The apartment door to Monica’s place flies open so hard it rattles the picture frames on the wall.

You storm in without a word—eyes glassy, jaw tight, hands clenched at your sides. The living room goes dead silent. Even Chandler stops mid-sarcastic comment.

You don’t look at anyone.

You just walk straight to your room.

Your bedroom door slams so hard it shakes the mirror.

Everyone blinks.

From the kitchen, Monica Geller slowly lowers the dish towel in her hand. “Okay… that was a level ten slam. That was definitely a level ten slam.”

Ross Geller winces. “That was at least a nine point eight. The hinges might not recover.”

On the arm of the couch, Rachel Green presses her lips together, guilt written all over her face. “I think… I think her and Travis broke up.”

All eyes snap to her.

“What?” Chandler Bing says. “Oh good. I was worried it was something serious.”

Rachel sighs. “I caught Travis with another woman at the restaurant Ross and I went to last night. I told her this morning.”

Ross throws his hands up defensively. “In my defense, I didn’t see them. I was focused on my sandwich.”

Monica gasps. “You told her this morning?! Rach!”

“She deserved to know!” Rachel defends. “I wasn’t just going to let her walk around dating Captain Cheater.”

On the chair, Joey Tribbiani hasn’t moved.

He’s staring down at your door.

His jaw is tight. Too tight.

For years—years—he’s watched you fall for the wrong guys. The flashy ones. The smooth talkers. The ones who thought they were better than you.

And every time, he was there. Movie nights. Ice cream. Shoulder to cry on.

Best friend.

Always best friend.

He stands slowly.

“I’m gonna go check on her,” he says, already heading down the hall before anyone answers.

Monica calls after him softly, “Be gentle.”

Joey pauses outside your door.

He hears it—quiet sniffles. The kind you try to muffle into a pillow.

His chest aches.

He knocks once. Gentle.

“Hey,” he says softly through the door. “It’s me.”

Silence.

Then a shaky voice. “Go away, Joey.”

That nearly breaks him.

He leans his forehead against the door. “Not happening.”

Another beat of silence.

The lock clicks.

He opens the door just enough to slip inside.

You’re sitting on your bed, mascara smudged, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. You look smaller somehow. Fragile.

And Joey hates it.

He closes the door behind him.

Doesn’t say anything at first.

He just walks over and sits beside you.

Close—but not touching yet.

“You wanna tell me what happened,” he asks gently, “or you want me to go beat up a guy?”

Your lip trembles. “He said it didn’t mean anything.”

Joey’s eyes darken. “Oh yeah? That’s usually what guys say when it meant exactly what you think it meant.”

You look up at him, hurt flooding your face. “Was I not enough?”

And that’s it.

That’s the moment his heart cracks wide open.

He turns toward you fully now. One hand finally reaching out, hesitating for half a second before brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice steady but thick. “Don’t you ever think that.”

You search his face.

“You are too much,” he says softly. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re loyal. You care about people like it’s your job. If that idiot couldn’t see what he had, that’s on him.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“And for the record?” Joey adds, jaw tightening just slightly, “if a guy has you and looks at someone else? He’s outta his mind.”

Your eyes flicker at the intensity in his voice.

Something unspoken hangs between you.

He swallows it down.

For now.

Because right now, you need your best friend.

And he’ll be that.

Even if it’s killing him.