared."

And Monica just looks at me for a second in which I desperately try to gauge her reaction, and then she starts walking straight in my direction without saying a single word, and for a blissful moment I actually think she's going to put her arms around my shoulders and give me the french kiss of my life, having somehow found my ineptitude totally endearing, but then she puts her hands on my chest instead, and I know I've never been more wrong before in my life.

"If you loved me, you'd let me be happy!" she angrily yells, pushing me quite hard, and then continues yelling, "Oh, you've got some balls, Chandler!"

Now, let's remember that she is stronger than she looks, and that balance hasn't always been my friend. Fortunately for me, there's a tree behind my body that prevents me from falling to the ground and having to suffer further humiliation. Unfortunately for me, if Monica was a cartoon, steam would be coming out of her ears for sure.

"Well, are you happy?" I ask with my back pressed to the tree, fearing her reaction, but wanting to know the answer. In the end, her reaction isn't as bad as one would expect: her breathing stops being so erratic, her eyes stop looking like they're gonna pop out of her sockets, and she visibly calms down, mellowing slightly. Bad thing is, she isn't mad anymore, now she just looks downright sad.

"No..." she glumly answers, plopping down on the porch stairs. "Are you happy now?"

This isn't by any means a happiness contest, but given how I'm a selfish bastard, it certainly makes me less miserable than knowing she is a happy gal without me. I am not going to tell her that, though. "Of course not, Monica," I say as I lower myself on the stairs, too, right next to her, but not close enough as to make her uncomfortable. Monica nods, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Okay," she says, swallowing, and then pauses. "Well, I'm sorry I just pushed you."

"I'm sorry I just made you push me," I answer.

Our breathing matches. We sit there together for a few seconds in silence, and I break it by clicking my tongue for a moment, but then I feel her eyes fixing me with a stare, and I stop. "What's that about?" she finally says, changing the subject, and pointing at my pathetic, uneven stubble.

"Oh, this," I say, straightening myself. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I'm sporting a scruff that any decent male could've grown after two days of not shaving, but that, in all truth, comes from me not picking up a razor in a week and a half. "This is the result of me being extremely lazy."

"It looks good on you," she probably lies, resting her head on the palm of her hand.

"Hah, thanks," I say, turning my head away with a shy smile.

"You're welcome."

But, anyway, as much as I enjoy compliments, I feel like we're standing hundreds of feet away from the real subject, and I want to get back on track. I don't want to talk about facial hair, what I want is for her to know, and so I get serious again and try: "Anyway, you know who convinced me to come over here?"

"Surprise me," she mumbles, still looking intently at me.

"My mom," I break into a silly grin, "which is funny, because she's also the one who taught me that love doesn't last longer than three months," I say, matter of factly, and Monica smiles sweetly at me, and God, how much I've missed that, you have no idea.

"Your mom is-"

"It's true, ya know," I blurt, in an even more serious voice.

She pauses briefly. "What is?"

"What I said before," I say with a nod, and she nods, too, but then she starts shaking her head.

"This is a bit unfair, isn't it?" she sighs, burying her face in her hands. "I mean, I sometimes can't even remember how we ended up like this, because, I mean, we were just so good together, and then one day, it was like: yeah, not anymore."

"Well, I think we ended up like this 'cause I fucked up," I half-joke, half-say the absolute truth.

"Okay, yeah, that's probably it," her lips quirks at the corners as she agrees with me, and I gulp down some air.

I'm not going to lie, I can't even remember half of what I've kind of badly rehearsed in the car, what my ideas were, or what I wanted her to know, but there are words and ideas coming to my brain now that weren't there before, and my mouth is starting to let them out. There's a shift happening. This has proven not to be the case on many occasions, but sometimes, I think, it's best if you don't put too much thought into this kind of stuff, so this time I wisely don't.

"You know, I've had a lot of time to think, lately," I start, and Monica looks into my eyes, and I love it when she does that, and it just encourages me to continue, "and funny thing is, I just keep going back to that night where we watched Risky Business together."

Monica's still looking at me, and I'm looking at her, and her eyes are flickering with recognition, because how could they not. "Oh, what a great movie," she says with a mischievous smile she tries to hide. I chuckle.

"It sure was, but anyway, let's not forget you fell asleep like 30 minutes in, leaving me to watch Rebecca De Mornay and Tom Cruise doing adult stuff all by myself."

"That's not completely true," she points out, still smiling. "But keep going."

"And I will, because that wasn't the point," I say.

"All right. What's the point."

"The point is, when the movie was over, I quietly took you to your bed, but you woke up when I was leaving anyway, and of course you refused to admit that you'd fallen asleep in the first place," I recount, and now it's Monica's turn to chuckle, "and you were sleepy and kinda grumpy, but you still begged me to stay, which I did, and so I slept with you, literally, and I clearly remember that it was the first time we spent the whole night together. You remember that?"

"I do," she says, she does.

"And anyway, the next morning, you started rubbing my back while I was sleeping, even before the sun was up, and I woke up because of it, and I know now that that's probably the best way possible to wake up. Because I opened my eyes, and you were just smiling at me, and I swear, it was so early, but you looked so gorgeous, and I felt so happy that you were there, and we were together, and it just, God..." I trail off, my hands moving, trying to express with silence what I cannot with words.

"I felt the same way, y'know," she whispers, and while I perfectly know, how unfair it is that she doesn't.

"Point is, I fucking want you to rub my back while I'm sleeping," I say, and she looks down at her hands, nervously fiddling with them. "I know it sounds selfish and weird, but it's small, stupid things like that I miss the most," I say, thinking I've finished, but she looks at me again, throwing me invisible daggers, and I feel the need to rephrase, "I mean, not stupid, but, well, you know what I mean, right?"

There's my question mark again, but Monica doesn't say anything next, even when she looks like she wants to say a lot of things. I start to feel like she's just the most amazingly complicated thing in the entire world, and I love the way she looks when she's debating over whether or not to smile, which is what's happening right now. I'm also fascinated by how fantastically beautiful she looks under this transitioning sunlight, to the point that, I swear to God, all I want to do is kiss her, right here in front of these cherished swings.

I'm pretty sure I'm on a roll, and I'm pretty sure this might be the first time in my life when I'm not feeling overly self-conscious. I slide my body closer to her body, no longer worried about making her uncomfortable. I reach out my hand to where hers are resting on her lap, because I feel like I might actually die if I don't hold hands with her right now. It's not until her hand is in mine that I realize she's got the option of rejecting my touch, which I reckon would still be somewhat reasonable. But here is the most wonderful thing: she doesn't, and it's not a kiss, but it feels completely exhilarating all the same.

"Do you like this Stan guy?" I ask out of nowhere, brushing my thumb over her knuckles.

"No," she says, and the sureness with which she utters that word makes my heart flutter a bit, which is somewhat pathetic. "In fact, I think I kinda hate him a little."

"Yeah, I kinda hate him a little, too," I banter a bit, and Monica laughs, and I find that Monica laughing at something I've said is the only thing I need in this life. "See what I'm talking about? I'm pretty sure you are my soulmate, and I'm pretty sure you are my soulmate in the weirdest, sickest way possible, because we might not like the same things, but we sure hate the same stuff, and I think that's beautiful."

"Oh, you're so dumb," she says around another laugh, pushing me lightly with her free hand, and just now I'm realizing that most wonderful moments of my life have started with her uttering those magical words.

"Consensus is you're right," I agree, nodding slowly. Her laughter starts to drift away now, becoming a distant sound that just echoes in my ears.

"And... you hurt me," she says. "A lot. I wholeheartedly poured my heart out to you, and you couldn't do the same for me."

"Yes," I agree again. "Because I'm dumb, remember?"

"Okay so, well, now that we've acknowledged that, why don't you just tell me what you're trying to tell me," she whispers the suggestion, squeezing my hand.

"Oh, fuck," I say, which is not what I was trying to tell her, by the way. "I just, uh, I guess I didn't have to say the words for it to be true, that's what I'm trying to say," I whisper back. It's like I've been getting closer to her with every word I've whispered, and she's now so close to me, I think it might actually drive me insane. "I mean, you seriously are the greatest thing about me, Monica."

"I think you might be overestimating me a little," she says. "You're not perfect, but I'm not perfect, either. I actually think we were just wonderfully imperfect together, you know?"

"Yeah, you're probably right, but I don't know," I mumble, shrugging. "All I know for sure is, I don't believe in God, but every time we talked, and every time we laughed, and every time we made love, oh my God, I swear one actually existed."

I'm being so sincere for the first time in my life, I think I want to cry. And I think she wants to cry, too. I've come to a point where I can't move on, but I can't stay the same, either. I want to be with her, or I want some sort of closure. Right now, I think I'm getting to be with her, but I'm not completely certain.

So then I say, "For fuck's sake, I don't seem to remember what life's all about without you. That's all I wanna say, okay?" and she smiles at this, and I smile at her, and I realize that the only way to correctly express myself at the moment is by throwing real stuff in between a bunch of curse words, and so this time I just lean over and I kiss her.

It's such a silly thing, really. I kiss her without knowing if she's going to kiss me back, but when she does, I realize I am, in fact, the happiest little guy in the whole wide world. I want to capture all this in my mind and heart, I really do; how we're still holding hands, or how this all feels in every part of my body, which, believe you me, is hard to put into words. And still, before it turns completely real, I brush my fingers over her cheekbone and whisper in this hoarse voice: "I love you so fucking much."

And she kind of giggles, disentangles her fingers from mine, puts both her hands on my face, tells me to shut up, and then she kisses me again.

I think it's a bit unfair if I don't start by saying that I've kissed Monica plenty of times in the past, but that I can't deny either how this is the most fucking amazing kiss of my entire life. It's like her heartbeat starts moving through me when I finally open my mouth, and she presses her body to mine a bit while raking her hands through my hair, and her lips might taste even better than ever, and her tongue might move with mine like it's always been supposed to move with mine. While all this is going on, though, I wonder to myself once more, for real this time, what did I do in a past life to deserve this.

I'm not sure, but I assume it must've been something pretty fucking great.

"Hey, Charlton! Why are you making out with my date, dude?"

I think Monica's date is hovering over us, but the way his voice sounds to my ears makes it feel as if he's on another astral plane entirely. But no, it's truly him, and if I wasn't fond of this guy before, interrupting the best kiss of my life isn't going to earn him any points.

Monica and I pull apart slowly, like it physically pains us to do it, and I can assure you that on the inside I'm definitely groaning, but that I'm not about to say anything out loud, because despite all the euphoria I might be feeling at the moment, I am still acutely aware of the fact that this guy could physically destroy me if he wanted to.

I'll leave Monica to handle this problem. After all, it's her date. I press two fingers to my lips since the kiss is still somehow lingering there, and Monica gets up from the porch stairs, and looks at Dan like she's tired of his entire existence. I act like the whole thing has nothing to do with me, because I'm really brave.

"Look, it was nice meeting you and all," she says, tugging at the fabric of my shirt. I take this as a 'suggestion' for me to get up immediately. "But, I think Charlton and I are gonna go, yeah. I'm really sorry," she finishes, and it looks like the superiority he felt in my presence before has now vanished, and I find that, strangely, that's not what's making me absolutely happy right now.

Monica takes my hand again, and she goes through the backyard's sliding door with me in tow. Dan's left behind looking like a fool, but still, the guy takes it considerably well, and I gotta give him that. Maybe in all my irrational hatred, I've judged him too quickly.

Once we're inside, we make our way through the crowd together, where the guy of diminutive stature and douchey mustache is just happily rolling himself another fattie, and where the couple that had been acting like two wild animals mating in the jungle is now laughing at the spectacular unknown in marvelous unison, and this feels so corny, like all is right with the world now, but I see Drunk Ross through the masses of people, and I think he sees us, too. I give him another thumbs up without Monica noticing, and he gives me a happy nod of approval, raising another bottle of beer in our direction.

So corny, indeed.

I don't know when we've silently made this decision, but we both go out of this trashed house and party without questioning each other, and when we've completely stepped out the front door and gone down the stairs, and when I finally think I can hear my thoughts again, she abruptly spins around, and given she's been charging ahead of me, I almost crash into her, but in the end I don't, because she crashes into me first, wrapping her arms around my back and burying her head in my chest.

"Look, even if I'm not, I should be ultra pissed at you," she says while giving me this unexpected hug, her voice almost completely muffled. "I hope you know that."

"Yeah, I know that," I say, putting my arms around her once these three long seconds of utter confusion have passed. "I'm sorry."

"And you're a moron," she adds, holding me tighter, if that is even possible.

"Yeah, I know that too," I concede again, pressing my lips to her temple. "Listen, I'm done screwing things up, and I'm definitely more than tired of being a moron," I whisper into her hair, and then joke, "so if, God forbid, we're not together in the foreseeable future, just know that it was totally your fault."

"Okay," she says around an adorable laugh, looking up at me and putting her arms around my neck. "That's a deal."

"God, I've missed you so much," I earnestly say while she plays with the hair at the nape of my neck in a way that almost makes me feel like I am going to pass out. Then she looks at me with a beaming smile, which doesn't really help my cause.

"I've missed you too," she earnestly responds.

"And I love you," I continue, just in case.

"Yeah, I love you back. See? I can be dumb, too," she responds again, leaning closer and restarting the fucking amazing kiss that got interrupted before, but that this time keeps going for as long as we decide, which in an effort to be gentlemanly, I will not give away.

I feel happy, that is it. And I hope she feels happy, too. I don't want to jump into conclusions, but I honestly think she does. You have no idea how stupid I feel for believing so strongly in the notion that people tended to disappear from my life when things went really far, because even if it was something silly to believe in, it also felt incredibly real when it hit me, to the point that it almost made me lose everything that mattered to me.

Once the kiss is over, Monica insists on showing me around for a bit, and she tells me stuff, and I listen to them, and she tells me she thinks she understands, and I'm glad she does, and when tiredness catches up with us, we lie down under the stars on top of the hood of my mother's old car, as corny as that is once again, but I don't care, and she has her arm draped across my chest, and I am starting to doze off right next to her, and when the thought that I can't possibly be any happier crosses my mind one more time, she says, her voice low but confident, "Chandler?"

It takes me a while to return to earth, but after a second, I answer, "Yeah."

And she says: "I told you so."

And then she laughs softly, and I laugh along with her, because I am truly glad, at least for once, that she's been completely right all this time.

THE END.

A/N: And then the kingdom was his forever and they lived happily ever after. Come on, they're Mondler! But welp, welp, welp, that's a wrap, folks. Long author's note ahead, by the way.

That was corny. And long. And some of you actually believed they weren't gonna end up together, but, I mean, what kind of monster do you think I am?

Anyway, I don't even know where to start thanking you for all the support, super nice words, theories (theories!), and reviews in general I've gotten, and I know I keep repeating myself, so maybe this time I'll just say: ¡MUCHAS GRACIAS!

Seriously. This all started because one day, some months ago, I couldn't sleep at night, and the idea of Monica and Chandler sneaking into his home and looking through childhood pictures of him wouldn't leave my mind, and hence this thing was clumsily born, and it all developed from there.

I haven't written anything before in my life, so I didn't even consider posting it at first, but then I was like, what the hell, I've got nothing better to do, and your support has been so great from the beginning that it's been more than worth it. Narrating this in the first person has been a challenge, too, but I've also had a lot of fun getting into Chandler's head, and if one of you believes I did a good job portraying it, well, then I can consider myself happy.

Now, in case anyone is interested: I wrote a one-shot a long time ago I might even consider posting (probably not, but I thought I'd throw this out there), and then there's another multi-chapter fic I can't get out of my mind but that's not written yet, so we'll see what happens with that one, because in all fairness, I'm quite excited about it.

But, I'm super busy with finals right now, so perhaps you'll hear from me when I'm finally free. That's what I'm hoping for, at least!

And that's pretty much it. Thanks again to all the usual reviewers, lovely guests, and hey, also Mondler2014, who should definitely open that askbox. If you enjoyed this a quarter of how much I enjoyed writing it, then my job here is done. Thank you, thank you, and then again, THANK YOU.