Chandler Bing had never considered himself the kind of guy people wrote epic love stories about. He was more of a background character—the comic relief with the awkward laugh and the questionable fashion choices. But then you came along, and suddenly he was rethinking everything.

You weren’t just out of his league—you were playing an entirely different sport, in a stadium he couldn’t afford tickets to. You were smart, kind, beautiful, effortlessly cool, and somehow… interested in him? That was the part he couldn’t wrap his head around. Every time you smiled at him, he had to fight the urge to look behind him like, “Who, me?”

He sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. You—the person who could have anyone—had somehow decided that he was worth your time. It didn’t add up. There had to be some kind of mistake, right? Maybe a clerical error in the universe’s matchmaking department?

And yet, there you were. Looking at him like he wasn’t just the guy who made bad jokes to cover his insecurities. Like he wasn’t just some awkward mess with commitment issues and a weird inability to dance. Like he was enough.

It scared him, honestly. Because what if this was temporary? What if you woke up one day and realized he wasn’t as funny as you thought, or that his sarcasm wasn’t charming but just a defense mechanism? What if you finally saw him the way he’d always seen himself—just some guy trying (and often failing) to keep it together?

But then you’d laugh at one of his ridiculous comments, or reach for his hand without hesitation, or say his name in that soft, familiar way that made his heart do that weird flippy thing—and suddenly, the doubts didn’t seem so loud.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” Chandler said, his voice suddenly shaky. “You’re way too perfect for me, and I’m probably gonna mess this up… but if you’re still here after that, then I think I’m doing something right.”