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skyeet-the-writer · 7 months

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The One With the Girl from Canada

while im cleaning out my drafts, here's something from a few months ago. i really like this and i've written and are currently writing some more little chapters, so be on the lookout for them!! this is also posted on my ao3 if you want to go read it there too :) chandler bing x female!reader summary: new york city is a big place for a girl who lived in canada her entire life, but you manage. one afternoon, while getting some work done in a cozy coffee shop, a very handsome brunette asks to sit beside you. who are you to tell him no? word count: ~2.3k warnings: none i don't think lmao that never happens next>

Central Perk is a special spot for Chandler Bing. That's where he talks with his friends, it's where they all relax, it's where he met Rachel just a couple of months ago, coming in wearing a wedding dress and looking highly frazzled. It's got a nice, calming atmosphere, pretty good coffee, and the absolute best spot in all of Manhattan.

The area with the couch is where he and his friends always sit. Sometimes he feels bad for taking it, but nobody seems to mind, ever. And so he always sits there, usually on the couch when it is available.

When he walked into Central Perk one afternoon after work, he just wanted to grab a coffee and wait for the rest of his friends to show up eventually. He didn't expect there to be anyone there, no one ever was at this time on a Thursday.

But then he saw someone sitting in his spot.

Normally, he would have been upset, probably ask them to leave, nicely, of course, and pray to God that they left because he hates confrontation.

However, the person sitting in his spot was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen. She looked like she had been there for a few hours, at least, because there was an empty plate with crumbs on it and a large mug drained, both sitting on the coffee table her feet were propped up on.

For a moment, Chandler stood at the counter and stared at her like some kind of creep. He had never seen her around and he knew he'd remember if he did. She wore gray jeans rolled up at the ankles to show off her colorful socks underneath a pair of black and white Converses. As his eyes traveled up her frame, he saw her wearing some kind of band tee and a tiny, silver necklace around her neck. She seemed to be writing something and, from what Chandler could tell, she seemed to be deep into thought. Her pencil scratched across the notebook and every so often, she would pause and read over it before promptly erasing something and writing once more.

He heard his name being said and turned around to see Guther holding out a coffee cup to him.

"Oh, thanks, Gunther," he told the worker, taking the coffee from him.

Chandler had never been good at talking to girls and more often than not chickened out on the opportunity to do so. But he didn't want to chicken out on talking to you.

And so, with confidence, he walked over to the area he always sat at and stood just beside the couch, next to your arm that was leaning on the armrest.

Before now, he didn't notice the headphones around your ears and the Walkman that sat beside you, but when he clears his throat and you don't react, he understands why. And so, again and a little bit louder, he clears his throat, gently tapping on your shoulder.

Your eyes tear away from the page in your lap at the touch of another person and you whip your head up to see a man standing beside you, looking at you with a smile. Perhaps too loudly, you exclaim, "Oh, shit, sorry!" and hastily pause your music and let the headphones rest around your neck. You blink up at the man and ask, "Yes?"

"I, uh." Chandler swallows thickly because even your voice is one from a dream. "You're, uh, kind of in my spot."

With a mischievous smile, you turn around in your seat like you're looking for something. "Oh, word? I don't see your name on it."

And then you smile at him snarkily and Chandler forgets how to breathe. But then he laughs, a bit awkwardly. Your sarcastic grin fades into a true one and you add, "Don't worry, I'll move."

When you start to gather your things, Chandler is quick to put a stop to it. He doesn't want you to move, not now, not ever. Not when he's just started to talk to you. "No, no, you're fine, I'm just kidding."

You stop your movements and look up at him. "Oh, alright. You can sit next to me, though."

Chandler doesn't have to be told twice. He sits beside you on the opposite side of the couch and takes a drink of his coffee like that will do anything to cure his jitters.

"What's your name?" you ask him, setting your notebook in your lap for just a moment. You wonder if he wants to have a conversation, but not many people in New York do.

He answers, "Chandler."

"Nice to meet you, Chandler. I'm y/n."

God, even your name sounds like something from a song.

"It's nice to meet you, too, y/n." He takes notice of the notebook in your lap and feels the urge to ask, "Mind if I ask what you're writing?"

With another grin, you say, "What if I did?"

Chandler can only wonder if your smile is contagious because he feels his lips curl upwards. "I mean, I'd still ask. I'm nosey."

You laugh and tilt your notebook for him to read. "It's a screenplay I'm writing."

Chandler's eyes widen. "You're a screenwriter? What, you make movies and stuff?"

"I wish." You scoff and feel a slight heat rise to your cheeks. "No, I write stories for movies and stuff. At least, I try."

"Is it not going so well?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Some studio called me up a few months ago, said they liked the idea I submitted and gave me a few months to come up with a first draft. And I've got two more weeks to finish it, so we'll see."

"I'm sure it's great," Chandler says and he means it. He can't write for shit, but something about you seems so...creative and special. "Even if I just met you."

You laugh again and close the notebook, stashing it away in the tote bag that rests on the floor. "Thanks, really."

"Of course." When you turn your body to face him, he sees what band is on your shirt and, even though he knows who it is, he asks, "What band is that?"

When he points to your chest, you look down and answer, "Oh, Nirvana."

"Oh, my God, I love them!"

"Really?" Your face breaks into a grin and you lean forwards a little. "What's your favorite song."

"'Heart-Shaped Box'," he says.

"Oh, that's good. I like 'Come As You Are'."

Soon, the conversation seems to flow quite naturally between the pair of you. He tells you about his boring job, something with a bunch of numbers and nothing exciting. You both compare bands and he realizes you're much more into rock and alternative works, but he guessed that the second he saw the leather jacket that rests beside you.

Joey is the first to arrive. Chandler glances up at the door when he hears the bell above it jingle and sees his roommate falter at the sight of you. You're not looking, rummaging through your tote bag for something and Chandler's eyes widen at the sight of the other person. If Joey flirts with you, Chandler will kill him.

Joey, clearly not catching on to Chandler's look from across the cafe, sees you and smirks, walking over.

"Hey, Chandler," he greets but doesn't look at his friend, eyes settling on you. "Who's, uh, your friend?"

You turn up at the sound of another person and spot the Italian-American smiling at you. You smile back and say, "I'm y/n."

"How you doin'?" Joey smirks and sits himself down on the high stool beside you. "I'm Joey."

"Hi, Joey," you reply, glancing at Chandler who quickly wipes the glare from his face and smiles at you. "You guys know each other?"

"We're roommates," he answers, motioning at his friend who is still staring at you.

You blink and shift in your seat. "Oh."

"I like your shirt," Joey says.

"You like Nirvana, too?" Your face brightens and Chandler almost melts.

But then his roommate says, "Who?"

And that look on your face is gone. Your smile falls and you look away back into your tote, mumbling, "Never mind."

Chandler meets his friend's eyes and shakes his head twice, brows furrowed. Joey always gets the girl. Chandler deserves to hope, at least.

You pull out a packet of gum and open it. You take a piece out and unwrap it before offering one to Chandler. He smiles and takes it, popping it in his mouth and shoving the wrapper in his pocket.

"Want some gum?" you ask the other man with darker and messier hair.

He takes one and thanks you. You return it with a grin and put the gum back in your tote, on top of your notebook.

Joey says your name and you look at him. "So, you live around here?"

You nod. "Yeah, I live in Hell's Kitchen."

"Oh, cool, cool. How long have you lived here? You grew up in New York?"

Immediately, you shake your head. "Oh, no, no, I didn't grow up here."

"Where'd you grow up?" Chandler asks, tilting his head

"Winnipeg," you answer, biting back a smile.

Chandler's brows furrow and Joey asks, "Where's that?"

"Manitoba." Your straight cracks a bit and you try to fight the smile that wants to paint itself across your lips.

Joey looks lost and asks again, "...Where's that?"

"Canada," you tell him, fully grinning now.

Joey gasps and Chandler tries not to roll his eyes. He figured it out when you said Manitoba. He says, "You're from Canada?"

You nod, turning your head to look at him. "Yep."

"Do you speak French?" Joey asks, touching your arm, clearly already friendly with you.

Turning to him, you answer, "Non."

Chandler laughs and you giggle, crossing one leg over the other.

"I speak Italian," Joey says.

You raise a brow. "Yeah?"

He nods and leans forward in his chair, smirking. "Sei bellissima."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're beautiful," he answers, voice a little lower than it was before.

Some heat rushes up your neck and you look away at your lap. "Oh."

Chandler glares at his friend, but Joey doesn't catch it.

Thankfully, before Chandler reaches over you to choke Joey, the bell dings and he glances at the door. Monica, Ross, Phoebe, and Rachel are walking in and while the rest of his friends make their way over, Rachel immediately goes to clock in for her shift.

They walk over and greet the other two and Phoebe is the first to address you. "Oh, wow, you're pretty."

You laugh out loud, blushing even harder at the compliment from a woman, touching your necklace. "Thank you. I like your skirt."

Phoebe giggles and swishes her skirt. "Thanks."

"This is y/n," Chandler introduces you to his friends.

"Hey." You lift your hand in a wave of sorts, feeling like you're butting in on their group. You should leave, but in a minute. You don't want to be rude.

Chandler's friends introduce themselves--Ross, Monica, and Phoebe, you repeat their names in your head to remember better--and then he gestures towards the coffee bar. "And the girl over there is Rachel."

"It's nice to meet you guys," you say politely, squeezing your hands in your lap.

"You too." Monica smiles. "I love your shirt, by the way."

"Thanks." You grin, basking in all the compliments.

Ross looks at Monica and asks, "You listen to Nirvana?"

Monica fixes him with a look. "Yes, because I'm cooler than you."

You chuckle at their interaction when Joey suddenly blurts out, "Ask her where she's from!"

You giggle at the man's antics and look at the others.

Ross smiles and asks, "Alright. Where are you from?"

"Winnipeg," you reply, still smiling. Chandler thinks he's going to swoon.

Monica is the first to figure it out. "You live in Canada?"

You nod. "I mean, I used to. I moved to Hell's Kitchen a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, my god, so you just moved here," Chandler says.

"Why did you move all the way from Canada down to here?" Ross wonders.

"I'm a screenwriter and ended up getting a job down here," you answer. "Besides, Canada is boring, so I was looking for a change of scenery."

"Well, how do you like it here so far?" Phoebe asks.

You shrug. "It's pretty nice. A little colder, somehow, but I like it. There are a lot more people and a lot more things to do and see. I lived in Winnipeg my entire life so I kind of felt like I saw everything."

"I've always wanted to go to Canada," Rachel says, coming to hand out coffee.

You smile. "It's nice. Alberta is really pretty."

Mustering up some courage, Chandler says, "Hey, if you ever need someone to show you around the city, I'll be happy to help you."

And then you look at him and grin, nodding. "That'd be sick."

He feels heat start to creep up his cheeks, and he smiles back. "Awesome."

You look at the time on the clock and say, "I've got to head out, but it was great to meet you guys."

"Yeah, you too!" Monica says.

Taking a Post-it note from your bag, you write down your number and hand it to Chandler. He takes it and tries not to stare at it too hard. "Hope to catch you guys later."

Chandler's friends wave to you and you walk out the door, shrugging your jacket on before walking off. Chandler stares at the window for several seconds after you're gone and only snaps out of it when Monica says something.

"Chandler, how the hell did you get her number?"

He shrugs, looks at the bright blue Post-it note, and reads it.

here :) (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

He smiles and puts it in his pocket, trying to ignore the looks his friends are giving him. You're very cool and very pretty and Chandler can't wait to see you again.

#x reader #chandler bing #chandler bing x reader #canadian reader #ross geller #rachel green #joey tribbiani #monica geller #phoebe buffay

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skyeet-the-writer · 4 months

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The One with George Stephanopoulos

this chapter made me want pizza and alcohol okay bye chandler bing x female!reader summary: its been a few months since you moved to the city and you're settling in pretty well with your new group of friends word count: ~4.5k warnings: mentions of black mold, alcohol, a little snooping, but its harmless fun <previous next>

"What would you guys do if you were omnipotent?" you ask suddenly during a quiet afternoon in the cafe.

"Probably make myself immortal," Monica says, looking up from her crossword. "And be able to time-travel, I've always wanted to do that as a kid."

"Ooh, time travel would be sick," you say. "I'd want to immediately know how to play the bass."

"Oh, that's good, that's good." Rachel smiles, handing you your latte.

"What about you, Phoebe?" you ask the woman sitting on the floor.

"I would want, um, world peace. No more hunger. Good things for the rainforest." She grins before quickly adding, "Oh, and bigger boobs!"

"Well, see, you took mine," Ross says. You giggle, holding your warm mug and leaning back into the couch next to Chandler, who quickly removes his arm from behind the couch. "Chandler, what about you?"

Chandler shrugs. "If I were omnipotent for a day, I'd make myself omnipotent forever."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Lame."

Rachel also tches. "See, there's always that one guy. 'If I had a wish, I'd wish for three more wishes.'"

You laugh again and turn as the door opens. Joey walks in and you hit him with your burning question. "Joey! Joey, what would you do if you were omnipotent for a day?"

He blinks at your question and answers, "Probably kill myself."

Your eyes widen and you breathe out a laugh. "Sorry?"

"Hey," he starts as he takes a seat beside Ross. "If little Joey's dead, then I've got no reason to live."

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink.

"Uh, Joey." Ross's first mistake was to try and help. "Omnipotent."

Joey's eyes widen and in the most sympathetic voice you've ever heard him use, he says, "You are?"

You choke on your drink, laughing into your mug and almost spilling coffee on yourself. Chandler places a hand on your back while Phoebe hands you a napkin, taking your drink from you. You laugh again, wiping your face, and look at Joey.

"Dude, you're so funny. Do you know that?"

Joey smiles and shrugs. "People say that I am."

You clear your throat and lean back in your seat again. Chandler has an arm across the back of the couch again, but this time he doesn't move it, something everyone but you catches on to.

His arm doesn't move for the next thirty minutes either. Eventually, you notice but think nothing of it. Ross does it with Phoebe and there's certainly nothing there. Your newfound friend group talks about nothing and everything at once as the afternoon grows later. After a while, you glance at your watch and realize you need to head out, even though you don't want to.

With a groan, you sit up. "I've got to head out."

"Why?" Monica wonders.

You sniff and start to get your things together in your tote bag. "My window is leaking in my bathroom and kitchen, so my super is going to check it out. Also, there's this weird substance on my windowsills that looks like dirt, but I swear to god if it's black mold I'm going to kill someone."

"Well, good luck," Chandler says, watching you take out your walkman and put the headphones around your neck.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," you tell them and start your mixtape. "See you guys later."

And then you head out. Chandler watches you through the window--which isn't creepy because it's so big. He watches you take out your lighter and light a cigarette before walking on your way. For someone who moved to the city a few months ago, you already seem very much at home.

The second the door closes, Joey moves to sit by Chandler and says, "Chan. If you don't ask her out, I'm going to."

"Yeah, why haven't you asked her yet?" Monica asks. "With the way your arm was behind her for an hour, someone would assume you guys are dating."

Chandler scoffs and shrugs, feeling his neck heat up. "I--I don't know. I think she's too cool for me."

"She's too cool for all of us," Ross says.

"I think she's into you." Phoebe pokes his leg and smiles. "She's always around you."

"Yeah, because I was the first person she met here and she's my friend."

"So? I think you'd have a shot." Phoebe tells him. "Her aura is brighter around you."

Chandler isn't sure what that means, but he shrugs anyway. "I--I don't know. I really think she's cool, I don't want to mess this friendship up."

His friends nod in understanding but Joey asks, "So, does this mean I can ask her on a date?"

"No!" he blurts out, perhaps too loudly because someone at a neighboring table turns to glare at him for a moment.

"Woah, okay, man." Joey holds his hands up in surrender. "I know now to mess with your girl."

Heat rushes to Chandler's cheeks and he huffs, feeling very uncomfortable. "Whatever."

~*~

An hour and a half later, you return to the coffee shop pissed out of your mind. You angrily open the door and let it slam shut behind you. Monica, Phoebe, and Ross are still here and all look at you when you approach. You're frowning, something they've never seen you do before, and your head looks like it's about to explode.

"Woah, what's up?" Monica asks as you dramatically sit between Ross and Phoebe. "You look pissed."

"Because I am," you snap, shedding your jacket. "There's black fucking mold in my apartment."

"Oh, gross!"

"No, it gets better," you add, looking between your friends while your heart thumps rapidly in your throat. "It's not just my apartment. It's the entire goddamn floor."

"Oh no!"

"That's awful."

Phoebe puts her arm around you and you lean into your side, feeling yourself calm down quickly as her scent of patchouli envelops you. "I asked how long it would take them to fix it, but the super said I had to move out for a week."

"For a week?" Monica asks.

You nod. "Yeah. I hate to ask, but could I maybe stay with you and Rachel? I'll chip in with food and stuff."

Monica smiles and says, "Yeah, of course. Phoebe was actually going to be spending the night too, we can have a girls' night."

"Oh, that's fun!" Phoebe exclaims, smiling.

You grin and feel your anger slip away. You're lucky to have these people as your friends. "Thanks."

~*~

Later that night, you're making drinks with Phoebe and Monica while dressed in your pajamas. You went to your apartment to pack your things and you're glad you did your laundry yesterday.

Rachel is out with her friends and you want to assume they're nice, but they give you snooty rich-girl vibes. Plus their screaming only made you more angry than you were before, but now that you've taken two shots of rum, you feel a little better.

You fire up the blender again on your famous Tiki Death Punch--which is really just a strawberry and pineapple daiquiri--while Phoebe gets the glasses out and the door opens.

"Hey, Rach," Monica greets, finishing up the cookie dough. "How was it with your friends?"

And then, in unison, you, Phoebe, and Monica scream, mocking what Rachel and her friends did. You giggle and take off the lid to analyze your work before unplugging the blender and moving toward the glasses. But when you look back up, Rachel does not look amused and you hiss through your teeth. "Anyway, you want some Tiki Death Punch?"

"What's that?" Rachel asks, sounding exhausted.

You finish pouring the third glass and answer, "Well, it's rum and--"

Rachel doesn't even let you finish before she's taken the pitcher from your hands and is sticking a straw through the liquid.

You blink at your empty hands. "Okay."

"We thought that Phoebe was staying over and Y/N is staying here for the week, we'd have kinda like a slumber party thing. We've got trashy magazines, we've got cookie dough, we got Twister."

"I brought Monopoly and Balderdash," you add, glancing at the phone as it rings.

"And I brought Operation," Phoebe says, walking towards Rachel, who looks miserable. "But, um, I lost the tweezers so we can't operate. But we can prep the guy!"

You smile at her enthusiasm.

With the phone in her hand, Monica walks towards Rachel and says, "Uh, Rach, it's the Visa card people."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "Oh, God, ask them what they want."

"Could you please tell me what this is in reference to?" Monica asks into the phone before lowering it down and addressing Rachel. "Um, they say there's been some unusual activity on your account."

"But I haven't used my card in weeks," Rachel says, sounding even more exasperated now.

"That is the unusual activity." Rachel stands and pinches the bridge of her nose as Monica adds, "Look, they just want to see if you're okay."

"They want to know if I'm okay? Okay, they want to know if I'm okay. Okay, let's see." Slowly, you take a sip each time she says okay. "Well, let's see, the FICA guys took all my money. Everyone I know is either getting married or getting pregnant or getting promoted and I'm getting coffee. And it's not even for me! So if that sounds like I'm okay, okay, then you can tell them I'm okay. Okay?"

You swallow your last sip and see that half of your drink is gone.

Monica slowly licks her lips and lifts the phone to her ear. "Uh, Rachel has left the building. Can you call back?"

"Alright, come on!" With her voice breaking and tears in her eyes, Rachel unfurls the game mat and says, "Let's play Twister."

"Oh, Rachel!" You walk over to her and lead her to the couch as she wipes her tears. "Come on, babe, it's okay, you're fine."

"No, I'm not!" she exclaims, sniffling. "Everyone I know is being more productive than I am."

Monica sits on the other side of her and rubs her arm. "Oh, come on. You should feel great about yourself. You're doing this amazing and independent thing!"

But she just rolls her eyes and asks, "Monica, what is so amazing? I gave up, like, everything! And for what?"

"You are just like Jack!" Phoebe exclaims from her spot on the table.

Looking at her, you squint. "Pheebs, I'm a little tipsy, but what are you talking about?"

"Jack from 'Jack and the Beanstalk'," she answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "See, he gave up something, but then he got those magic beans. And then he woke up and there was this--this big plant outside of his window full of possibilities and stuff. And he lived in a village and you live in the village."

Rachel holds up a hand to stop her. "Okay, but, Pheebs, Pheebs. Jack gave up a cow. I gave up an orthodontist. Okay? I--I know I didn't love him, but--"

"Oh, see, Jack did love the cow."

You sigh and take another long sip of your drink.

"But, see, it was a plan," Rachel continues. "You know? It was clear. Everything was figured out and now everything's just kinda like..."

She flails her hands around, searching for the word, and you suggest, "Floopy?"

"Yeah."

You put your hands back on her arm and say, "I've been there."

"Really?" she asks, looking at you.

You nod. "Yeah, I'm there right now. I mean, I want to be a famous screenwriter and probably a director. But I live in a shitty apartment with black mold and I work as a hostess." You laugh at yourself and continue. "I live, like, three thousand kilometers away from home in a whole new country. I was supposed to go to school for nursing because my mom and my dad are both doctors, but I changed my major halfway through and moved here." You smile at her and rub up and down her arm. "And I'm happy I did because I met you guys. And, sure, I kind of hate my job and I don't have any time to write and I pour oil down my drains to fuck with my landlord. But I'm doing my own thing, doing what I like. Not what everyone else is doing. Does that make sense?"

Rachel shrugs, but then she nods.

Monica puts a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, you've just gotta figure at some point it's all gonna come together, and it's just gonna be...un-floopy."

But then Rachel sighs and says, "Okay, but, Monica, what if--what if it doesn't come together?"

Monica rocks back and forth, searching for an answer, before quietly saying, "Pheebs?"

Phoebe puts her drink down and starts, "Well, 'cause you just like...I don't like this question. Y/N?"

You think about this question every night in bed, but you don't have an answer. And so you look around, muttering things under your breath so the heat will be off you.

"Okay, see, see you guys? What if we don't get magic beans? I mean, what if all we've got are...beans?"

Yeah, that's a thought that crosses your mind in the middle of the night too. And so you loudly slurp up the rest of your drink and pick up the pitcher. "I need more rum."

~*~

An hour and two pitchers of Tiki Death Punch later, you're all sitting in various positions in the living room. Phoebe is lying on the floor with her head on the ottoman and her hair over her face. Monica is eating cookie dough right out of the bowl with the wooden spoon. Rachel is lying across the couch with her legs in your lap. You're on your third drink and you're not even sure you can finish that. God, you're depressed, you really should get in touch with a pharmacist to get back on Prozac, but that's a hassle with the American healthcare system. Why can't it just be free like the rest of the world?

Rachel, who is changed into much comfier clothes, sighs and says, "I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to bring you down."

"No, you were right," Monica says, smushing the dough. "I don't have a plan!"

There's a knock at the door and that's the first time you've felt happy in forty-five minutes. "Thank Christ, food."

Rachel gets up to get the pizza and Monica says, "Phoebe?"

"Huh?" She flips her ponytail out from her face.

"Do you have a plan?"

She scoffs and says, "I don't even have a pla'."

Rachel swings the door open and a young teenage kid is standing there with pizzas. "Hi. One mushroom, green pepper, and onion?"

You almost burst into tears right then and there.

Rachel sighs. "No, no, no that's not what we ordered! We ordered a fat-free crust with extra cheese!" She also sounds like she's about to cry and lifts her fingers to her temple.

"Wait, you're not G. Stephanopoulos?"

"No."

"Oh, man, my dad's gonna kill me!"

Suddenly, Monica jumps across your legs and you almost piss yourself. Slowly, you and Phoebe follow as she asks the teenager, "Did you say G. Stephanopoulos?"

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, this one goes across the street. I must've given him yours. Oh, bonehead, bonehead." To be honest, him hitting himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand does make you smile a little.

"Wait, was this a--a small Mediterranean guy with curiously intelligent good looks?"

The kid nods. "Yeah, sounds about right."

"Was he wearing a stunning blue suit?"

"A--and a power tie?" Phoebe adds.

The kid shakes his head. "Nah, pretty much just a towel."

Monica's mouth drops and she leans on Phoebe for support like she's swooning. "Oh, god."

"So do you guys want me to take this back?" the poor kid asks.

"What? Are you nuts?" Monica seizes the pizza from his hand. "We've got George Stephanopoulos' pizza!"

While Rachel pays the kid, Monica rushes to the window and grabs the binoculars.

"Who is George Stephanopoulos?" you ask Phoebe.

But before she can answer, Monica shouts out, "I see pizza!"

Phoebe runs over to look, but you and Rachel stay by the pizza. You open it and almost start to salivate. You haven't eaten since lunch and you've been craving pizza all week.

"Who are we spying on?" Rachel wonders.

"You know the White House Advisor? Clinton's campaign guy, uh, the one with the great hair, sexy smile, and really cute butt?"

You laugh at her description and eat a piece of bell pepper. "No, but I wish I did."

Rachel nods. "Oh, yeah, the little guy! Oh, I love him!"

Together, you each take a piece of pizza and walk over to the window as Phoebe says, "Ooh, wait, I see a woman."

"Oh, please tell me it's his mother," Monica says.

You squint to try to see where she's looking, but it's too dark for you to see much.

And then Phoebe says, "It's definitely not his mother."

"Oh no."

"Oh, wait, she walking across the floor. She's walking, she's walking, she's going for the pizza." Angrily, Phoebe shouts out, "Hey, that's not for you, bitch!" Quickly, she covers her mouth and the four of you giggle. Rachel hands Monica her piece of pizza and you bite into your own.

Yeah, you don't need Prozac anymore, not if you have pizza and the girls.

~*~

A little while later, you're all out on the balcony. You're full of pizza and alcohol, but you're drinking water now. It's cold outside and there's a blanket over the metal chair you're sitting on and you're wearing the red sweatshirt Chandler gave to you a couple of weeks ago when you said you were cold. You forgot to give it back and maybe if you wear it you'll remember.

Monica comes back in with another pitcher of Death Punch and by now you're sure you've used up all your rum. But it's okay because you're having fun spying on his American politician with your friends.

"Are the lights still out?" Monica asks, climbing through the window.

"Yeah," Rachel says, binoculars still glued to her eyes.

"Well, maybe they're napping."

You scoff, straw halfway in your mouth. "Please, they're having sex, Mon."

"Shut up!" Monica and Phoebe shout at the same time.

You laugh, leaning your head back.

Everyone gets their drinks and sits back down when Rachel asks, "So what do you think George is like?"

"I think he's shy," Monica answers.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I think you have to draw him out. And then...when you do, he's a preppy animal."

You all giggle and you feel like a schoolgirl again. You swat at her while she laughs and you laugh and so do Phoebe and Rachel.

Another half-hour later, you're all laughing and telling each other lies that you've told other people.

"Okay, okay I got one," Monica says and looks at Phoebe. "Do you remember that vegetarian pâté that I made that you loved so much?"

The vegetarian nods.

Monica snickers. "Well, unless goose is a vegetable!"

You and Rachel laugh while Phoebe screws her face up in disgust.

"Okay, fine, fine. Now I don't feel so bad about sleeping with Jason Hurley."

You sip on your water, having no idea who that is, but enjoying the way Monica's eyes widen. "What? You slept with Jason?"

"You were already broken up."

"How long?"

Phoebe shrugs. "Just a couple hours."

You laugh while Monica rolls her eyes.

Giggling, Rachel sits up. "Okay, okay, I got one." But since the pillow is leaning on the side of the wall, when she sits up, it falls to the balcony below. You smile as she continues. "Anyway. The Valentine Tommy Rollerson left in your locker was really from me!"

Monica looks at her friend. "Excuse me?"

Rachel returns to her original position. "Oh, hello? Like he was really gonna send you one." Monica rolls her eyes and Rachel adds, "She was a big girl."

You gasp and laugh.

"Well, at least big girls don't pee their pants in the seventh grade," she retaliates, leaning toward you and Phoebe.

Rachel gasps, "I was laughing! You made me laugh!"

As the two girls argue, movement catches your eye and you look across the street to where George lives and gasp, standing up. "Look, there he is!"

"Where?"

You blink, pointing at his huge windows. "Right where we've been looking all night."

Together, the four of you watch this man stand only clad in a towel. If you were sober, you'd feel bad.

"Oh, he's so cute," Rachel says.

"George, baby, drop the towel!" Monica exclaims.

In unison, you all chant "Drop the towel" and you're pretty sure he can hear you. Because then he does. And you gasp and all say, "Wow."

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away, giggling. "Okay, I don't know if Clinton is a good president, but I'll vote for him if that's his campaign manager."

The girls giggle and go back to their seats before you all can be arrested for spying.

"I have a question, Y/N," Rachel says, hopping back up on the ledge.

"What's up?"

"Are you interested in anyone right now?"

You raise a brow at the sudden question. "Well, now I'm interested in George Stephanopoulos."

Rachel rolls her eyes but smiles. "I can understand that."

Shrugging, you stir your water with your straw. "I mean, not really. I moved here a few months ago. I've been trying to figure my way around the city, I guess I haven't had much time to look at anyone like that."

"Then why are you wearing Chandler's sweatshirt?" Phoebe asks, smiling as she takes a sip of her drink.

You look down at the piece of fabric and rub it between your fingers. It's soft and thick and it reminds you of him. "He lent it to me the other week. I just...forgot to give it back."

"Okay," Phoebe says with a breathy laugh like she doesn't believe you.

You look at your friends and see that they all have the same expression--they suspect something. "W--what? No, it's not like that!"

"We didn't say anything," Monica assures you.

"You didn't have to." You take another gulp of your drink and feel some heat creep up your cheeks. "I don't know. He's my friend and I think he's cute, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Rachel agrees and you hear the truth in her voice. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," you tell them. "I mean. Chandler is funny and he's really sweet, but, like, mentally I'm not ready." Something dawns on you and you grab Monica's arm with wide eyes. "Does he have a thing for me?"

"No," she answers easily. "No, have you met Chandler? He's the most socially awkward person I've met."

Slowly, you nod, staring down at your drink. "Okay, okay. Cool. 'Cause I don't want to make things awkward." And then you're quiet, still staring at your drink, before you put it on the small, dingy table and stand up. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

"Are you okay?" Phoebe asks as you wobble over to the window.

"Yeah," you answer, slowly folding yourself to go through it. Your vision is swimming a little. "I'm just drunk."

"We all are," Rachel says and watches as you go back into the apartment. When the door closes, she leans close to her friends and says, "No one tell Chandler."

Monica places a hand on her heart. "No, for sure. She's totally justified, though, I wouldn't want to date someone directly after moving to another country."

Phoebe nods. "Besides, Chandler is a big boy, he can figure out his own feelings." But then she adds after a moment, "Well, maybe not, but that's his problem."

Rachel and Monica chuckle and go back to spying on Stephanopoulos.

~*~

Later, the boys come back from their hockey game. Before you can ask who won, you see Ross wearing a brace over his nose. Chandler tells you that he was hit in the face with a puck and ended up having to go to the emergency room for a broken nose.

But Ross seems in happier spirits than he was before and that you're grateful for.

Eventually, Phoebe, Joey, Monica, and Rachel are playing a game of Twister while Ross flicks the spinner. You're making some more drinks with the remaining rum for the boys to have, figuring they need it after their night.

"What's the legal drinking age in Canada?" Chandler asks, watching you pour the last of your rum into the blender before placing the empty bottle to the side.

"Eighteen," you answer, measuring the sugar with your heart. "Well, actually, it's eighteen in Manitoba, Québec, and Alberta. Everywhere else it's nineteen."

Chandler breathes out a laugh. "It's twenty-one here."

"Can't men be drafted into war when they're eighteen?"

He nods. "Yeah. It's messed up."

You hum and fire the blender up, keeping an elbow on it and closing your eyes. You've had a long day. You're still mad about your apartment and having to squat at Monica and Rachel's for a week. You know they don't mind, but you still feel bad. You'll cook them dinner a few times, that'll be nice. You would clean, but Monica is very particular about it so you figure it's best to leave it be.

Opening your eyes again, you turn the blender off and serve it up, giving one to Chandler first. You clink your glass of water with his and giggle as he smiles. You both take a sip at the same time when Chandler suddenly takes your wrist and holds your arm up.

"This sweatshirt is familiar," he says, teasing evident in his tone.

You smile and shrug. "Some guy gave it to me."

"Is that guy going to get it back?"

You shrug again. "Eventually."

Chandler tilts his head then and says, "You keep it."

"What?" you ask in disbelief. "No, Chandler, it's yours."

He shrugs, resisting the extremely strong urge to run his hand up and down your arm. "It looks better on you."

You scoff. "It does not."

He nods, smiling. "It does." His eyes trail up your figure before landing on your face. "It makes your eyes pop."

"It makes my eyes pop?"

"Yeah."

Smiling just a little, you pull the sleeves over your hands. "Thank you, Chan."

And as you walk away to give Ross his drink, Chandler breathes. He's not entirely sure how he feels about you. You're hot, you're cool, but you're also his friend. And he just basically said your eyes are pretty.

He takes a long drink of your concoction, something called Tiki Death Punch, and pours himself some more. As if that will do anything to calm his nerves. Nothing can calm his nerves when he's with you.

#x reader #chandler bing #chandler bing x reader #canadian reader #ross geller #rachel green #joey tribbiani #monica geller #phoebe buffay #don't be fooled #this is a slow burn

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