It was around 9pm, on a Sunday.

Chandler had just finished cleaning up a little crime scene and was now on his way to your house, knowing you’d be up.

You were, just sitting on your bed in your robe, watching some TV and painting your nails. Then you heard a bit of shuffling and suddenly your window opened, and in stepped Chandler, a smirk on his face.

“What’s up, Babe?”