Disclaimer - I own nothing. Not Gossip Girl anyway. This story was, however, written by me so therefore I own it. Yay I own something!
The little boy sat staring down at the glistening sidewalks as raindrops trickled down the glass creating trails through which the he peered. He loved rainy days. Loved the way that the dark clouds soaked up and muted all the colours in the street as people huddled under umbrellas and nestled into their coats. On days like this the little boy could pretend that the world was as grey and lifeless as him.
You see the little boy was... different.
On the day of his birth in a hospital room in New York a beautiful brown haired woman screeches at a decibel that is easily detectable by human ears, which caused the rest of the room grief to no end. Huffing and puffing as doctors fumble comically around in their blue scrubs, her red and sweaty face is contorted into a look of pure agony as she tries to expel the infant from her swollen body.
Also in the room is a man with a similar expression of pain, as the woman grips his hand, who is fast beginning to understand the age old tradition of the men waiting OUTSIDE the delivery room rather than within. The nerves in his hand can't help but wish that he had come to this conclusion sooner. Nevertheless he stands to the side of the bed staring at the... thing, slowly emerging from his wife.
With one more drawn out scream, the baby slides smoothly out of its previous residency and into the doctor's ready hands. A smile graces the faces of new parent as a sense of joy and contentment fills the tiny room.
That is until the beeping starts.
The woman's eyes roll into the back of her head and urgent yells begin again as the medical staff try to prevent the pool of blood now swiftly spreading around the woman.
Joy becomes anguish and as the woman's life slowly drains away so too does her husband's happiness and her son's rosy cheeks, his pink skin fades to a pale grey until the little boy looks like a black and white image surrounded by vivid technicolour.
That was the first and last time the little boy felt love from either of his parents.
As the little boy grew his father made sure that he knew the reason he appeared as a 1940s projection in the midst of high definition, made sure that the boy knew that he deserved to be as pale and as lifeless as his mother. At five years old the little boy associated himself with that of a murderer. And as if he were in eternal mourning every piece of clothing he put on was slowly sapped of all colour until the boy resembled something out of a silent film.
The little boy both loved and hated the colours of his surroundings. Although he could not partake in the beautiful colours he could still appreciate the bright azure of the sky and delicious emerald sea of grass at the park his nanny took him to everyday. Secretly he would stare at the Children's Playground and watch them flurry about, moving so fast they became nothing more than flying balls of every colour imaginable.
The little boy tried to mimic the children's clothing through his own personal style. Rather than watching the colourful worlds of Barney or Sesame Street, the little boy preferred to watch the legends of the silver screen. Stewart, Dean and Grant became the boy's idols through the absence of another. Although he did not often understand all complexities of the film he just enjoyed the sense of familiarity he felt with the men as they too were forever stuck in the shadows.
So combining the suits and ties of his heroes with the bright colours of the other children, his wardrobe was filled with pink and purple dress shirts, yellow and green bowties and blue and orange suits. It was a coincidence that the little boy's father would also wear suits to work every day.
A complete coincidence.
Each item of clothing, no matter how bright, faded to the deep celluloid when placed upon his person, but, just the knowledge of the clothing's vibrant nature gave him a sense of satisfaction.
The little boy's father, prominent businessman Bart Bass, barely spared a glance at his son. The memories of his wife which he held at bay were always brought to the forefront of his mind when he looked at the boy and the father was not strong enough for that form of anguish. So he left his son to be raised by nannies and maids whom the little boy would often find in odd positions on his father's desk or breathing funny when they came to tuck the little boy in, his father following close behind.
These women, he learned, were not to be trusted. Because of this the little boy lived a very lonely life, isolated from the public except for his daily walks in the park.
The little boy was, for all intents and purposes, as lifeless as his features would indicate, taking pleasure in few things, and continually disappointed as he searched in vain for some thoughts of paternal approval.
One night he tried to draw his father's attentions away from his business proposals and onto the pictures he had drawn earlier that day, when the little boy reached an epiphany (well as much of an epiphany as a five year old could safely reach without standing on a chair).
This insight, this hope was that maybe if someday he could make his father proud and happy he would be as bright and colourful as the other children. Yes, his father's approval would make him better.
The little boy began to scheme and plot. Searching his adventure and spy films for a plan that would help him infiltrate his father's attention he could almost imagine his complexion merely muted rather than stark celluloid.
One night the next week, 1800 hours
"Daddy"
...
"Dad"
...
"Father"
"What?" The reply was abrupt and to the point. Just like the man. The little boy hadn't expected anything else.
"I'm scared about going to kindergarten"
To appeal to the conscience, he had learned from Jimmy.
"And why is that?"
"I don't know how to talk to people"
"You're talking to me?"
"Well yea, but you don't really count as people."
A sly joke always bailed Carey out of tough circumstances.
"Look Boy, your first day of school represents your initiation into the world of men and Bass men do things for themselves. Alone. With no one holding onto their hand they stride boldly into any situation even some that frighten them. So, Boy, you have to ask yourself would you like to remain a baby and cling to my hand on your first day or enter the room like a true Bass."
From James he learnt to be cool, suave. To hold in those tears until in his room. Alone. Crying in the dark, by himself with no witnesses to his weakness; just like a man should, fading once again to an impenetratable black and white.
So as the little boy stared out the window at the huddled masses below on his first day of kindergarten, he was glad that at least initially not everyone would notice his impediment as the clouds leeched the colour from the world. His nanny called to say that it was time to leave and as the little boy took one last look out the window a red umbrella came into view bopping along the pavement.
The umbrella seemed to defy the decree of nature as it insubordinately brightened the gloom around it. The little boy was at once fascinated and furious with the red umbrella, how dare it shine as bright as the sun on this day that belonged to the shades of black and grey? He glared furiously at it until it turned round the corner and out of sight.
His nanny called once again for him to come, so that he would not be late to school. Satisfied that the red umbrella had once again relinquished its claim to the momentarily usurped clouds, the little boy trotted to do as he was bid.
Arriving at the overpriced school for privileged children, the little boy dismissed his nanny on the sidewalk and strolled inside alone. As a man.
Standing outside the large classroom in the room filled with raincoats and gumboots he nervously tried to will himself inside the room filled with running, laughing colourful happy children.
He could do this. He would do this. Returning home without entering the classroom alone and un-coddled would be a failure in his father's eyes.
Deep in thought and trying very hard to remember how to walk, the little boy was startled when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder. Preparing a glare for whoever had disturbed him, the little boy slowly turned around and stared at the little girl who was folding a bright red umbrella. It seemed that the light did not emit solely from her weather protection but the little girl herself. With long brown curls, red ruby lips, pale skin and wearing a dress that displayed every colour of the rainbow, she radiated light.
This only intensified when she smiled at the little boy and said
"Hello, I'm Blair"
The little boy stared at her for a moment before responding in a very serious tone, which matched his very serious face.
"I'm not staying"
Blair's face fell and so too did the light shining around her. This distressed the little boy as he had become entranced by the surrounding glow. It became imperative that he make her smile again so that the light would come back.
"But maybe I could... for a little while"
As predicted the smile that graced Blair's face lit the whole room
"What's your name?"
"I'm Chuck Bass" replied the little boy.
"Well Chuck Bass would you like to play with me?"
He feared her response if he said no so the little boy shrugged and said.
"OK"
"OK' she replied and took his hand dragging him into the classroom with all the colours and noise. Neither noticed that the second her hand had touched his, the little boy's cheeks had flushed a rosy red.
AN - So this was my first fanfic. Hope you enjoyed it. I have noticed that it's not very explicit in it's characters so I hope that you understood that all the characters are in fact GG characters. Hopefully that was clear sorry if it wasn't. Please review I love feedback.