A/N: Hello! This is a one-shot I wrote last month. It's very much different from my other works and I hope you like it. Please tell me what you think of it :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Friends.

Set around between Season 2 and 3.

Another night and once again I am stuck in this cold den, dark and ever lonely. My roommate has gone elsewhere with a date, once again fortuitous. I have become used to the role of being the beta male, the one who is unfortunate, the one who would only be second best. There must be more to life than this-sitting in a chair watching shadows dancing on the wall while the woman I love is out yet with another man. She does not know I love her, at least, I've never told her, but what chance do I have?

I have known Monica Geller for quite a while now. We are, what could be called, friends. I guess friends would be an understatement, for we are the best of friends - of that I am sure. Time passes and we had our moments, moments that could have become more, but never did. A touch here, a smile there, always with meaning behind each gesture, but neither of us was willing to make a move. She had some men pursuing her, so why would she need me? I only wish she knew how much I needed her.

I'll see her tomorrow at her apartment, she'll talk about her evening, and I will mention nothing of the night I spent pretending the shadows on the wall were us. She will smile, laugh and her soft blue eyes will dance, and I will fall in love with her all over again. But it's all in vain.

I tell myself to stop thinking about it and just let her go. This is my place, this is my fate and this is where I am. I will love her and she will always be somewhere else with someone else. I dream of what could be, but whatever was, whatever will be, is but a shadow. But does not a shadow have substance? It outlines reality after all, and time is real.

We are defined by time. The past determines who we are in the present and the future is merely a dream of what we will become. We exist now. Dreaming is for the dreamers, the foolhardy and the hopeless romantics. We exist now, we must live for now, and to hell with what could become. But, what if? Sometimes I wonder what we would be like together.

I can imagine standing behind a tall tree, hands in each other's back pockets, watching the waterfall continue their perpetual roar, full of power and energy. We take this moment, like all the others we have had, as fleeting and worth remembering always. We kiss. The kind of kiss lovers do: commanding and everlasting, like the tumbling water ahead of us. I imagine these things and more, always with an embittered back turned to reality.

I stand up and begin to pace the room. This is no good. These thoughts revolve around a whirlpool in my head as I watch figures out the window walk arm-in-arm down the street. They are headed to the coffeehouse, a bar, the movies or perhaps the mall. I don't need this. What I need is to get out of this damned den before I'm liable to do something rash. I can already feel the anger welling up, demanding to be released. I'm not sure what I'm angry at, exactly. The world? Myself? Some supreme being? Her? I don't know. All I know is, I need to see her.

With renewed vigor, I turn from the window only to make a rush for the 20th apartment. It's 3 AM but barging in on her was the only thing that made sense at the moment. As I opened my door, I witnessed something unfathomable. In slow motion my hand goes limp…and my mouth sputters incoherently.

There she is…my Monica! It's impossible, but she is standing in the doorway, looking gorgeous as always, and not a little surprised. How long had she been standing there? Her eyes drop, focusing on nothing in particular and she says, "I…I don't know why..." and she trails off. She raises her eyes and says quietly, "Umm, may I come in?" Still in a daze I nod and step aside. As the door shuts behind her, I turn around and study her face. Her dark brown hair is let past down her shoulders and her eyes, those magnificent and mysterious blue eyes, are beautiful beyond compare. I take in all that is her: the seductive contour of her lips, that cute "tall" nose of hers, those flushed cheeks that redden more than anything else when she's embarrassed. My eyes travel the length of her body, across her breasts, along her hips, down to her ankles and back up again. She stands in the middle of my den, neither of us saying a word and though I cannot explain why, I know now why she's here.

The dawn breaks and I lie next to her watching the arc of light spread across the room. There are shadows there, and though they dance still, they are lighter and less rigid than before. If ever I loved a woman, there she is sleeping next to me, an angel in her own right. When she wakes, the moment will change, but now, the world is perfect. I have dreamt about her before, and surely I will dream tomorrow, but now I can hold her close, listen to her measured breath, and remember her always...