Together is my favourite place 💕

the one with shoes, secrets & foosball (1)

the one with shoes, secrets & foosball (2)

the one with the party-prep

the one with the two parties - Kaylas Edition (1)

the one with the two parties - Kaylas Edition (2)

the one after the two parties

the one where Kayla unpacks

the one with bubbles, chaos & no expiration dates

the one with bones and belonging

the one where Kayla stops feeling like the new one

bonus: the one where Joey feels betrayed

Playlist

Warten auf das Meer - Feine Sahne Fischfilet

paris syndrom - Blumengarten, Paula Hartmann

Halb so viel (Cover) - MoTrip

Grüne Augen lügen nicht - JEREMIAS

Und ich höre dich atmen - ZSK

Im Späti gibt's noch Bier - Max Grimm

Fallen/Alles wird gut - JPD

Nackt - Mister Me

Zucker - Milliarden

Wenn es gut ist - Olli Schulz

Bei Dir - KUMMER

Mr. Brightside - The Killers

On a Journey - Neonschwarz

3 Tage am Meer - AnnenMayKantereit

Follow - Kontra K, Sido, Leony

Zuhause - Fynn Kliemann

Boys don't cry - The Cure

2x - Mathea

All the small things - blink-182

Neues Zimmer - AnnenMayKantereit

Wherever You Will Go - The Calling

Only Wanna Be With You - Hoodie & The Blowfish

EP.2: Friends - Ian McConnell

Wenn du mich lässt (Cover) - Montez

Wo niemals Ebbe ist - Feine Sahne Fischfilet

verlierer - LUNA

Kein Gott, kein Staat, nur Du - Kraftklub, Mia Morgan

Kayla felt the silence shift and cracked one eye open.

Joey stood in the middle of the room like a soldier returning to a battlefield.

Because the battlefield…

was covered in Nerf darts.

On the rug.

On the coffee table.

One perched majestically on the lamp.

Joey turned toward Kayla slowly, betrayal dripping from every pore.

“You…”

His voice broke theatrically.

“You guys had a Nerf fight.”

Kayla sighed into her pillow.

“Joey—”

“WITHOUT ME?!”

Kayla sat up, startled by the sheer heartbreak in his tone.

“It wasn’t planned,” she said. “It just… happened.”

Joey clutched his chest.

“Happened? Nerf fights don’t ‘just happen,’ Kayla! They are an experience. A tradition. A way of life in this household!”

Kayla blinked at him.

“…Are you crying?”

“NO,” Joey snapped, wiping his totally-not-a-tear. “But if I was, it would be VALID.”

She groaned, sitting up fully.

“Joey, oh my god—”

He walked over, kicked a lone dart dramatically.

“Do you know,” he said, voice trembling with over-the-top wounded pride, “that the first time Chandler and I fought with Nerf guns was the night we became BEST FRIENDS?”

Kayla stared.

“…Was it actually symbolic?”

“No, no,” Joey admitted. “We just got drunk and shot Ross in the shoulder. But THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”

Kayla rubbed her eyes.

“Joey, it was literally just a goofy thing we did to blow off steam.”

Joey gasped, AS THOUGH SHE HAD STABBED HIM.

“So now you AND Chandler blow off steam TOGETHER without including ME?”

Kayla opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Tried again.

“…Joey. We weren’t excluding you. You weren’t even home.”

“Exactly!” Joey threw his hands up.

“I left for ONE NIGHT and suddenly you two have — this!”

Kayla burst out laughing.

“What is ‘this’ supposed to be?”

Joey pointed wildly around the room.

“THIS! THE MESS! THE BOND! THE — THE NERFSPLOSION!”

Kayla flopped back on the couch, laughing into the blanket.

Joey stomped once, bouncing slightly (because Joey Tribbiani does not stomp gracefully).

“I am making pancakes in the morning,” he declared.

“And you two are going to tell me EVERYTHING.”

“It was literally two minutes of chaos.”

“EVERYTHING, Kayla.”

She snorted.

“Fine. Pancakes.”

Joey calmed instantly.

“Okay. Good.”

He nodded, satisfied, then wandered toward his room.

But before he disappeared, he turned back.

“…I still can’t believe you had a Nerf fight without me,” he said softly, sounding truly wounded.

Kayla softened.

“Next time,” she promised gently, “we’ll wait for you.”

Joey squinted, suspicious.

“You better. I don’t want to hear about you doing any other best-friend traditions without me.”

Kayla blinked.

“What other traditions?”

He shrugged.

“I dunno. Chandler makes them up as he goes.”

She laughed again, sinking back into the pillow.

Joey slipped into his room.

The lights dimmed.

Kayla settled deeper into the blanket…

a sleepy smile tugging her mouth.

Because, somewhere in all that ridiculousness—

She belonged.

With them.

In this chaos.

☆

A/n: Happy new year everyone! 🌟

Kayla blinked at it, then at him.

“…Yes?”

Ross smiled like a proud dad. Rachel rolled her eyes affectionately and patted Kayla’s knee.

“Don’t encourage him, sweetie. He’ll adopt you into the Museum next.”

Chandler leaned in from the armchair beside them.

“One day you’ll wake up and he’ll just be standing at your bedside, whispering ‘Jurassic Period.’”

Kayla snorted into her latte.

It all felt so easy.

So normal.

She didn’t notice that no one treated her like “Joey’s cousin” anymore.

Or like a guest.

Or someone new.

She was just… here.

Part of the noise, the jokes, the comfort.

Part of them.

☆

Monica’s kitchen smelled like roasted garlic and ambition.

Kayla stood at the counter, slicing tomatoes while Rachel stirred something that definitely wasn’t supposed to bubble like that. Phoebe hummed beside them, sprinkling “vibes” over the salad like seasoning.

Monica strode past, hair slightly frizzed, apron slightly crooked.

“Kayla, sweetie, can you hand me the pepper?”

Sweetie.

It slipped out of Monica’s mouth so naturally Kayla almost missed it.

She handed over the pepper grinder.

Monica took it without looking—like she’d been working beside Kayla forever.

Joey swung by, grabbed a bread roll, then shoved another onto Kayla’s plate without pausing.

Ross leaned over the back of the couch.

“Kayla, you have to try this documentary I watched last night—”

Rachel cut in.

“Oh my god, Ross, she just survived you at the museum. Let her breathe.”

The room felt loud, warm, messy in the best way.

Kayla felt a soft swell in her chest—unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Maybe this is home, she thought.

Not the dramatic kind.

The real kind.

☆

It happened completely naturally.

Dinner was finished.

Plates stacked.

People lounging in various states of full-bellied laziness.

Kayla sat on the floor with her back against the couch, legs stretched out, swirling the last sip of soda in her glass. Chandler was on the armrest above her, tapping her head lightly with a coaster.

“Use it,” he said.

“I am using it,” she replied.

“On your drink, Tribbiani.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Phoebe suddenly asked, like it was the most casual thing in the world:

“So, Kayla… what made you come back from Italy anyway?”

The room quieted—not dramatically, just curious in that friendly, leaning-in way.

Kayla froze for half a second.

Then inhaled.

Here we go.

“Well…” she began, voice calm, steady.

“My parents died. A few months ago. Car accident.”

No sob.

No trembling.

Just truth.

Rachel’s eyes softened.

Ross sat up.

Monica’s lips parted into a gentle, sad little oh.

Joey stilled beside her, watching quietly.

Kayla continued, letting herself stay steady.

“It happened fast. And I… I didn’t really have anything left in Italy after that. No family. No support system. And staying there felt… wrong. So I came back. To New York. To Joey.”

Silence.

Warm, full silence.

Phoebe reached out first, squeezing her forearm.

Rachel shifted closer on the rug, shoulder brushing hers.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered—but not pitying. Just kind.

Monica nodded softly.

“You don’t owe us any more than that, sweetie. Thank you for telling us.”

Ross’s voice was gentle.

“That must’ve been incredibly hard.”

Kayla swallowed, but she kept her smile small and real.

“It was. But… I’m okay. Or getting there. And being here helps more than I can explain.”

Joey hooked an arm around her neck.

“You could’ve landed anywhere,” he said proudly.

“But you landed with us.”

Chandler spoke last.

Quiet.

Simple.

True.

“And you don’t have to go anywhere else.”

Kayla’s throat tightened—not painfully. Just… full.

She looked at all of them, through a haze of soft light and softer hearts.

“…Thanks,” she murmured. “Really.”

☆

The others trickled out slowly.

Joey left for an audition prep.

Rachel and Ross drifted out hand-in-hand.

Phoebe wandered home with a muffin she had absolutely stolen.

Kayla helped Monica put away the leftovers and hug her goodnight.

When she stepped back into the hallway of the guys’ apartment, Chandler was already unlocking the door.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi.”

They stepped inside.

The apartment felt peaceful, dim, familiar.

Kayla kicked off her shoes.

Chandler hovered near the door for a moment, hands deep in his pockets, as though he didn’t want to interrupt whatever was happening in her mind.

She turned and gave him a small smile.

“You’re doing the face.”

Chandler blinked.

“What face? I don’t have a face.”

Kayla raised an eyebrow.

“The one where you overthink whether you should say something supportive or sarcastic.”

“Oh." He grimaced. "Yes. That is… unfortunately accurate.”

She laughed softly and sank onto the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. Chandler sat too — not close, but not far. Just… Chandler-distance. The comfortable kind.

He hesitated.

“Hey… about today. If you’re feeling weird or overwhelmed or… anything-y…”

He gestured vaguely with his hand. “You can say.”

Kayla traced a little pattern on her knee with her fingertip.

“I’m not overwhelmed,” she said gently. “Just… full. In a good way. Strange way. But good.”

He nodded, eyes softer than usual.

“Good,” he echoed. “Because, uh… you handled everything today better than I ever could have.”

Kayla snorted. “Chandler, I watched you talk your way out of a conversation with Mrs. Green by pretending to choke on an olive.”

He pointed at her.

“Exactly. I am not what we call emotionally equipped.”

Kayla laughed again — but when she looked at him, something in his expression wasn’t joking.

He was watching her the way someone watches a fragile object they’re afraid to mishandle — careful, earnest, and more vulnerable than his sarcasm ever let on.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I meant what I said earlier. About you fitting here. You didn’t force it. You just… walked into the chaos and made it better.”

Kayla swallowed.

“I didn’t think that was possible. Making anything better.”

“Well,” Chandler said, shifting slightly closer, “Little Tribbiani… you did.”

Her heart gave a tiny thump at the nickname.

He’d used it once before, teasing.

This time, it sounded… warm.

But Kayla shook her head lightly, playing it off.

“I’m still figuring everything out. New city, new life, new… everything.”

Chandler’s eyes dropped to his hands, twisting loosely together in his lap.

“I get that,” he said, voice low — so different from his usual banter.

“Trying to start over. Trying to… I don’t know. Not mess things up the second you set foot somewhere.”

Kayla looked at him properly now.

This wasn’t Chandler cracking a joke.

This was Chandler letting the curtain slip — just a little.

“You feel that way?” she asked softly.

His smile was crooked, not sarcastic.

“More often than anyone realizes.”

Kayla’s chest tightened with recognition.

Familiarity.

The quiet ache of someone who knows exactly what it means to rebuild yourself in real time.

“Chandler…” she said gently, but he shook his head with a tiny laugh.

“Okay, enough of that. That was already dangerously close to emotional honesty, and I only have a limited quota per month.”

Kayla grinned.

“There he is.”

“She says as though I didn’t just bare my soul with the enthusiasm of a damp sponge.”

Kayla nudged his knee with hers.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For showing me the soft parts. Even if it was just a little.”

He blinked, surprised — then smiled, small and shy.

“Yeah, well. Don’t spread it around. I have a reputation.”

“A reputation for what?”

“Emotional constipation,” he said automatically. “But charmingly.”

Kayla burst out laughing.

He watched her — and something warm settled in his expression. Like her laughter was a thing he wanted to keep hearing.

After a moment, she wiped her eyes, breath steadying.

“Okay. We need something to balance all that emotional depth.”

Chandler perked up.

“Oh! I’ve been waiting for this.”

He reached behind the TV stand and pulled out — dramatically — two battered, brightly-colored Nerf guns.

Kayla stared.

“…Why?”

“A man does not explain his Nerf gun collection, Kayla.”

“Collection?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

She shook her head, delighted.

“I didn’t even know they made these anymore.”

“They don’t,” Chandler said proudly. “These are vintage childhood relics. Joey and I found them in a box labeled ‘Important Adult Documents.’”

Kayla laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.

Chandler tossed her one.

“Well, Little Tribbiani… you in?”

“Absolutely.”

And just like that, they were off.

Diving behind furniture.

Sliding across the floor on socks.

Dodging darts with unnecessary acrobatics.

Kayla yelling “YOU MISSED!”

Chandler yelling “I WAS PROVIDING DRAMATIC TENSION!”

At one point, she ambushed him from behind the recliner and he shrieked in a way that would haunt him forever.

Eventually they collapsed on the floor, backs against the couch, breathless and folded over with laughter.

Kayla let her head fall back against the cushion.

“That was stupid.”

“That was majestic,” Chandler corrected.

They sat there, the adrenaline fading into something soft and comfortable. Their shoulders brushed — accidental, but neither pulled away.

Chandler glanced at her in the dim light.

“You okay? Really okay?”

Kayla took a slow breath.

“Yeah,” she said.

And meant it.

“For the first time in a long time… yeah.”

Chandler’s smile was small, but full.

“I’m glad.”

A beat.

Then, in a quiet voice she almost missed:

“I’m really glad you’re here, Kayla.”

She looked over at him — at the softness around his eyes, at the way he meant every word without hiding behind a joke.

“Me too,” she murmured.

The moment hung there — gentle. Familiar. Not romantic.

Just something two people share when they’re becoming important to each other.

Kayla nudged him again, lighter this time.

“Goodnight, Chandler.”

He nodded.

"You stood next to each other at my birthday party while my parents emotionally destroyed my will to live. That doesn't count."

Kayla cracked a smile. "Fair."

Rachel scooted closer. "Listen... Ross is really sweet once you get past the... Ross-ness."

Kayla stared.

"...Which is?"

Rachel waved vaguely. "You know. Dinosaur enthusiasm. Academic panic. Chronic awkwardness. Emotional depth with the emotional intelligence of a wet paper towel."

Kayla bit her lip to stop a laugh.

"I like Ross."

"I know!" Rachel clapped. "But he thinks you're intimidated by him."

"Me?" Kayla choked. "Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "He says you always look... 'careful' around him."

Kayla blinked.

She didn't realize she'd been doing that.

Rachel softened, placing a hand on her arm.

"Kayla... you don't have to be careful with Ross. He's safe. Like— toddler-level safe. The man once sprained his wrist opening a juice box."

Kayla burst out laughing.

Rachel beamed, victorious. "He just wants to get to know you. And I think you guys might actually click, if you had time."

At that moment, Ross arrived — paleontologist stride, slightly stressed, holding two folders and looking like he'd been arguing with a fax machine all morning.

He noticed Kayla.

Brightened.

Then noticed Rachel's smirk.

Narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"What?" he asked slowly.

Rachel stood. "Nothing! Nothing at all. Except Kayla was just saying how she wanted to see the museum."

Kayla's head whipped toward her. "I— was I?"

Rachel didn't even blink. "Yes. You absolutely were. Weren't you?"

Kayla inhaled. Paused.

Then smiled softly.

"Yeah," she said. "Actually... I kind of would like that."

Ross blinked.

Surprised.

Then lit up like someone plugged him into a wall socket.

"I— really? I mean... really? Because I, uh— I'd love to show you. If you want."

Rachel mouthed behind him: Go.

Kayla grabbed her coat.

"Let's go."

☆

Ross didn't walk ahead for once. He slowed his pace without thinking — letting Kayla fall naturally beside him. She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets, eyes wide as they stepped under the tall ceilings and marble pillars.

"Wow," she whispered. "I forgot how... big this place feels."

Ross smiled. "Yeah. It has that effect."

They wandered toward the dinosaur wing.

Every few steps, Ross would glance at her like checking her temperature — unsure, cautious, wanting her to be comfortable but not wanting to overwhelm her with information.

Kayla broke the silence first.

"You know... I always thought dinosaurs were kind of terrifying."

Ross inhaled sharply, a full lecture ready to burst out—

Kayla grinned.

"But terrifying in a cool way. Like... the kind of monsters kids draw because they want to feel brave."

Ross blinked.

Then smiled — genuinely, softly.

"That's... actually a really lovely way to put it."

Kayla shrugged, a bit shy.

"Guess I get why you love them."

Ross tilted his head. "Because they're terrifying?"

"No," she said. "Because they survived until they didn't. Because they mattered even after they were gone. Because the pieces that remain still tell a story."

Ross stared at her for a long moment.

Then exhaled, moved in a way he rarely let himself be.

"You... get it," he whispered.

She shrugged lightly. "Maybe more than I thought."

☆

They stopped in front of a massive skull.

Ross lit up.

"This one is a ceratopsian. Related to—"

"Triceratops," Kayla finished softly.

Ross's jaw dropped.

"You... you knew that?"

Kayla laughed. "You explained it at dinner once. At your place. You probably don't remember, but you talked about it for like ten minutes."

Ross flushed.

"I— I tend to do that."

"Yeah," she teased. "You do."

"But I... liked it," she added quickly. "You were excited. It was kind of... nice."

Ross blinked again — Kayla could practically see him processing that someone actually enjoyed his infodump.

His voice softened.

"You're really good at listening."

"I'm good at hiding when I don't understand," Kayla admitted with a crooked smile.

Ross chuckled. "That's what teaching is for."

She smiled back.

And something warm settled between them.

A simple, gentle recognition:

These two would make very good friends.

☆

They sat on a bench under the giant whale, light filtering blue around them, the museum hum soft and soothing.

"So... Kayla," Ross began carefully. "What did you study? Joey mentioned something... I think?"

She hesitated.

Not for secrecy.

For caution.

"Social work," she said. "I wanted to... help people. Especially kids."

Ross straightened.

"You'd be incredible at that."

Kayla blinked.

"You think so?"

"I know so," Ross said, surprising even himself. "You see people. Really see them. That's not something you can teach."

Something warm and unfamiliar flickered under her ribs.

"Thanks, Ross," she said quietly.

He gave a small, shy smile.

Kayla leaned back, letting the quiet settle — comfortable, not heavy.

"I'm glad we did this," she said after a moment.

"Me too," Ross said. "Really. I... I've wanted to get to know you better. You're an important part of the group now. And I'm— I'm happy you're here."

Kayla felt it in her chest.

That click.

That moment of

Yes. I belong. Even here.

"I'm happy I'm here too," she whispered.

As they walked back through the museum halls, Ross pointed to one last skeleton.

"That's a Deinonychus. Very misunderstood."

Kayla smirked.

"Like someone else I know?"

Ross blinked at her.

Then grinned — the wide, dorky, Ross smile.

And Kayla felt her own face warm with something real, soft, genuine.

A friendship.

One she hadn't expected.

One she suddenly wanted to keep.

☆

The bell over the Central Perk door chimed as Ross and Kayla stepped back inside, mid-conversation, both carrying the leftover museum brochures like kids who'd gotten excited in a gift shop.

Rachel and Chandler sat on the couch — Rachel flipping through a fashion magazine, Chandler pretending to read a newspaper but not actually moving his eyes across the page.

Rachel looked up first.

"Oh! You're back!" she said, brightening. "Sooo... how was it?"

Kayla didn't even sit before answering.

"Surprisingly great," she said, a little breathless. "Like—really great."

She dropped into the armchair next to the couch, still smiling at Ross in that wow-I-didn't-expect-that way.

Ross, suddenly all proud-lecturer energy, sat straighter.

"She asked really smart questions," he said. "Like, REALLY smart. And she actually wanted to know the difference between ceratopsians and..."

"—and the ones with the weird noses," Kayla finished, grinning.

Chandler lowered his newspaper an inch.

His eyebrows did a small, involuntary jump.

Not big enough for anyone else to notice —

but definitely big enough that he felt it.

"Oh good," he deadpanned. "We've lost her to the dinosaur cult."

Kayla laughed, leaning back, relaxed.

"I'm just saying, it was nice. I didn't expect to enjoy hanging out there for that long."

She nudged Ross's knee lightly — a casual, comfortable little gesture.

"And you're kinda fun when you talk about things you love."

Ross practically preened.

Rachel clutched her chest dramatically.

"Aww, look at you two bonding! My little social experiment worked!"

Chandler's newspaper came down another inch.

"Wow," he said dryly. "A whole afternoon with Ross and she survived. Someone give this woman a medal."

He meant it as a joke.

But there was something just one shade too sharp under it.

Something even he didn't quite understand.

Kayla blinked at him, amused.

"What? Are you saying you're jealous he got to talk about fossils instead of you complaining about your job?"

Chandler opened his mouth—

then froze.

He absolutely did not have a script for that.

Rachel snorted.

Ross hid a smile behind his coffee.

Kayla raised an eyebrow, waiting for some snarky comeback.

Chandler cleared his throat, flustered.

"I— no, I just— I mean— it's Ross. He gets excited if someone says the word 'bone.'"

Kayla laughed, warm and easy.

The tension — that tiny flicker — evaporated in the sound.

Rachel scooted closer on the couch, patting the seat beside her.

"Come on," she said. "Tell us everything. What did she make you look at, Ross?"

Ross beamed.

Kayla rolled her eyes affectionately.

Chandler watched them settle in — Ross enthusiastic, Kayla glowing in that soft, relaxed way she rarely allowed herself.

And something in Chandler's chest tightened again.

Quietly.

Confused.

He folded his newspaper, placed it on the table, and leaned back with a shrug.

"Fine," he said. "But if she becomes a dinosaur person, I'm telling Joey he caused it."

Kayla chuckled, nudging Chandler's foot with hers in the most natural, unconscious way in the world.

"Relax, Bing," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Chandler didn't answer.

He just looked at her for one second too long before looking away, feeling something unfamiliar and warm settle under his ribs.

☆

The conversation shifted naturally from museum excitement to the easy kind of chatter that floats from topic to topic without ever needing a destination.

Ross and Rachel sat close together — effortlessly synced, the love-lobsters they'd always been. Kayla leaned back in her chair, relaxed, her foot brushing Chandler's again in a quiet, absent-minded way that made something in him settle.

The tension in his shoulders eased. His grin returned — crooked, familiar, entirely him.

Laughter drifted between them, soft and genuine.

Chandler added dry commentary, Ross corrected him with scientific indignation, Rachel rolled her eyes affectionately, and Kayla laughed until her cheeks warmed.

And for a comfortable stretch of time, the four of them sat there — wrapped in warm light, easy jokes, and the unmistakable feeling that something like friendship was no longer beginning.

It was already happening.

☆

Kayla jolts upright.

Chandler lets out a sound that can only be described as a defeated father exhaling.

"Oh God. Why. Why again."

Kayla blinks.

"What... is Turbo Suds?"

Joey grins with the sincerity of a golden retriever:

"Only the BEST dish soap known to man!"

Chandler pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Known to man because it has tried to kill man."

Kayla's eyes widen.

"Kill?"

"Remember the flan at Monica's?"

Chandler says. "Multiply that chaos by twenty."

Kayla turns to Joey.

"What does it do?"

Joey beams.

"It cleans things SO GOOD that it makes extra soap to help!"

Chandler gestures wildly.

"No. WRONG. It replicates like an alien life form."

Kayla covers her mouth, laughing.

☆

Kayla: "Okay, okay. How bad can it be?"

Joey shrugs and turns to the sink.

And—

in full confidence—

squirts a massive dollop of Turbo Suds 3000 directly into the running water.

Chandler freezes.

"Joey. Joey NO—"

FOOOOOOM.

A deep, gurgling sound vibrates under the counter.

Kayla's head snaps toward the sink.

"What was that?!"

Chandler:

"Level One."

A small bubble rises.

Kayla: "Oh, that's kinda cute—"

BOOM — A WALL OF FOAM ERUPTS FROM THE SINK LIKE A VOLCANO.

Joey: "YES! IT'S WORKING!"

Kayla screams-laughs and jumps back as suds pour across the counter.

Chandler throws a kitchen towel at Joey.

"STOP CHEERING AND START SCOOPING."

The bubbles grow. And grow.

And then—

they begin to slide down the cabinets.

Kayla: "It's... migrating!"

Chandler, deadpan: "Don't make eye contact. It can smell fear."

Kayla grabs a mixing bowl and starts shoveling bubbles.

Chandler stares.

"What—what are you doing?"

Kayla breathless: "I don't know! Panic scooping!"

Joey proudly hugs his bottle.

"Told you! Turbo Suds 3000 NEVER disappoints."

Kayla: "It's in the living room, Joey!"

Joey:

"...I said it never disappoints, not that it stays where you put it."

☆

A full hour later, the apartment smells like citrus and wet socks.

The floor is slippery.

The counters shine.

The three of them sit, exhausted, hair full of bubbles.

Kayla sits in the middle — the natural spot she's fallen into the last days.

Joey leans heavily on her left shoulder.

Chandler, completely done with life, on her right.

Kayla looks between them.

"You two are... absurd."

Chandler gestures at Joey.

"HE is absurd. I am merely a victim of his enthusiasm."

Joey: "You're welcome."

Kayla snorts.

There is a warm quiet.

The kind that only happens when three people actually feel safe around each other.

"We should make a rule." Kayla said.

Chandler raises a hand.

"Oh thank God."

"Joey is only allowed to wash dishes supervised."

Joey gasps.

"Like I'm a toddler?!"

Kayla pats his arm.

"A very... bubbly toddler."

Chandler: "This—THIS is why you belong here."

Kayla playfully nudges him.

"I thought I belonged here because I cry on carpets."

Chandler looks at her — soft, warm, earnest.

"Yeah," he says. "Also that."

Kayla holds his gaze for a beat too long.

Something quietly, deeply kind moving between them.

Joey ruins it instantly.

"AND because you cook! You're the only person besides Monica who actually knows what a spatula does!"

Kayla bursts out laughing.

Chandler sighs dramatically, nudging her knee.

"See? You're stuck with us."

Kayla settles back against the couch, content.

"I think I can live with that."

Joey throws an arm around both of them.

"GOLDEN TRIO!"

Chandler groans.

Kayla smiles softly.

It feels like the kind of silly, messy home she didn't know she missed.

☆

The chaos from earlier — the detergent explosion, the couch rescue, Joey's dramatic shrieking — has finally faded into something softer. The apartment smells like pasta, warm laundry and whatever candle Kayla lit to fight the "bachelor musk."

Kayla sits on the couch with a bowl of Joey's sorry-I-traumatised-you pasta, flipping through the newspaper housing ads spread across the coffee table.

Half the page is circled. The other half is aggressively crossed out.

Chandler is across from her, eating directly from the pan like a raccoon in business attire.

Joey lounges upside down in the armchair, legs over the backrest, humming loudly and off-key.

Kayla sighs.

Not a gentle sigh.

A heavy, disappointed, the-world-is-terrible sigh.

Chandler glances over, fork pointing at her like a concerned parent.

"That," he says, "is the sound of someone losing hope in real time."

Kayla lifts the newspaper.

"I'm looking at apartments. And I'm pretty sure half of these are... crimes."

Joey flips upright immediately and kneels on the couch beside her to look.

"Oooh, let me see!"

Kayla shows him an ad: "One room. Basement. No windows. No heat. No pets. Must be okay with occasional dripping. $750/month."

Joey's eyes widen dramatically.

"Oh yeah. That place. Chandler dared me to go on a date there once."

Kayla's face twists.

"You went?"

"I was hungry!" Chandler lifts his hands defensively.

"To be fair, he did get free meatballs."

Kayla shakes the newspaper like it offended her.

She flips to the next ad.

"Room for rent. Quiet building. Possibly structural issues. Tenant must supply mattress AND door."

Chandler leans over.

"Wait... they want you to bring your own door?"

Kayla rubs her temples.

"That's... not normal?"

Joey pats her shoulder.

"In New York, it's a solid 'maybe.'"

Another sigh escapes her, smaller but sadder.

"I just... I don't want to impose on you guys," she murmurs. "I mean, I can't stay here forever. I sleep on your couch. I bring in emotional turbulence. And detergent-based disasters."

Joey gasps in offense.

"You make the apartment smell better!"

Chandler points at her with his fork.

"And you clean up Joey's emotional turbulence. That alone qualifies you as a tenant."

Kayla tries a weak smile, but uncertainty lingers.

"So you think... I should keep looking?"

Joey grabs the newspaper right out of her hands.

"Nope," he says. "I forbid it."

He dramatically reads the next ad: "Affordable single room. No screaming after midnight unless you warn neighbors first."

Joey looks up.

"...Kayla. That's not a room. That's a crime scene."

Chandler leans closer, inspecting it.

"Is that blood or ketchup in the photo?"

Kayla squints.

"Maybe... wine?"

Joey shakes his head.

"Wine doesn't smear like that."

Kayla reaches for the paper again, but Chandler gently pulls it away.

"Okay," he says calmly.

"You're done with apartment hunting for today. Before you rent a broom closet run by the mafia."

Kayla crosses her arms, trying to look stubborn.

"But I can't just live here forever."

Chandler and Joey exchange a look.

A silent, instant, absolutely-not-happening look.

Joey scoots closer.

"Kayla. You already live here."

Kayla freezes.

"I... do?"

Chandler gestures vaguely around the room.

"You've been here for weeks. You've witnessed Joey in emergency laundry mode. You've battled the shower. You know where we hide the good cereal. You're in too deep, Little Tribbiani."

Joey nods seriously.

"Once you've seen me shirtless while screaming about missing socks, you're basically family."

Kayla snorts despite herself.

"Okay, but seriously — if I find something decent tomorrow, will you at least come with me?"

Joey flips through the paper again.

"Kayla, this ad says 'tenant must be okay with occasional rodent diplomacy.'"

Chandler: "No."

Joey: "Not happening."

Chandler turns to her, tone softening — the real kind, not the sarcastic cover.

"Listen... you don't have to leave," he says.

"Not unless you want to."

Kayla's breath catches a little.

"...You're sure?"

Joey throws his arms up.

"YES! Why would we make you leave? You're fun! And you smell good! And you keep Chandler from spiraling alone!"

"Hey," Chandler mutters, "I can spiral alone just fine."

Kayla laughs — truly laughs — head falling forward.

Then, quieter:

"I just don't want to be a burden."

Joey flicks her forehead.

"You're not."

Chandler adds, softly but confidently:

"You make this place better, Kayla."

She blinks.

And her shoulders drop — finally, fully.

"...So I can stay?"

Chandler nods.

Joey practically vibrates.

"No expiration date," Chandler says.

"As long as you want."

Joey lunges forward and wraps his arms around both of them.

"GROUP HUG! FAMILY FOREVER!"

Kayla wheezes.

"Joey—I—can't—breathe!"

Chandler groans into her hair.

"Welcome home. We're so sorry."

Kayla beams, cheeks warm, chest full.

"Guess I really am."

And Chandler — smiling without meaning to, softening without noticing — murmurs:

☆

The apartment had traces of the birthday weekend — a stray streamer caught behind the radiator, glitter embedded in the grout by the sink — but mostly, it was back to normal.

Monica was chopping vegetables at the counter, hair half-tucked behind one ear, flour dusting her shirt. A saucepan simmered gently on the stove.

It smelled like garlic and something comforting.

"You want to help?" Monica asked.

Not bossily. Not expectantly.

Just openly.

Kayla nodded before she even realized she was doing it.

Monica handed her a knife and a cutting board.

"Just slice these mushrooms," she said. "But like— friendly slices. Not tiny stressful slices."

Kayla laughed.

"I'm not sure I've ever made a mushroom feel emotionally supported before."

"You'll learn," Monica said seriously.

☆

They worked side by side in easy silence.

Kayla felt herself relax into the rhythm — slice, slide, breathe.

She didn't have to fill the air. Didn't have to be cheerful. Didn't have to pretend anything.

After a while, Monica said softly,

"You've been quieter the last couple of days."

Kayla froze mid-slice.

"...Sorry. I'm trying not to be a downer."

Monica shook her head.

"You're not. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Kayla swallowed.

The truth that came out was small, but real:

"It's been a weird week."

Monica nodded.

"Yeah. Big changes... they hit in waves."

That sentence landed.

Warm. Understanding.

Not prying.

Kayla exhaled slowly.

For the first time in days, she didn't feel like she had to force the air out of her lungs.

☆

Kayla wiped her hands on a towel, still focused on the mushrooms, when a knock sounded at the door.

Monica blinked. "Oh! That must be—"

She opened it, and Richard stepped inside, carrying a small grocery bag and wearing that calm, comfortable smile he seemed to always bring with him.

"Hi," he greeted Monica, and then his eyes shifted to Kayla.

They had crossed paths once — at that dinner with the whole group two nights ago — but barely more than a polite hello had been exchanged. He had been mostly focused on Monica, the rest of the friends had filled the room with noise, and Kayla had stayed close to Joey like a shadow learning a new space.

Now, without the chaos of the group, the introduction felt new.

"Kayla, right?" Richard said warmly. "We met the other night."

Kayla nodded, returning a small, shy smile.

"Yeah. Hi. Nice to... actually talk this time."

Richard chuckled softly.

"Trust me, trying to have a conversation at one of Monica's group dinners is basically a competitive sport."

Monica shot him a look.

"What? It is," he added, unbothered.

Kayla snorted before she could stop herself — and Monica looked secretly delighted that they were getting along.

Richard held up the grocery bag.

"I, uh... brought the good coffee. The stuff Monica pretends isn't better than her coffee because she's stubborn."

"I am not stubborn," Monica protested.

Richard and Kayla exchanged a conspiratorial glance like two people who both absolutely knew Monica was stubborn.

It was small.

But it was the first moment Kayla felt something warm settle —

a sense of being included not as Joey's cousin, not as the new girl,

but as herself.

☆

While Richard unpacked coffee and bread onto the counter, Kayla went back to slicing mushrooms, more at ease now.

Richard's calmness filled the room in a way that didn't ask anything of her.

He wasn't loud like Joey, or sarcastically perceptive like Chandler, or high-voltage like Monica.

Just steady.

"By the way," Richard said casually as he set down the bread, "Chandler mentioned you yesterday."

Kayla froze again — but less dramatically now, more surprised.

"Oh? Uh... in what way?"

"Just said the apartment feels different with you around," Richard said.

He shrugged lightly.

"In a good way."

Kayla's face warmed.

"Really?"

"Really," Richard said with a soft, fatherly sincerity.

"You're good for them."

And even though they had barely spoken before this moment,

Kayla believed him.

☆

Richard had just stepped into the living room to let the coffee brew when Monica returned to the kitchen — and stopped.

Kayla was halfway through slicing the mushrooms, carefully arranging them in impossibly neat rows. Far neater than Monica had asked for.

Monica blinked.

"Wow," she said. "Those are... symmetrical."

Kayla froze, knife mid-air.

"Too symmetrical?"

"No!" Monica rushed in. "They're perfect. They're—God, they're beautiful."

She leaned over the counter, inspecting them as if they were gemstones.

Kayla exhaled with a small laugh.

"You, uh... like neat things."

"LIKE?" Monica put a hand dramatically on her chest. "Sweetheart, neat things are my love language."

Kayla snorted.

"I kind of guessed."

Monica caught the sound, her face softening in a way Kayla hadn't earned before.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"I know it's only been a few days," she began, "but... you're really helping me tonight."

Kayla blinked.

"I'm just slicing mushrooms."

"That's the thing," Monica said earnestly. "You're slicing mushrooms. And you're steady. And you're calm. And you didn't run when I went full birthday-hostess panic earlier the week."

Kayla smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well... I've lived with Italian aunts. You're practically soothing compared to them."

Monica laughed, loud and delighted.

"Oh my God, you HAVE to tell me everything about that."

She grabbed another cutting board and stood beside Kayla, the two of them working in a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural — Monica fast and precise, Kayla methodical and careful.

After a few quiet minutes, Monica spoke again, softer this time:

"You know... you remind me a little of Rachel when she first moved in with me."

Kayla's eyebrows rose.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," Monica said, slicing peppers with frightening speed.

"She was overwhelmed. Scared. Trying really hard not to be a burden. And she didn't realize she already wasn't one."

Kayla's throat tightened unexpectedly.

"I... guess I relate to that."

Monica put the knife down, turning to face her fully.

"Hey."

Her voice was firm in the way only Monica could be: comforting and commanding at the same time.

"You're not a burden. Not even close."

Kayla stared at her hands.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm just... drifting through everyone else's lives."

"Well, drift into mine anytime," Monica said with a soft scoff.

"I like having you here. You're sweet. And funny. And you don't judge my labeling system."

Kayla let out a breathy laugh. "Should I?"

"NO," Monica said immediately. "It's a sacred ecosystem."

Kayla pretended to zip her lips, and Monica grinned at her — one of those genuine Monica smiles, the kind that squeezed her eyes a little.

Then Monica nudged her shoulder like a sister might.

"You know," she said, "I've seen a lot of people try to fit into this group. You're... one of the easy ones."

Kayla went still, warmth blooming under her ribs.

"Thank you," she said, barely above a whisper.

"No need to thank me," Monica waved off, but her eyes were warm.

"You belong here. You really do."

Kayla's voice wobbled before she steadied it.

"I'm really happy to be here."

Monica slid the last of the veggies into a bowl and looked at her — really looked at her.

Then she did something unexpected.

She stepped forward and wrapped

Kayla into a quick but tight hug.

Warm. Careful. Familiar.

Kayla stiffened in surprise — then melted into it.

When Monica pulled back, she cleared her throat aggressively.

"Okay," she said briskly, wiping her hands on a towel as if the moment hadn't just happened. "Break's over! We have sautéing to do!"

Kayla laughed.

"Commander Geller, yes ma'am."

Monica smirked, pointing her spoon at her.

"Careful. You're gonna make me like you too much."

Kayla couldn't hide the smile that spread across her face.

"Good," she said softly.

"I want you to."

Monica didn't respond right away — but her smile said everything.

Monica was chopping vegetables at a speed that could absolutely take off a fingertip, when she suddenly paused, looked over her shoulder and said:

"Hey... come keep me company. I chop better when someone's talking at me."

Kayla laughed softly and hopped up onto the counter, swinging her legs like she belonged there.

"So what should I talk about?" she teased. "My favorite carbonated beverage? Socks? The meaning of life?"

"Food," Monica said immediately. "Always food."

Kayla smirked.

"Okay... food. Uh— my grandma used to smack my hands with a wooden spoon if I touched her sauce before dinner."

Monica stopped mid-chop.

Her eyes widened.

"Your family hit you with spoons too?!"

Kayla burst into laughter.

"What do you mean too?!"

"My grandmother," Monica said dramatically, "had perfect aim. I once cried because she smacked me for touching her roast, and she told me, 'If you're gonna cry, cry with better posture.'"

Kayla nearly fell off the counter laughing.

"Oh my God," she wheezed. "I LOVE her."

Monica grinned.

"Right?! So what else did your family make?"

Kayla's smile softened, her eyes turning warm.

"Well... Sundays were pasta days. Loud, messy, flour everywhere. Everyone talking over each other."

Monica sighed dreamily.

"That sounds like heaven."

Kayla tilted her head.

"You seriously like that? The shouting? The chaos?"

"I thrive on chaos," Monica said confidently.

"I just want it to be organized chaos."

Kayla laughed.

"You would've hated my family kitchen."

"Oh no," Monica said firmly, "I would've taken over."

Kayla snorted.

"Yeah, that's why they would've hated you."

They both laughed again — big, bright, honest laughter.

A moment passed.

A quiet one.

Then Kayla said softly:

"You cook like someone who wants everyone to be safe."

Monica froze mid-stir.

No one... ever put it that way.

"...I do?" she asked, voice small.

Kayla nodded.

"My mom cooked that way too. Food was her love language. Her way of fixing bad moods or bad days."

Monica swallowed.

"That's... exactly how it feels for me."

Kayla smiled, gentle and knowing.

"You're a fixer, Monica. Just like me. Just... with better knife skills."

Monica laughed — a short, shaky one — and blinked a few times too quickly.

"Don't make me cry," she muttered. "I hate crying in the kitchen."

"You'd cry with perfect posture," Kayla smirked.

"Oh absolutely," Monica said.

Their shoulders bumped lightly as Monica handed her a spoon.

"Here," she said. "Taste this."

Kayla tasted.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh my god. That's insane. Teach me."

Monica lit up like Christmas.

"You want me to teach you?! Really?!"

Kayla shrugged casually, smiling.

"Only if you promise not to spoon-smack me."

"No promises," Monica said with a straight face.

They both dissolved into laughter again — the easy, rolling kind that signals something real has clicked into place.

Something that wasn't forced.

Or planned.

Or emotionally heavy.

Just... two women finding each other in the noise.

☆

The afternoon stretched into something gentler than any of them expected.

Monica insisted they all sit at the kitchen table — "because chairs exist for a reason" — and served pasta she'd sworn wasn't "anything special," even though Kayla was positive it could win a culinary award in at least three countries.

Richard sat opposite Kayla, sleeves rolled up. He looked completely at ease in Monica's kitchen, which already told Kayla more about him than any biography ever could.

Monica chattered happily while loading their plates.

"Kayla likes chaos," she explained, gesturing with the serving spoon. "Like — actual, real chaos. Not my definition of chaos, which apparently is... not chaos."

Richard smiled.

"I can imagine the difference."

Kayla laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Monica's version of chaos is one crooked napkin."

Monica gasped dramatically.

"Kayla! I'm right here."

"Exactly," Kayla teased. "That's why I said it."

Richard chuckled, low and warm.

"I like her," he said simply, glancing at Monica in a way that made her blush — just a little.

Kayla grinned into her fork.

They talked about everything and nothing:

Richard's first attempt at cooking ("The fire department was involved.")

Monica's childhood kitchen memories

Kayla's stories from growing up in Italy

— not the hard ones

— just sun and food and noise

Monica leaned in, chin propped on her hand, fully invested.

"I love how you describe things," she said sincerely. "Like they're... alive."

Kayla shrugged, a little shy.

"That's how it felt. Everything was loud. Even the food."

"That," Richard said, raising his fork, "is the definition of a good childhood."

Kayla smiled, touched — because it wasn't exactly true anymore, not in every chapter.

But hearing it framed that way made something inside her unknot, even if just slightly.

They ate until the plates were empty and the kitchen smelled like basil and laughter.

Monica nudged Kayla with her shoulder.

"I'm really glad you came today," she said softly.

Kayla looked at her — at the honest warmth in her eyes, the kind that wasn't polite or performative, but real.

"I am too," she admitted. "You're... easy to be around."

Monica blinked, surprised and moved.

"So are you."

Richard stacked the plates, and when Kayla reached to help, he shook his head gently.

"No, no. Guest's privilege."

"But I live across the hall," Kayla grinned. "Does that count as being a guest?"

Richard gave her a thoughtful nod.

"That depends. Are you planning to steal leftovers?"

Kayla pretended to consider.

"...yes."

"Then you're family," Richard said, and Monica laughed out loud.

Kayla's cheeks warmed — not from embarrassment, but from something softer, steadier.

A sense that she was in a room she belonged in.

At a table she was welcome at.

With people who weren't just tolerating her presence, but choosing it.

When the sun began dipping toward the windows, Richard and Monica exchanged a soft smile — one Kayla politely pretended not to notice.

Kayla stood and stretched her arms.

"Thank you for lunch. For... all of this."

Monica wrapped her into a quick, sincere hug.

"You're part of this now, okay? You don't need a reason to show up."

Kayla smiled into her shoulder.

"Okay."

Richard squeezed her shoulder gently on her way out — calm, warm, respectful.

"If you ever want a recipe for Monica's favorite dessert," he said, "I can give you the one she doesn't let anyone else have."

Monica gasped.

"Richard!"

Kayla laughed, feeling light — truly light — for the first time since the birthday-party chaos.

When she crossed the hallway and opened the door to the guys' apartment, she paused.

Looked back.

Saw Monica laughing as Richard stole another piece of bread off the table.

Felt something settle deep in her chest.

Belonging.

A real, quiet, steady belonging.

And she let the door close behind her with a smile.

_____________________

"Morning!" Kayla chirped with a brightness that was one octave too high.

Joey squinted.

Chandler blinked.

Something in the air shifted -

that subtle, quiet Is she okay? energy that people who love you always have, even when you try to hide a storm behind your ribs.

But Kayla grabbed it before it could settle.

"I come bearing hangover wisdom," she said dramatically, opening a cabinet.

"Step one: carbs. Step two: shame. Step three: pretending none of it happened."

Joey snorted. "Hey, that's my system!"

"Yeah?" Kayla said. "How do you think I learned it?"

Chandler leaned against the counter, arms crossed, studying her face with that unnervingly perceptive look he got when he wasn't trying to be funny.

"You okay?" he asked lightly.

Too lightly.

The kind of light that meant he already knew the answer was no.

Kayla grinned wider, too wide.

"Totally! What? I'm great! I'm amazing! I'm-hydrated."

Chandler raised a brow. "Hydrated people don't make announcements about being hydrated."

Joey pointed at her. "She's lying. This is lying energy."

"Betrayal," Kayla gasped, pressing a hand dramatically to her heart.

"And on the morning after a shared crisis? Shame on you both."

Chandler cracked a small smile.

Joey laughed softly - but kept watching her.

Kayla reached for a bagel, pretending not to feel the weight of both their gazes.

She kept her expression bright.

Kept her voice level.

Kept her heart behind a well-built door.

"So," she said cheerfully, "what's the plan today? More party cleanup? Emotional recovery? Calling a therapist for Monica?"

Joey grinned. "That last one, definitely."

Chandler didn't look away from her.

He didn't push.

Didn't ask a second "are you okay?"

He just stepped closer, nudged a second mug of coffee toward her, and said quietly:

"Drink this. And... go slow today, okay?"

Kayla swallowed hard.

It wasn't a question.

It wasn't pressure.

It was care.

Real care.

She nodded once, quickly.

"Yeah. I... yeah. Thanks."

Joey threw an arm around her shoulders, warm and heavy and safe.

"You're one of us now," he declared loudly.

"Which means you're required to be weird, tired, slightly broken, and hungry at all times."

Kayla laughed -

and this time, it sounded a little real.

☆

Morning bled into late morning before Kayla even realized the time had moved.

The apartment was unusually still - not silent (New York never allowed that), but still:

no Joey humming in the bathroom,

no Chandler complaining about ties,

no sitcom reruns playing from the TV just because Joey forgot to turn it off.

One by one, the guys had trickled out earlier:

Joey bounding around the apartment with toothpaste-commercial excitement before sprinting out the door "to manifest success,"

Chandler mumbling something about late reports and early meetings before waving halfheartedly,

and Ross, Phoebe, Monica, and Rachel all disappearing into their day with the practiced chaos of people who lived fast-paced lives.

And now?

The quiet settled around Kayla like a blanket she didn't remember pulling over herself.

She remained curled up on the pullout couch for a long while, knees tucked to her chest inside Joey's Knicks hoodie, letting the soft hum of the radiator fill the room.

Her muscles were tired from dancing.

Her head heavy from leftover alcohol and too little sleep.

Her heart... a little scrambled.

Eventually she pushed herself upright, hugging one of Chandler's throw pillows because it was the closest thing within reach.

There was no pressure to do anything.

No one expecting her to talk.

No eyes watching for signs of discomfort.

Just her.

In Joey and Chandler's apartment.

In a city she was only beginning to remember how to breathe in.

Kayla wandered aimlessly for a bit - picking up a half-inflated balloon, flipping it between her hands before letting it bounce softly onto the couch.

She didn't clean; she didn't want to clean.

It wasn't her job, and the mess didn't bother her.

She made herself a coffee - too strong, too bitter, but warm - and sat at the kitchen table with her legs

pulled up onto the chair.

Every now and then, her thoughts drifted.

Not into heavy places - just... drifts.

She replayed Joey introducing her at the party.

Chandler finding her in the hallway.

Rachel clinging to her beer and muttering about family chaos with mascara-smudged eyes.

Kayla let out a small, involuntary smile.

She almost felt part of something.

Almost.

Then again, every now and then, a small flick of unease pulsed in her ribs - like the memory of a trigger not fully settled, the echo of something her body hadn't sorted out yet.

But there was no pressure to face it.

Not yet.

She leaned her head against the back of the kitchen chair and watched the dust float in the sunlight cutting through the small window.

People outside shouted.

A dog barked.

Someone argued loudly five floors below.

Inside, her breath slowed.

She tried a joke out loud - a stupid one - just to fill the air:

"Well, Kayla, if you start talking to the toaster too, congratulations - you're officially a New Yorker."

Her own voice made her snort.

But the laugh faded quickly, replaced by that familiar old instinct:

Keep it light.

Don't let anything ugly surface.

Not in the daylight.

She got up, wandered to the window, rested her forehead against the cold glass, and let the city noise hold her attention just enough to stop her mind from spiraling anywhere deeper.

For most of the afternoon, that's where she stayed - drifting between small tasks, sipping stale coffee, zoning out on the couch, letting the quiet hum of solitude wrap around her and from time to time her thoughts drifted on and off.

Kayla didn't want her thoughts to spread out.

So she moved.

Not cleaning, exactly - just... straightening things.

Folding a blanket.

Stacking magazines.

Putting two abandoned forks in the sink.

Little motions that kept her hands busy.

Her foot bumped something.

Her suitcase.

Kayla knelt beside it, fingers grazing the zipper.

The metallic sound as she opened it hit her chest harder than she expected.

She pulled out a few shirts and carried them to the dresser.

The second drawer was pulled open slightly - empty, waiting.

Two days ago, Joey had stood there, proud as a kid showing off a school project.

"I cleared you a drawer! Like... a real one!"

She'd laughed, touched and unsettled in equal measure.

Now she placed the shirts inside, smoothing them flat.

The act felt both grounding and terrifying.

Something else caught her eye in the suitcase: her tote bag, soft and sagging from being overstuffed for too many years.

Her heartbeat fluttered.

She reached inside and felt fabric - the familiar texture of a tiny cloth pouch tied with an old ribbon.

She froze.

Not now.

But her fingers tightened anyway, lifting it out.

She sat down on the floor.

Cross-legged.

Barefoot.

Sunlight warming her knees as she untied the ribbon.

Inside were the things she kept closest:

- her mother's pendant

- her father's watch, stopped at 4:17

- a photo of her parents at the beach

- a birthday card in her mother's loopy handwriting

The sight of it all hit her like a sudden wave.

Her chest tightened.

Then cracked.

Then broke.

Before she knew it - she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled in, holding the photo to her chest as silent sobs tore out of her.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just raw.

Her shoulders trembled.

Tears slid down her face faster than she could wipe them away.

Her father's arm around her.

Her mother laughing mid-blink.

Young Kayla squinting at the sun.

A sound escaped her - not quite a sob, not quite a breath.

She pressed the photo tighter to her chest as the weight behind her ribs broke loose all at once.

She curled forward, hair falling like a curtain, shoulders shaking.

The voice startled her so badly she nearly dropped the picture.

"...Kayla?"

Chandler stood in the bedroom doorway, tie loosened, hair windblown, face open with concern.

"I- I thought you were at work," she rushed out, wiping her cheeks, trying to erase the evidence.

"I left early," Chandler said softly.

A beat.

"Technically I... escaped. Don't tell anyone."

He stepped closer slowly, like approaching a frightened animal.

Kayla kept staring at the photo.

"I didn't want anyone to see me like this," she whispered.

"Kayla," he said, lowering himself to the floor beside her, "you're talking to a man who once cried because the office coffee machine 'looked disappointed in him.' You're okay."

A wet, hiccuping laugh slipped out.

"What happened?" he asked gently. "If you want to tell me."

Kayla inhaled shakily.

"I just... miss my parents," she whispered. "And I keep pretending I'm fine. But I'm not. Not really."

"Missing people isn't something you have to hide," Chandler said quietly.

She shook her head.

"That's not the part I'm hiding."

He blinked.

"My parents... aren't alive anymore."

The words fell heavy between them.

Chandler's expression softened immediately.

"Kayla," he breathed, "I... I'm so sorry."

"How could you know?" she whispered. "I don't talk about it. I just- I don't want to make everything heavy. You've all been so good to me. I didn't want to bring... all of this into the house."

"Hey," Chandler said firmly, "you being sad isn't ruining anything. You being human definitely isn't."

Her face crumpled.

"I hate crying," she whispered.

"Oh please. I hate crying so much I used to schedule mine like dentist appointments," Chandler said. "But... this? You're allowed."

She didn't mean to lean into him.

But she did.

And Chandler didn't hesitate.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders - tentative, careful - like he was afraid to touch too hard and make her fall apart again.

His hand settled between her shoulder blades, unsure but steady.

Kayla pressed the photo between them and sobbed, exhaustion finally catching up.

After a long moment she whispered:

"They died in a car crash. Right before I came here."

Chandler closed his eyes briefly.

"I'm really sorry," he said, and it held no awkwardness this time.

Only sincerity.

"I don't want to unload everything on you," she murmured.

"You're not unloading," he said quietly. "You're letting someone care. That's different."

She sniffed, her breath stuttering.

He reached out - slow, almost hesitant - and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

It was barely a touch.

But her breath stilled.

His hand froze in the air as if he couldn't quite believe he'd done it.

Their eyes met.

For one suspended moment, the room felt too still.

Too close.

Too something.

Kayla blinked, and the moment burst like a bubble.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't want you to see all this."

"I don't mind," Chandler said softly. "And you don't have to hide the messy parts."

Her face crumpled again - small, exhausted - and before she even realized what she was doing, she leaned into him fully.

Chandler caught her.

No hesitation this time.

And she cried again - quieter, smaller, her body heavy with grief and the kind of exhaustion that hits like childhood.

He rested his chin on her head on instinct - then froze, aware of the intimacy - but she didn't pull away.

And somehow, neither did he.

When her breathing finally went soft and slow, Chandler glanced down-

Her eyes were closed.

She'd fallen asleep against him.

Her fingers still wrapped around the picture.

Her breath warm against his chest.

Eyelashes damp.

Chandler exhaled slowly, something warm and frightening blooming under his ribs.

Very carefully, he held her a little closer.

"...Don't be weird, Bing," he whispered to himself. "She trusts you. So just... don't be weird."

But the truth - the one he didn't dare name - settled quietly in his chest:

Her heartbeat felt too loud.

And then — the first tremor.

Small.

Barely noticeable.

Just a twitch in her fingers.

She stared at them, willing them to stop.

But her breath came too fast.

Too thin.

No. Not now. Not here. Not—

She pressed her palm against her sternum, like she could physically push the rising panic back down where she'd been shoving it all night.

But the alcohol had worn off enough that the walls came down with it.

And the memories slipped through the cracks.

At first, just flickers.

A slammed door.

A kitchen light too bright.

Her father's voice — clipped, sharp, Italian turning to steel.

Her mother crying behind it.

A suitcase handle digging into her palm as she dragged it down the hallway.

Joey's name in her throat.

No goodbye.

Kayla squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made it worse.

Because the darkness was louder.

Her pulse spiked.

Her lungs compressed.

Heat crawled up her neck.

Her ears filled with that horrible buzzing, the one she hadn't felt in years, the one she prayed she'd left in Italy.

"Stop," she whispered to herself, voice cracking. "Please. Stop."

But the flashback didn't care.

Suddenly she was ten again, small and frozen in the corner of the old house, the walls shaking with voices:

"You promised me—"

"You don't control her—"

"She's MY daughter—"

"She is NOT going to grow up in this—"

She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs, nails digging into her sleeves.

"No," she breathed, tears burning behind her eyes. "Not again. Not again. Not—"

Her father's voice slashed through her mind:

"THIS FAMILY IS DONE."

Her body jolted like someone had struck her.

And the tears finally broke.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just... soft, hot streams running down her cheeks like something inside her had cracked and there was no stopping the leak.

Her chest hitched uncontrollably.

Her vision blurred.

Her throat burned.

She tried to breathe.

Counted like she used to.

Pressed her face into her knees.

But the memory kept replaying, mercilessly.

Her mother dragging her to the cab.

The cold air.

Her father shouting on the steps.

Her own voice — tiny, terrified — begging:

"Can I say goodbye to Joey?"

And the answer:

"No."

Kayla covered her mouth with both hands, a broken sound slipping past her fingers.

She felt it — that old crushing guilt, the belief she had betrayed everyone by leaving, that she had abandoned the one person who ever truly loved her. It was carved deep, an old scar torn open by the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Green glaring through walls that weren't even shared.

Family falling apart.

Birthdays ruined.

People pretending everything was normal.

It had shoved every buried part of her into the light.

And she couldn't hide from it tonight.

Couldn't swallow it down.

Couldn't be "fine."

Her breathing hitched harder.

Her chest shook.

She pressed her forehead into the pillow beside her and sobbed — heavy, ungraceful, childlike sobs that ripped out of her ribs and left her trembling.

She didn't know how long she cried.

Long enough for her throat to ache.

Long enough for her eyelashes to dry salt against her skin.

Long enough that the memory finally lost its grip, shrinking from claws to shadows again.

When the tears slowed, she rolled onto her side, exhausted.

Her sweater sleeves were damp.

Her hair stuck to her cheeks.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the blanket Joey had draped over her earlier.

She pulled it up to her chin, fingers curling into the fabric like it was something solid, something safe.

Her breaths still came shaky.

But slower.

Deeper.

The city hummed outside — distant, indifferent, steady.

She blinked at the ceiling, vision blurry with the remnants of tears.

Her whole body felt heavy.

Drained.

Raw.

But somewhere under the ache, something else flickered.

She had survived another night.

Alone — yes.

But... not the same kind of alone as Italy.

This time, there were people sleeping just beyond thin walls.

People who had hugged her, laughed with her, held her in their orbit without asking anything from her.

People who didn't know her ghosts yet —

but hadn't run from her light either.

Her chest loosened a fraction.

Her eyes slipped shut.

And finally — finally — Kayla cried herself into sleep.

Not peaceful.

Just exhausted.