you and me, alright [roschel]

fine.

Rachel is fine. No, really. She's absolutely a-okay. Except for the fact that she feels like scratching the wool of her sweater 'til it scrapes her skin, life is super at the moment. Work is challenging yet rewarding, she thrives in the frenetic office energy bouncing between French and English chatter and the incessant beep of phone calls about shipments and soirees. She likes her walking commute a lot, how its toned her thighs and improved her breathing and if that game-that-must-not-be-named had been any indication, she's definitely fit despite all the pastries they've been treating themselves to almost every day. It's not like she's been actively trying to be in good shape, but it's nice to note when you're surrounded by models for work. Either way, her clothes hug her like they haven't in months and she feels motivated and ready to take on each day to its full potential. So overall, everything is fine. Except...except.

When Dr. Phalange had given them the ultimatum last week, she didn't expect Ross to completely swerve and follow through the assignment - or at least, evade the teasing 'competition' altogether. The sudden halt of their intimate dance has left her wanting, simply put. To her, it's more torturous than a high intensity workout and diet rolled into one, and the worst part is, she has no right to be mad because the choice had been verbally mutual.

Sneakily - Rachel finds loopholes, getting him to burrow his face in her clavicle while trying out new scents at the department store, asking him to lift her up to fix their curtains and keening at the way his large hands burn her hip. So yeah, if there's an opportunity for her to get away with being closer to him than necessary while remaining true to their no more toying with tension pact, she draws those chances in spades.

Like last night in French class when Amelie was lugging her camera around asking to take everyone's pictures for her portfolio and eventually told her and Ross to pose for a photo and she had pretty much leapfrogged into his chest without pause. She went all in, clasping Ross tight, one arm slipping around his shoulder and leaning in, the other stroking where his heart is. He had caught her move on instinct, turning completely towards her and pulling her even closer against him, one hand on her ribcage, nearly brushing the underside of her breast, the other one spanning the small of her back. Their faces had brushed and she had felt every breath he took as if they'd been her own. She must be smiling like a lunatic by the time Amelie pressed the button.

"C'est parfait," Amelie had remarked and then left them to pester another classmate and if she found their over-the-top posting odd, she didn't bring it up.

A damn day later and Rachel's still reeling from taking that picture.

"Someone's a snuggly baby today. What's going on, Green?" Ross had asked her earlier in the metro, gingerly prying her iron grip off his arm so they could squeeze out of the train. 

"You just smell real nice," she'd answered with a shrug, keeping contact with his shoulder. His chuckled response had been so loud, it turned a few heads. "What are you laughing at, Geller?"

"You bought this scent for me," he pinches her nose with an amused smile. "It's like a self-compliment."

But I wasn't thinking about Gucci Pour Homme, Rachel wanted to say. To me you smell like chocolate chips from the pancakes you made Emma this morning, like crisp vintage parchment from those alarmingly large books you like to read, like the coconut from my hair when you held me close last night. You smell like home and I want to bottle you up.

"Well - I have great taste!" Rachel saves with a sheepish grin, and joins their hands once more after passing through the crowd.

I'll devour you in the middle of the street, she thought to herself.

Rachel does not say any of that however when Dr. Phalange begins their session by asking them how they are.

"We're fine," Rachel gives their therapist her best work smile.