Chandler's P.O.V

"Joe?" I call from the living room.

"Yeah?" he responds, coming out of his bedroom.

"Have you seen my wallet?" I'm searching around our messy kitchen counter, panicking slightly; I've got a date in just under ten minutes, and funnily enough, need money to pay for the dinner.

"Er... nope, don't think so. Do you know where you had it last?" Joey asks.

I sigh impatiently as I move the old newspapers and pizza boxes that are lying around, hoping my wallet will be under one of them. "Well, no, actually, because then I'd be able to find it, wouldn't I?"

"Ok, ok, don't get all grumpy with me," Joey raises his hands in mock-surrender. "I'll check your room"

"Thanks," I say. Establishing that it can't be on the counter, I go over to the enormous black leather chairs Joey bought for the apartment a couple of years ago. It's not on mine, so I rummage around Joey's, digging under the cushions.

Suddenly, I notice something. The whole chair is covered in hair. Short, thin, black hairs. Literally, all over the leather.

"What the heck?" I whisper to myself.

As I'm taking a closer look, I hear a triumphant cry coming from my room.

"FOUND IT!" Joey wanders back into the living room, waving my wallet above his head, a massive grin spreading across his face. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.

"Great," I say absently.

"It was on the floor by your bed; you could've looked a bit harder, you know..." Joey hesitates, and stares at me as I run my hands over his chair. "Um... what are you doing?"

"Oh, I was looking for my wallet, but then I saw this. Have you had a cat in here or something?" I hold up a few of the hairs.

Something weird happens. Joey sees the hairs and seems to flinch. He looks down, fiddling with a piece of thread on his jumper, and when he speaks, his voice seems to wobble a little.

"Oh, that... that's nothing," he mumbles.

"Are you sure?" There's a lot here," I say, digging around the chair and finding more down the sides.

"It's nothing," he repeats.

"Joey, seriously, we'll get kicked out if you bring a cat or a dog into the apartment. Remember the chick and the duck? We almost got caught with them," I say firmly.

"It's not from a cat or a dog, I promise. Just leave it ok? I'll pick them up later."

"But..."

"CHANDLER, LEAVE IT!" Joey turns around and suddenly snaps at me. I fall silent, hanging my head; neither of us speaks for a few moments. He runs a hand through his hair, looking for a second like he's going to say something, but instead he tosses my wallet onto my chair and disappears back into his room, not even glancing in my direction.

I stare after him, completely baffled. He rarely snaps. Not at me anyway. Upon examining the hairs a bit closer, I realise they're not animal ones – they're definitely from a human head. Joey's. He can't be losing his hair – he's only 26.

I can tell something's up.

Joey's P.O.V

"CHANDLER, LEAVE IT!" I surprise myself by shouting. Turning to face him, I feel a pang of guilt as I see the hurt in his eyes. My hand flies to my hair, tugging slightly. I want to apologise but I know I can't – he'll ask more questions and honestly, I don't want to lie to him. So I drop his wallet onto his chair and turn away, heading to my room.

I flop down on my bed and close my tired eyes, rubbing my face with my hand. But it's difficult to get comfortable, because I'm suddenly aware of the hairs scattered across my brown duvet. I'd never really noticed them before – I guess I had pulled a lot more out recently. It's become more than just a bad habit; my hands are in my hair 24/7 now.

Do I know when it started? No.

Do I know why I do it? Yes.

I do it because it helps; it makes the bad thoughts go away, it calms me when I'm nervous or upset or angry. Do I know why it helps? No.

I can't stop. And more importantly, I don't want to stop.