CHANDLER COULD ONLY STARE at the bustle of customers within the cramped walls of the lobby of the downtown Cinemart, the cheesy Christmas music blaring faintly from the speakers. Perched on top of the counter, the man craned his neck to get a good look at the pretty blonde sitting across the room, clearly intrigued.
The New York City traffic was at its peak for the night, audible enough through the thin walls of the building. Stacks of snow lined the pavement outside as a steady sea of people sauntered by with their phones tightly clutched against their ears, shopping bags and toy store goods gripped in the other. A group of drunk merry men exited the bar across the street, arm in arm, and began singing a horrible rendition of Silent Night at the top of their lungs.
It was Christmas, the most detestable time of the year. Parents running wild from one discounted toy store to the other, the endless visits from unfamiliar relatives, the cries of children whining for something bigger - Chandler could only bear so much.
As if the holiday season couldn't possibly get any worse, Chandler was forced to take a leave from work because his boss insisted he should, even when he had protested numerous times that he didn't mind the extra hours if it meant he'd get a little more on his next pay.
There couldn't have been any worse time for him to get off from work too, with his apartment rent due next week. Technically, it was Joey's half, but Chandler's friend hadn't gotten a gig in a while and he knew better than anyone than to peg him for money.
As a last-minute attempt, Chandler had somehow snatched himself a part-time job at the local theater downtown before he could think better of it. It didn't have the best pay in the world (it barely scraped half of what he usually earned), but it had to be enough to at least pay Joey's half for the month, and that was good enough for him.
Joey was furious when he found out over breakfast ("I can pay for us myself just fine," he had said with a frown), but the gang had reasoned with him then that it was just until his manager landed him another role. Indignation and anger eventually settled into gratitude the longer the day went and by the time night came around, Chandler was welcomed back to his apartment with a warm hug and a muffled apology.
Presently, as he hung around the lobby, Chandler had never thought highly of himself, but he never realized just how low he was on the spectrum of twenty-six-year-olds until he spent the first few days of his holiday in the Cinemart, the bastion of repetitious motion pictures and popcorn-strewn carpets.
Pushing himself off the counter, Chandler dusted off his maroon-colored vest. He was peering down at the lousy stitching of the logo smacked on his vest pocket when his co-worker walked up to him.
"Movie's almost done," The man named Mark announced gruffly. "Some kid peed in one of the seats at the back. That's all on you, Bing."
Mark was a tall thirty-seven-year-old made of pure muscle, a gangly bushy beard barely scraping his neck. During the orientation on his first day on the job, all Chandler could think about was how grateful he was that he landed a job outside the movie screening business while he was still in his twenties, though having specialization on statistical analysis and data reconfiguration wasn't really something worth bragging about either. It was very clear to him that Mark was not happy with his job and Chandler couldn't really say he blamed the guy.
Chandler looked up then, the ends of his lips twitching into what he hoped was a convincing smile. "The guy down at the ticket booth told me I'm taking someone else's shift for the night down at cinema four."
Mark gave him a curious look before he patted him on the back and shuffled out of sight once more, probably to check on the cinema down the hall. Chandler didn't need to ask what the strange gesture was for, even when he was already making his way to the last cinema.
He knew damn well what it meant.
Crammed at the very corner of the building, the last cinema was quite notorious around the streets for flourishing the most epic of breakdowns. For whatever stupid tradition, the Cinemart only ever showed cliche romance movies in cinema four. The blockbusters and comedies were always crammed between the other three since cinema four became a breeding ground for hopeless romantics and their ridiculous landfill-worth of tissues.
Chandler could hear all the sniffling from where he stood across the doorway, making him run an aggravated hand through his hair. Momentarily preparing himself, he pushed the doors to the theater open with his shoulder.
It didn't take long for him to be drowned into the hysterics of blubbering teenagers. The credits were nearly over, Whitney Houston's voice muffled by the buzz of conversation as everyone slowly piled out towards the exit.
When he was finally alone, Chandler's eyes trailed the streams of tissue strewn along the aisle and the handfuls of popcorn crushed between the folded seats. Sighing, he mumbled an incoherent string of curses and folded his sleeves up before snatching a broom from the supply closet at the back.
He had barely made his way to the front row when he heard the rustle of movement. Startled, his head shot up almost immediately at the sound. After stealing a few paranoid glances over his shoulder, Chandler took a deep breath as he quickly scanned the room.
He had nearly convinced himself that he must've misheard it for something else until he heard a small "excuse me" from behind him. Then he screamed.
He turned on his heels, his hands swiveling his broom blindingly until his gaze locked with a pair of brown eyes staring at him over the seats, a raised eyebrow directed at him and his short hissy fit.
"Shit," Chandler seethed before quickly lowering the cleaning equipment. The person merely blinked back at him from where she sat, almost as if she hadn't just given him near cardiac arrest. After a while, he huffed, "You scared me."
The woman straightened her posture under Chandler's heavy gaze. "Yeah, I kind of gathered as much from all the girlish screeching," she said.
Chandler's mouth went dry like he had suddenly run out of words to say, which was unusual because Chandler Bing never ran out of things to say, especially when a complete stranger was taking a hit on him. Instead, Chandler shook it off, stood straighter and cleared his throat as a lousy attempt at authority.
He began, "Listen, this cinema's closed for a little cleaning. You know, in case that diaper on the seat beside you didn't make it obvious enough. The movie's been over for about ten minutes now and we don't really tolerate loitering around here, so if you would-"
Chandler didn't even get to finish because the woman had suddenly pushed herself off her seat and stepped out into the aisle, her arms stretched over her head. When her arms fell back to her sides, she yawned, barely repressing the sound.
"Don't pull your briefs into a knot, Lloyd Christmas," she said, eyeing the look Chandler was giving her. "I must've just dozed off in the middle of the movie."
His grip on the broom tightening, Chandler began counting to ten in his head. "Well, you're obviously awake now, Sleeping Beauty," he pointed out with a smile he hoped he could pass off as respectful despite the mocking tone that went with it. "Do you want me to kiss you goodbye before you leave?"
It was dim inside the theater, but the aisle gave just enough light to flash on to the woman standing a step above him, making her slightly taller than him. Their height difference was amusing enough for Chandler's lips to pettily quirk upward just the tiniest fraction.
The brunette then raked a lazy hand through her hair, muttering something under her breath. Whatever it was, Chandler knew it wasn't anything particularly good when he picked up "dick" and "Lloyd Christmas" in the same sentence.
Chandler was about to point this out when she asked, "I was just wondering if you've seen a red-head outside, about my height?" Noticing the unimpressed look on his face, she added as an afterthought, "Probably latching on to her six-foot boyfriend like a leech, maybe?"
The older gestured over his shoulder with a brief turn of his head. "If you're talking about the one running around like a puppy with a nasal condition, she's down by the snack bar."
The woman nodded, seemingly pleased with his answer.
After a short pause, Chandler switched his weight over to his broom before nonchalantly folding both his arms over the wooden handle. "The exit's a few paces up your left, sweetheart."
"I don't plan on booking a five-star suite around here, so don't flatter yourself, theater boy," she shot back with a scowl. "Common courtesy not a thing around here?"
"Not with stingy brunettes who fall asleep halfway through the movie, no," Chandler replied slyly.
The woman, curled into herself and had evidently just woken up from a nap, had her large oversized shirt falling off her shoulder, her brown hair a complete scruffy mess atop her head. Her worn-out jeans were littered with popcorn crumbs and her eyes were a bit puffy from sleep.
Based on her appearance alone, she clearly wasn't older than Chandler. If anything, she should be at least a year or two younger than him.
The brunette inclined her head a bit to get a good look around the cinema as if she was just seeing it for the first time. Chandler quickly averted his gaze when her shirt shifted, exposing a bit of her collarbone.
"Mind telling me where the bathroom is in this place?" she asked after a while. "I've been holding it in for a while now, so if you could just direct me towards it without using the usual amount of sarcasm, that'd be great."
Despite himself, Chandler took his time to answer, his fingers coolly tapping against the end of his broom.
"I'm gonna have to see some ID first," he mused.
It didn't take long for the scowl to stretch its way back on to the stranger's face, one that looked even more irritated than before. Whether it was because of his unnecessary sarcasm or her blatant need to go to the bathroom, Chandler couldn't really tell.
"I thought you wanted me to leave," she pointed out.
Chandler grinned. "Where would be the fun in that?"
There was a moment in between where Chandler started regretting even opening his mouth. With the glare he was getting, he was convinced she would actually pummel him on the spot, which wasn't a possibility completely off the table.
Chandler wasn't expecting her to cave so easily though. Whether it was because she didn't want him to get a reaction out of her or because she just really needed to use the bathroom, the older saw the exact moment she decided to give in when she pinched her eyes shut and let out a sharp exhale.
Finally, the girl forced a smile for him, an annoyed glint in her eyes as she asked again, "Can you please just tell me where the bathroom is?"
Chandler then flashed her a timid smile, one that contrasted heavily to the dingy lighting of the theater.
"No, but I can tell you my number," he said.
It didn't even take a second for her to reply, "I'm not interested."
Chandler shrugged and pushed himself back on his feet, swinging his broom to his side, before he finally gave her directions to the cleanest bathroom the cinema had. It was only when Chandler had looked up from his shoes did he realize she was smiling; not the half-smile she had throughout their banter, but one that made the corner of her eyes crinkle.
Chandler blinked. Tried his best not to stare. "What?"
"Wasn't that hard to be nice, was it?" The woman asked, now surprisingly amused about the entire situation. "If you wanted my number, Chandler Bing, you could ask when my bladder isn't close to exploding."
Chandler raised both his eyebrows in bewilderment. "Are you a mindreader?"
Laughing, she gestured a finger to the name written in a messy scrawl above his vest pocket. "I'm more of a nametag reader."
"Ah." Chandler nodded, feeling a short spurt of embarrassment, before looking up to catch her gaze. "Right."
"Well," The brunette drew out before stepping around him, turning on her heels as she slowly made her way up the stairs. "I'll leave you to it then."
Chandler took a few solid seconds to contemplate. He really needed to get his shit together and clean soon. Otherwise, he'd lose his job and have the past six days be for nothing. He couldn't possibly bring himself to guilt Joey about the rent - not now when his best friend's already struggling enough to go after something he loved doing.
Despite knowing this, Chandler found himself saying loudly, "I didn't catch your name."
The footsteps heading towards the exit didn't stop. Her voice was fainter, muffled as she yelled over her shoulder, "I didn't throw it, Chandler Bing."
The cinema door slammed shut.
It was a Saturday night and Chandler was left alone in cinema four, surrounded by used tissues and charged to pick up all the diapers shoved in between the seats. He was on his holiday break yet he was working at a decrepit building two train rides away from the comforts of his apartment.
Whether it was because of the theater's abominable air conditioning or because of a certain brunette in a red oversized shirt, Chandler found himself flustered and frustrated once he finally got the strength to start cleaning again.
His ears were red and he somehow convinced himself it was because the heater wasn't working.
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NOTE! AAA SO HERE'S THE FIRST CHAPTER :D i'm so excited to kick this off! i like writing how chandler and elliot banter so maybe i'll add more scenes like this in the later chapters idk we'll see
i also apologize if i'm a bit rusty :( it's been so long since i've written something and i'm not as confident as i used to be but i'll do my best to make things interesting nonetheless!
vote and comment your thoughts ! :-)
nia