Pairing: Joey Tribbiani x Reader
Warnings: none really
WC: ~2k
A/N: I have been watching Friends 24/7 that I had a dream about them last night 😭
The purple walls of Monica’s apartment were usually a source of comfort, but today, they felt like they were leaning in, eavesdropping on Y/N’s heavy heart. The morning sun filtered through the large window, illuminating dust motes dancing over the mismatched chairs. Monica was in the kitchen, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of her chopping vegetables acting as a metronome for Y/N’s anxiety.
Y/N sat at the wooden table, her fingers tracing the rim of a chipped mug. She had been part of this circle for two years now, ever since she’d moved into the building and Phoebe had "read her tea leaves" in the hallway. She loved them all, but her relationship with Joey was… different. It was effortless. They shared a love for bad horror movies, late-night pizza, and the specific brand of silence that comes when two people are perfectly comfortable together.
But lately, that silence had become deafening.
"Y/N, if you sigh one more time, I’m going to have to re-evaluate the oxygen levels in this room," Monica said, not looking up from her precision-cut cucumbers.
"I’m just tired, Mon," Y/N lied, though she knew it wouldn't fly.
"Tired? Or 'I watched Joey bring home a dental hygienist named Kiki last night' tired?" Rachel asked, sliding into the kitchen with a laundry basket balanced on her hip. She set it down and leaned against the counter. "Honey, we’ve seen the look. You’re pining. You are officially in a state of 'The Pine.'"
Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto the table with a dull thud. "Is it that obvious? I thought I was being subtle. I thought I was being the 'cool friend' who doesn't mind when he talks about his dates."
"Subtle?" Phoebe’s voice floated in from the balcony. She stepped inside, clutching a handful of dried lavender. "Yesterday, when Joey mentioned he liked the way that girl smelled, you looked like you were trying to telepathically set her hair on fire. Your aura was a very aggressive shade of burnt orange."
"It’s just... it’s Joey," Y/N whispered into the wood of the table. "He’s my best friend. He’s the person who makes me laugh when I want to scream at my boss. But then I see him with these women, these gorgeous, effortless women who disappear after forty-eight hours, and I realize that’s all he wants. He wants the 'How you doin'?' and the thrill of the chase. He doesn't want... this. He doesn't want the girl who knows he’s afraid of the dark and has a 'Hugsy' penguin."
Monica stopped chopping and walked over, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "You don't know that. Joey is a lot of things, mostly hungry, but he’s also the most loyal person I know. He just doesn't realize that what he’s looking for is already sitting on his couch eating his grapes."
"You have to tell him," Rachel insisted, her eyes bright with the prospect of a romantic confession. "Think about it! It’s like a movie. The girl next door finally speaks up, the music swells, the rain starts falling, well, maybe not rain, because of the hair, but it’s beautiful!"
"I can't," Y/N argued. "If I tell him and he gives me that 'Oh, honey' look... I’ll lose him. I’d rather have 10% of Joey Tribbiani as a friend than 0% of him because I made things weird."
"But what if it’s 100%?" Phoebe pointed out. "What if he’s just waiting for a sign? Joey needs signs, Y/N. Big ones. Like a billboard. Or a sandwich with your name on it."
The girls spent the next hour breaking down Y/N’s defenses. They reminded her of the time Joey had defended her honor against a rude guy at the bar, and the way he always saved the last slice of pepperoni for her, a gesture that, in Joey’s world, was practically a marriage proposal. By the time the coffee was cold, Y/N had been convinced. She would tell him.
The next two days were a blur of nervous energy. Y/N couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep. She spent an embarrassing amount of time in front of her mirror, practicing her "confession."
“Joey, I have feelings for you.” Too formal.
“Hey, Joe, wanna be more than buds?” Too casual.
“I love you, you beautiful Italian sandwich-obsessed man!” Too desperate.
She decided to go with the "Food Approach." If there was one way to Joey’s heart, it was through his stomach. She spent four hours in her tiny kitchen baking a batch of double-chocolate chip cookies, the soft, gooey kind he loved. She packed them into a red tin, her hands shaking so hard she nearly dropped the lid.
"Today is the day," she whispered to her reflection. She had dressed in her favorite sweater, the soft blue one Joey once said made her eyes "pop like those fancy bubbles in the shipping boxes."
She walked across the building, the short distance feeling like a mile-long trek through a desert. She reached Apartment 19 and took a deep, steadying breath. She could hear the faint sound of the TV inside, the theme song to some game show.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door didn't open immediately. Y/N adjusted her grip on the cookie tin, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Finally, she heard the lock click.
The door swung open, but it wasn't Joey who stood there.
It was a woman. She was tall, with sleek blonde hair and a silk robe that definitely didn't belong to her. She looked disheveled in that "just rolled out of bed" way that Y/N could never quite pull off.
"Oh, hello," the woman said, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice was husky and satisfied.
"I... is Joey here?" Y/N managed to choke out, her stomach dropping into her shoes.
"Joey!" the woman called back over her shoulder. "One of your friends is here!"
Joey appeared behind her a second later. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked happy, glowingly, devastatingly happy.
"Hey, Y/N!" he grinned, leaning down to plant a messy, lingering kiss on the blonde woman’s cheek. "This is Candi. Candi with an 'i'. Candi, this is Y/N, the girl I told you about who’s really good at Boggle."
Y/N felt like the floor had been pulled out from under her. The sight of his lips on another woman’s skin, the casual way he held her waist, it was a physical blow. The red tin of cookies felt heavy, like a lead weight.
"I... I just brought these for the group," Y/N lied, her voice trembling. She shoved the tin into Joey’s hands. "But I forgot I have a... a thing. A doctor’s thing. For my... foot."
"Your foot?" Joey’s brow furrowed in genuine concern. "Is it the toe thing again? Do you want me to come with you? I can get dressed in like, two minutes."
"No!" Y/N snapped, backing away toward the stairs. "No, stay. Enjoy your... Candi. I’ll see you later."
She didn't wait for him to respond. She turned and ran. She didn't go back to her apartment, she knew she couldn't be alone with her thoughts. She burst out of the building and into the cold New York air, her vision blurring with hot, stinging tears.
Central Perk was crowded, but Y/N didn't care. She made a beeline for the orange velvet couch, sinking into the corner and pulling a throw pillow to her chest. She didn't order coffee. She just sat there, the weight of the rejection, the unspoken rejection, crushing her.
She felt like a fool. She had listened to the girls, let them fill her head with fairy tales, only to be met with the cold reality of Joey’s lifestyle. To him, women were like guest stars on a sitcom, appearing for an episode or two, providing some entertainment, and then being written out. Why would he ever want a series regular like her?
The tears started then, silent and uncontrollable. She buried her face in the pillow, sobbing quietly as the hum of the coffee house continued around her.
"Y/N?"
The voice was low, familiar, and thick with concern. She didn't look up. She couldn't.
"Hey, talk to me," Joey said. He sat down beside her, the couch dipping under his weight. He didn't try to be funny, he didn't use a line. He just reached out and gently pulled the pillow away from her face. "You’ve been gone for three hours. I went to your place, I went to Monica’s, no one knew where you were. I’ve been looking all over for you."
Y/N wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking everywhere but at him. "I’m fine, Joey. Just a bad day."
"Don't give me that," he said, his voice unusually stern. "You were crying. You don't cry because of a 'bad day.' You cry when something’s wrong. Is it work? Did that guy at the office say something to you? Because if he did, I’ll go down there right now. I don’t care if I don’t have a pass, I’ll tell the security guard I’m a doctor. I have the lab coat from the play!"
Y/N gave a small, broken laugh. "No, Joey. It’s not work."
"Then what?" He leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching hers. The smell of his cologne, the one she’d always loved, wrapped around her, making her heart ache even more. "You can tell me anything. You know that."
Y/N took a shaky breath. "I’m in love with someone, Joey."
She saw his expression flicker, a split second of surprise, followed by something she couldn't quite name. He looked away for a moment, then back at her. "Oh. Okay. Well... that’s a good thing, right? Love is... you know, it’s what people do."
"Not when the guy doesn't see you that way," Y/N whispered. "I love this guy, but he’s... he’s not available. Not really. He’s always with someone else. He treats women like they’re disposable, and I’m just his friend. I’m the girl he watches TV with. I’m 'one of the guys.' I went to tell him today, but I saw him with someone else and I realized... I’m never going to be the one he chooses."
Joey went very quiet. He stared at the coffee table, his jaw tight. "He sounds like a real moron," Joey said finally.
"He’s not a moron," Y/N defended. "He’s just... he’s him."
"No, he’s a moron," Joey insisted, turning to her. "If he has a girl like you in his life, someone who’s funny and smart and makes the best cookies in the city, and he’s off chasing some 'Candi' or whatever... then he’s the biggest idiot in New York. You’re Y/N. You’re the person who knows that I can't eat shellfish but I'll risk it for a good clam bar. You’re the person who stayed up with me when I was nervous about the Days of Our Lives audition."
He took her hand, his large palm warm against hers. "What should I do, Joey? Should I tell him? Or should I just give up?"
Joey looked at her hand in his, then up at her face. "You tell him," he said firmly. "You tell him exactly how you feel. Because you never know, Y/N. Maybe he’s just as scared as you are. Maybe he thinks he’s not good enough for you, so he surrounds himself with all these other people to try and forget that he wants something real."
Y/N stared at him. The irony was so thick she could almost taste it. "You think I should confess?"
"Yeah. Do it. Tomorrow. Or whenever you’re ready. Just... don't let a guy like that get away without knowing what he’s missing."
"Okay," Y/N said softly. "I’ll do it. Thank you, Joey."
"Anytime," he said, but for the first time in their friendship, his smile didn't reach his eyes.
Y/N didn't confess the next day. In fact, she didn't see anyone for three days. She stayed in her apartment, her phone unplugged, the curtains drawn. She needed to process the pain of being comforted by the very man who was breaking her heart. She spent the time in a haze of old movies and takeout, trying to imagine a life where she wasn't constantly waiting for Joey to notice her.
In Monica’s apartment the atmosphere was tense. Joey was driving everyone crazy. He was pacing Monica’s kitchen, refusing to eat the mini-quiches she’d made, and snapping at Chandler for no reason.
"Joey, will you sit down?" Chandler finally yelled. "You’re like a caffeinated squirrel! What is wrong with you?"
"I haven't seen Y/N in three days!" Joey shouted back. "She’s not answering her door! She’s not at the coffee house! What if she told that guy and he was mean to her? What if he broke her heart and she’s sitting in there crying?"
Monica, Rachel, and Phoebe exchanged a long, pointed look.
"Joey," Monica said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Sit down. We need to talk to you."
"I don't want to talk! I want to check on her!"
"Joey!" Rachel grabbed his arm and forced him into a chair. "Listen to us. Do you remember when Y/N told you she was in love with a guy? A guy who was always with other women? A guy who saw her as 'one of the buds'?"
Joey nodded slowly. "Yeah. The moron."
"Joey," Phoebe said, leaning forward. "You’re the moron."
The room went silent. Joey’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked at Rachel, then Monica, then back to Phoebe. "What?"
"She’s in love with you, Joey," Rachel said, her eyes filling with sympathetic tears. "She’s been in love with you for a long time. She came over the other day to tell you, but she saw you with that girl... Candi. She was heartbroken."
Joey felt like the world had tilted on its axis. The memories of the last few months came rushing back like a tidal wave, the way Y/N always looked at him when she thought he wasn't looking, the cookies, the way she laughed at his jokes even when they weren't funny, the way she had looked at him in Central Perk when she said she was in love with an "unavailable" man.
“If he has a girl like you in his life... then he’s the biggest idiot in New York.”
His own words echoed in his head, mocking him. He WAS the biggest idiot in New York. He had been so busy looking for the next "moment" that he had completely ignored the "forever" that was standing right in front of him.
"Oh my god," Joey whispered, his face turning pale. "I told her to confess to me... and she did, but I was too stupid to hear it."
"She thinks you don't want her, Joey," Monica said. "She thinks she’s just another friend to you."
Joey stood up so fast his chair flipped over. "I love her."
"Oh we know," Phoebe said.
"No, I mean... I really love her," Joey said, his voice gaining strength. "I thought... I thought I wasn't good enough for her. She’s so smart, and she’s got her life together, and I’m just... I’m an actor who lives with his best friend and has a porcelain dog. I thought if I tried to be with her and I messed it up, I’d lose the only person who really gets me."
"Well, you’re losing her right now by standing here talking to us!" Rachel pointed toward the door. "Go!"
Joey sprinted down the stairs, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm. He reached Y/N’s door and pounded on it with both fists.
"Y/N! Open up! I know you’re in there! I can hear the TV! It’s the one with the talking dog, I know you love that one!"
There was no answer.
"Y/N, please! I’m a moron! I’m the biggest moron in the history of morons! I’m the king of the morons! I should be wearing a crown made of stupid!"
Finally, he heard the chain slide back. The door opened a few inches, held by the security latch. Y/N looked out at him, her eyes red and her hair in a messy bun. She looked exhausted, but to Joey, she had never looked more beautiful.
"Joey, go home," she said, her voice flat.
"No. I’m not going anywhere. I talked to the girls. They told me."
Y/N’s face went pale. She tried to shut the door, but Joey jammed his foot in the crack.
"Don't," he pleaded. "Please. Just let me say one thing. I was wrong. What I said at the coffee house... about the guy? I was right that he’s an idiot, but I was wrong about why."
Y/N stopped pushing the door, her hand trembling on the handle.
"I’ve spent my whole life looking for 'The One,'" Joey said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I was looking for her in bars and on movie sets and in laundry rooms. I never thought that she was right in front of me. I never thought that 'The One' would be the person who knows exactly how I like my sandwiches and doesn't judge me when I cry at the end of Titanic."
He looked through the gap in the door, his eyes swimming with tears. "I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for a long time, but I was too scared to admit it because you’re too good for me. I’m just... I’m Joey. And you’re everything."
Y/N’s breath hitched. She slowly unlatched the door and pulled it open. She stood there for a long moment, looking at him, searching for the "line,” the joke, but there was none. There was only Joey, raw and honest and vulnerable.
"What about the other women?" she asked, her voice cracking. "What about the 'Candi'?"
Joey stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "There are no more other women. I don't want them. I want you. I want the girl who makes me cookies and plays Boggle with me and tells me when I’m being a jerk. I want to be the guy who’s 'available' for you, forever."
Y/N let out a sob, not of sadness, but of relief. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. "You really are a moron, Joey Tribbiani."
"I know," he whispered, pulling her tight. "But I’m your moron. If you’ll have me."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, then leaned down and kissed her. It wasn't a "How you doin'?" kiss. It was deep, slow, and full of all the words they hadn't been able to say for two years. It tasted like chocolate chip cookies and home.
When they finally pulled apart, Joey had a goofy, lopsided grin on his face. "So... does this mean we’re exclusive? Because I should probably tell Candi... actually, I don't even have her number. She just kind of appeared."
Y/N laughed, a real, bright sound that filled the room. "Yes, Joey. We’re exclusive."
"Good," he said, picking her up and spinning her around. "Now, I have a very important question."
"What?"
"Are there any of those cookies left? Because honestly, I’ve been thinking about them for three days."
Y/N laughed again, leaning her forehead against his. "I’ll make you a fresh batch, Joe. As many as you want."
"That," Joey said, kissing her again, "is why I love you."
What do yall like more, me writing in first person, second person, or third person??? I think I tried all of them and I’m good with writing them all but idk if I should keep alternating or stick with only one😭
