(A/N): A nice little Chair one-shot that was made possible with three of my very kind friends. This fan fiction is assuming that Chuck Bass actually does have a soul. I know- hard to believe.

Song of Inspiration: 7 Weeks- Gym Class Heroes (feat. Billy Beckett of The Academy Is…) Listen to it.

She spun around once excitedly for her mother. The dress was the best thing that she had come across in a long while. The cocktail dress fit her perfectly; flattening out at all the right places and flowing when she spun. The silk of the dress was soft and comfortable on Blair's skin and made her feel important, glamorous… beautiful. She actually smiled… laughed. Eleanor Waldorf smiled vaguely at her seemingly happy daughter as she watched her twirl in their marble foyer. Eleanor leaned back; an elbow on resting lightly on the staircase banister, "Take it off Blair," her mother's words knifed through the last fragments of happiness she would have for a long time.

Blair immediately stopped mid-twirl, smile dropping off of her face as abruptly as it had come. Her soft brown eyes glazed over and her small mouth formed into a thin, hardened line, "It'll look better on my model tomorrow, your figure just isn't right for this particular dress," Eleanor spoke up, "besides," she piped up, it was an average try, the dress just doesn't really like you."

Blair started to say something but decided against it. She quietly brushed past her mother's shoulder and went to her room to change. Off came the dress at her feet; Blair carefully hanging it back up and properly putting it back in its bag for the model… with "just the right figure" to pull off her mother's only remotely good looking dress.

Blair didn't rebel. Of course she didn't. At this point she couldn't. It was a simple order really, take off the dress for the prettier, skinnier stranger, a thousand times more loved by her mother than she could ever hope to be.

No, Blair Waldorf didn't rebel, but a strange feeling welled up inside of her throat and made her heart beat a little faster. Blair's face felt flushed; she felt sick, but… nothing happened, because absolutely nothing ever happened to Blair Waldorf. Ever.

"Blair, darling," her mother faced her at the end of the table; Blair stared, "I won't be back until the end of the weekend, so I need you to see to it that these orders," her mother slid a thick manila envelope across the elongated table from the opposite end, "get mailed out," Blair put down her spoon and low fat yogurt to stare at the manila envelope. It was the only dress that she had liked out of her mother's stuffy, old collection staring up at her from the cover of the package.

Blair stared back up at her mother through half-lidded eyes, " Of course."

Eleanor nibbled daintily on some fruit and smiled a sort of half smile at her only child, "Good girl."

By the end of the morning, Blair had been invited to at least over 10 different functions, parties and/or get-togethers and had declined to all of them on account of her "sickness," including Chuck's especially insightful invitation for her to keep him some "special" company at his hotel. She just wasn't feeling up to it today; a depressing sort of spirit having hung itself over her home.

Blair looked at the manila envelope lying so carelessly next to her on her bed. She hated it… and it hated her. She stared up at her ceiling. She really did love that dress, and the dress was in her mother's closet. Blair smiled, got up and padded down her hallway in her silk designer house robe to the closet, manila envelope in hand.

A window had been left open in the master bedroom and warm air seeped into her mother's otherwise, cold, whitewashed bedroom, Blair callously flipped on the closet's inter light system with a hard flick of her middle finger. She glided inwards. In the closet, the recessed lights glittered off of some of the shinier fabrics lining her mother's mahogany closet walls. Rows and rows of different business suits, nightgowns, dresses, shoes and hats each had their own rack, drawer or wall. Blair pushed her way through a rather gaudy collection of purses to get to the racks of clothing where all of her mother's original creations stayed. A delicate wooden chair was on the carpet with a hundred seemingly different dresses lying on top of the too fragile chair. An undressed mannequin sat in the corner with a long yellow measuring ribbon hung around its neck. Blair's slitted eyes scanned the closet looking at all of her mother's god-awful creations. Not one of them even remotely reflecting her style in clothing except…

The dress was the only hanging up. Her mother had put it at the back of the closet and had been taking orders on it as soon as the first upper east-sider had fallen down dead, claiming rushedly that they needed her dress to go on living. The corners of Blair's mouth curved slightly upwards in appreciation at the joke. She rolled her eyes, collapsing on the piles and piles of dresses. She didn't care. She leaned her head back on the wall; neck resting on the top of the tiny chair's headrest. She looked down. The manila envelope with the orders inside glared up at her. An uncomfortable lump formed in Blair's throat. She remembered her mother's harsh words easily; just recalling the memory made her pulse quicken. The whole showcasing of the dress was wrong, it was embarrassing. That night Blair went over at thousand different ways in her head on how she could have shown it to her mother in order for Eleanor to tell her how beautiful she looked, how perfect she was… how much she loved her. Or at least to tell her to not take off the dress.

Somewhere in the background, downstairs, and on her mother's grand piano, a perfectly mastered version of Moonlight Sonata played. Soft in the beginning, harsh in the end. Blair didn't particularly take notice though, she was staring into one of her mother's closet dividers morosely thinking again on how she could have bettered her flaunting. It made Blair sad, though she had told herself over and over again since she was 11, how much her mother had never really wanted her. She was a mistake, an inconvenience… at least… that's what Eleanor had told her after one too many one night… so why was she so upset? Since she was 11, Blair had stopped lying to herself, though it still stung.

"Sick eh?" even from outside of the closet Blair could hear the trademark smirk.

Without realizing it, the corners of Blair's mouth turned upwards, "Cough, cough, I'm sick," Blair called out from the closet. You could hear the smile in her voice.

"Well, I just came by to see if there was any way I could help a sick friend get better… faster, so we could," Blair looked up, Chuck Bass stood in front of her smirking, hands in his pockets, scarf wrapped a little too tightly, looking down at Blair who felt like such a little girl next to him, "so we could, I don't know… study," Blair burst out laughing at the ludicrous thought of Chuck Bass studying. Chuck smiled and Blair did too… genuinely.

"I thought you said you were," Chuck coughed into his fist, "cough, cough, sick."

Blair smiled sweetly, "Oh, I definitely am… Chuckers," she let the last word hang off of her lips looking at him teasingly.

The smile dropped off of Chuck Bass's face instantly. He clenched his jaws together, "I thought I remembered telling you to not call me that anymore," he talked through clenched teeth now in a sort of hurried whisper.

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda, sorta the one who only made it up. Remember? Kindergarten?… Chuckers?" Blair batted her eyelashes smiling sweetly.

"Yes, I remember, but," Chuck dropped his voice again looking from the left to the right in the closet like someone might pop out any moment to blackmail him, " just don't call me that."

Blair made a puppy dog face at Chuck. He sighed caving in a little angrily, "Only once in awhile."

Blair smiled, genuinely… happily. She got up from her chair and happily flung her arms around Chuck's waist like a little girl, " I have special privileges," she announced.

Chuck smirked again, "Yes you do," he remarked coyly.

Blair rolled her eyes laughing after the embrace, collapsing back on her seat; Chuck crossing his right leg over left, leaning his elbow against an open drawer of Eleanor Waldorf's granny underwear (Chuck saw it and made a terrified little face, choking down some vomit). Blair laughed. Chuck made her laugh. He had always been able to do that in general, but especially, though, for her.

Blair's laughter died down turning into a hurt sigh as she once again noticed the dress hanging off of the rack. Chuck's head tilted slowly to his left side with a sort of fondness and sympathy for the sadden girl. They looked at each for a few minutes without saying anything; Blair staring at Chuck's clenched jaw, chewing gum and Chuck staring at sad version of Blair.

After those moments of silence Blair shook her head and smiled, "I'm sorry," she looked down and found the manila envelope still in her hand. She immediately looked up at Chuck as if searching his face for a written answer.

"What," it wasn't a question that was uttered from Chuck's lips, it was a statement. He knew. Chuck Bass knew. He had always known.

Blair didn't respond. Chuck looked at her, she could see the cogs in his head turning. He licked his lips and smiled wryly, ' Give it here."

Blair handed the envelope to Chuck who stooped down to be at Blair's level, "Watch and learn."

"What are you doing?" Blair asked suddenly.

Chuck started to open the envelope, "Chuck, what are you doing?" Blair's voice was hurried.

Chuck took out one of the order forms, "Chuck?! Chuck?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Blair practically screamed at him in a panicked tone as she grabbed for the paper.

Chuck stood up taller than Blair, still small sitting in the chair. He completely ripped the order form in two, smirks and all, " You dumb a-" Chuck cut an angry Blair off.

"I don't think you want to finish that, but I have to admit I do love that bit when you screamed my name," he sighed, " I do love it when a girls screams my name, he smiled evilly; Blair glared at him.

Chuck stared Blair down with a huge smile on his face, tempting her; egging her on, "Come on, you know you want to," Blair wouldn't budge, she sat and glared, " Come on, don't make me beg Waldorf," Blair glared with Chuck in a sort of battle of the wills.

"Oh give it here," Blair snatched one of the order forms out of the envelope.

Chuck waited as Blair ripped, at first slowly; unsure, but then faster towards the end wit ha rush, "Felt good didn't it?"

Blair looked up through half-lidded eyes… and smiled. So there sat Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass in Eleanor's closet ripping up her order forms in a rebellious, kiddish sort of way.

"God," Blair flopped her head back against the wall, "I haven't had that much fun since-" Chuck cut her off.

"Never," Chuck wasn't smiling anymore, and there it was again, that feeling, that overwhelming, sick feeling that occurred that night with Eleanor.

Blair closed her eyes whereupon stray tears rolled their way down her cheeks, vaguely flushing them. Chuck looked at her with something even more than fondness…beyond it… concern?… Affection? "God, you must think I'm a pansy."

Chuck still wasn't smiling, didn't say anything, he just stared at Blair, hands shoved into his pockets, mouth shut a thoughtful look crossing his face, "Put the dress on," that was defiantly an order.

Blair twirled her pointer finger around in the air, telling Chuck to turn his back, which he laughed at, but followed directions anyway.

Blair put on the dress and timidly did a little twirl for Chuck as he turned around. She vaguely looked away not wanting to meet Chuck's gaze, "Blair," Blair cast her eyes downwards, childish tears threatening to spill down her face. How was she this incredibly stupid?! Desperate enough to look to Chuck Bass for some comfort?!, " you look… amazing,."

Blair's breath was caught in her throat, she looked up, lips pressed into a thin line, "Blair you mom's a whore," Chuck shrugged not caring.

Blair half sobbed out a laugh and sniffed in appreciation at Chuck's insult. She stopped laughing… and that's when it happened. Tears streamed down her face as she cried. Chuck sighed impatiently, rolling his eyes and tapping his foot a little, completely oblivious to the breakthrough moment Blair was having. He hated whiny girls that always cried to him about their problems… but since it was Blair and although Chuck was…Chuck he allowed Blair to cry on him. Blair let out a loud sob of relief as rested his head on top of hers.

Blair took in the scent of Chuck – cigarettes and aftershave. She fluttered her eyelids closed, her nails digging into the fabric covering his arms. She felt secure here, protected… and Chuck? Chuck didn't actually mind at all, in fact, we think he might've waited for a Blair Waldorf breakdown for a very long time.