[Joey x Chandler] COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES FROM AO3

because maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me

Joey grits his teeth at the sounds of Janice in the other bedroom. Chandler's in there with her, and Joey wants to set himself on fire just so he'd have something else to think about. This shouldn't bother him so much. He had three years to be honest with Chandler and tell him how he felt—how he feels—but instead he'd wasted it on pretty girls. He's only got himself to blame, really.

Maybe that's why it hurts so much, because it could be him in there instead of Janice if he'd only said something.

God damn it, Janice is loud. Joey growls through his teeth and grabs his Walkman from underneath the bed, hoping to block out the noise with something more melodious. Commercials. Commercials. Shitty song. More commercials. Damn it, it's like radio DJs think no one's listening at three in the morning. The A.M. stations are either criminally boring talk radio or creepy ghost and alien stories, and while fear is a preferable emotion, Joey settles on a random station playing a commercial for a car dealership, because he'd honestly rather hear that than Janice moaning "Oh, Chandler" over and over. Why the fuck are the walls so thin in these apartments?

Joey dozes off, blinks himself awake during a poppy rock tune about jealousy, and, holy shit, that is absolutely the last thing he needs right now. He shuts the radio off with an angry flick of the switch. Why did he think listening to music would be a good idea? Half of all songs are about being in love, and the other half are break-up songs. Not the best salve for his emotional wounds, in retrospect.

Joey decides to try the five-year-old-child method and covers his head with his pillow to muffle Janice's caterwauling. But, fuck, that doesn't really help because he can still hear it and know what's going on and—

He throws himself out of bed and pulls on a pair of jeans hanging from the hook on the door. This is bullshit, this is bullshit, this is not right, God damn it. He finds a clean shirt, hastily pushing the buttons through the clasps, and shoves his feet into his shoes as if they've personally offended him. He grabs a coat off the coat rack and slips out, locking the door behind him.

Joey doesn't know where he's going, but anywhere is better than here. He wraps his coat tighter around him when he steps out into the crisp night air. Almost immediately, he recognizes the familiar scent surrounding him—this is Chandler's coat, not his own. Joey chuckles to himself. His luck is terrible tonight; maybe he'll get hit by a car or attacked by an angry flock of pigeons.

He walks a couple blocks, his mind a tumultuous mess of confusion and displaced frustration. He should just tell Chandler, Janice be damned. Chandler's broken up with her, what, twice? Three times? Clearly, he's only with her now because he doesn't think he can do any better; Joey could be better—at least, he'd like to try. Chandler just doesn't know his options. And, okay, maybe Joey would be a little heartbroken if Chandler still picked Janice over him, but at least it would be an informed decision.

Joey stares up at the night sky, seeking answers in the stars. Will Chandler hate him if he's honest? He's not totally sure. Part of him feels like Chandler would be repulsed, because Chandler has way too many issues with his father to see things clearly. But...Chandler's the best friend Joey's ever had; that has to mean something, right? Chandler could still love him as a friend, as a brother, even in the face of Joey's affection, couldn't he?

He strolls around aimlessly for a while, feeling the cold against his face and breathing in the mix of Chandler's cologne on his coat and the aroma of exhaust, sausage and pepper sandwiches, and knishes in the air. He thinks about buying a slice or two of pizza before remembering that he didn't bring his wallet.

He's still waiting for that pigeon attack.

When he gets back to the apartment, it's quiet, serene, and Joey breathes a small sigh of relief as he hangs his coat up on the rack. He pours himself a glass of water from the tap.