She kicks in her sleep. When he mentions it to her, she denies it. Tells him it's because he was snoring and she was trying to kick him away. Claims that she's as still as a statue in her sleep. Peaceful, calm and tranquil.
It's something only Dan knows.
She licks her knife when she thinks no one is watching. Just to taste the last bit of dressing on her salad. He catches her once and gives her a teasing grin. Her cheeks quickly turn red and she tries to cover it up by declaring that she was just using her knife as a mirror.
It's something only he knows.
She spends an excessive amount of time reading celebrity gossip. When she asks him to find an article she needs for college on her browser history, he has to rummage through countless pages of Just Jared, TMZ and Perez Hilton just to find it. When he asks her about it, she simply tells him that knowledge of popular culture is crucial in her goal to become a magazine editor. It doesn't explain why she has Keeping up with the Kardashians recorded on her TiVo.
It's something only he knows.
She likes him to be on top when they make love. She likes him to be in control. It's the only time she completely surrenders and let's him have the power.
It's something only he—
It's something he knows too.
Chuck knows she kicks in her sleep. He knows her favourite ice-cream flavour, and what shampoo she uses. He knows how to make her smile and the exact spot on her inner thigh where she has a birth mark.
And the truth is; Dan doesn't know her at all. Doesn't know why she didn't choose him. Doesn't know how to make her happy. Doesn't know where her heart belongs.
He wants desperately to hate her. She had made him believe that she had chosen him. And yet he sits on the rooftop of his rented apartment in Rome, laptop in hand, unable to write the hateful words that Georgina had encouraged him to pen.
The best thing about Rome is that it is loud. Italians tend to shout rather than whisper, and the cars rush through the street throughout the hours of the night. It provides a valid excuse on why he's become an insomniac. But the city isn't loud enough to drown out his thoughts about her.
He leaves Rome on a Tuesday morning without a word. He takes his passport and catches the first train there's a seat available on, his writing fellowship abandoned. He hadn't written a single word anyway.
Europe distracts him. He stays in hostels and meets other travellers. He barhops through Prague with his fellow backpackers, bike rides through the streets of Amsterdam and gets lost in Barcelona. He hears countless stories, but never shares his own.
He sees her in Berlin. He had waited an hour in line before finally getting in the Pergamonmuseum. He's standing in awe in front of the Ishtar Gate when he sees her in the corner of his eyes. The voice through his headphones explaining the history of Babylon is drowned out by the thumping of his heart.
She's wearing a light floral sundress. He watches as her eyes sparkle as they gaze at the intricate detail etched onto the glazed bricks.
He had pictured being in this very spot with her. They would have travelled through Europe together after his writing fellowship. He would be holding her hand as they passed through the Ishtar gate together.
But instead he watches her from across the room.
He rushes through the rest of the museum. Misses various facts he would have otherwise found interesting if he wasn't distracted by the chance of actually running into her. He lights a cigarette as soon as he's on the street, the nicotine rushing in to calm his nerves.
'That is a filthy habit,' he hears behind him.
He turns around slowly hoping that he had imagined the voice. But there she stands; the sun perfectly highlighting the lighter shades in her usually dark hair, making her seem even more perfect than when he had seen her last.
He stubs out his barely used cigarette and straightens himself unconsciously. He regrets the actions immediately, hating that she has this sort of effect on him. Who cares if she takes in his second hand smoke, he thinks, but decides against lighting another cigarette.
'I thought I saw you hurrying through the Mshatta Facade. I never thought you as one to rush history.'
'You never really thought much of me at all,' he replies, surprised at the bitterness in his words. He never was one for confrontation.
'You know that's not true Dan.' Her voice is pleading. He remembers the tone clearly. It's exactly how she sounded as she forced herself to say her vows to Louis shortly after confessing to Chuck that she loved him more and more every day.
He supposes that he should have known then that he would never truly have her heart. He never thought himself to be as foolish as Louis.
'Blair,' he starts, finding it difficult to even say her name, 'you don't have to pretend that there's something here to mend.'
She seems offended by his words somehow. 'Dan, before you had my heart—'
'I never truly did have your heart Blair.' He interrupts her, 'I tried so hard to believe I did. But I think a small part of me always knew that it belonged to Chuck.'
She doesn't deny his words. It isn't a shock to him, and yet it doesn't ease the hurt he feels in his foolish belief that she actually returned his feelings.
'I just mean that before everything,' she continues more carefully, 'we were friends Dan. And that's not something I want to give up.'
They had been friends once upon a time. He had even thought them as a team. But when he thinks about it more deeply, she had always been the star. He had set her up, and she had taken all the credit. Never once did she push him in return.
'I was your friend Blair. But you were never mine.'
She winces at his words, but doesn't reply. He regrets his words immediately, hating the thought of hurting her. But the image of him and Serena pops into his mind, and he realises that it's too late now. He had hurt her in the worst way possible. Even if she didn't know it, even if she never would; he would be just as bad as the rest of them.
'Just tell me the truth, did you ever love me?' He doesn't know why he asks it, knows he's not quite ready for either answer.
She pauses, a flicker of emotion he can't read crosses her eyes.
'No,' she says simply, quickly recovering herself, giving nothing else away to betray her emotions.
And with one word she breaks his heart all over again.
He leaves Europe on the first flight. Tries to forget about Blair Waldorf, but spends the whole flight writing endless words about love and heartbreak. He ignores the flirting of the flight attendant, doesn't even notice the screaming baby behind him.
It's romantic, it's scathing and it's genuine.
He doesn't realise how much he's written until there's nothing else to write but an ending. Would his story be a tragedy, or would it end in happily ever after? He can't find it in himself to choose.
He stares at the blinking line on his laptop screen. It screams for closure.
He closes his eyes, hoping for some spark of inspiration. But all he sees is her in her sundress and the momentary flash of hesitation in her eyes before she tells him she had never loved him. And he can think of nothing else.
Blair Waldorf had broken his heart. She had made him believe that he had meant something to her. And she had rejected him without an explanation. But somehow, he just doesn't know how to let her go.
It's something only he knows.