Author's note: I'm in the middle of studying for finals so I really did want to ignore this. Wasn't to be. It's a... different format for a fanfic, to be sure, and besides it looks better on paper with my two different handwritings.
So the idea is, I was watching 2x13 today when it struck me that Chuck could very well have simply texted Blair to let her know he was running away. But no, our self-proclaimed unromantic lad (lies, all lies) wrote her a letter. Very ancient means, yes? Then out flowed this bit of fluff. Hope all the "scenes" make sense for everybody. Ah, and spoilers ahead though they're not at all obvious so I think it's safe to read even if you want to remain unspoiled unlike me :) For the fuller version, please go to s -- I'll try to make it even more realistic with actual handwritten letters scanned in :) For the fuller version, please go to stormsandsins[dot]livejournal[dot]366445[dot]html (obviously replace all [dot]s with real dots) -- I'll try to make it even more realistic with actual handwritten letters scanned in :)
SIGNED, US (PLEASE)
Blair,
I'm sorry for everything.
You deserve much better.
Please don't come looking for me.
— Chuck
Chuck,
Why?
Come back soon.
— Blair
Blair,
I'm sorry.
Please believe me.
I wasn't myself.
I'm sorry.
— Chuck
Chuck,
I thought I understood.
But I can't do this anymore.
Please don't reply.
I'm done.
— Blair
Chuck,
I keep finding your lies.
Brooklyn? Don't even try to explain yourself.
Please leave me alone.
For good.
— Blair
Blair,
Please don't.
Please.
Damn this. I love you.
— Chuck
Chuck,
Stop, please.
Too late and not enough.
— Blair
Chuck held the last letter like a last lifeline in his hands, hesitating as Blair's Polish maid hovered in the vicinity, pretending (because he could feel her gaze lasering through his pale blue blazer) to be polishing the fine silver in the massive mahogany curio next door.
And then he dropped it almost unceremoniously next to the pink hydrangeas Blair insisted on ordering every week, as though it burned his fingers, and turned heel to the elevator that immediately pinged and took him out of his misery…
Not quite. Something was dying in his stomach, he was sure, because it twisted and contracted on itself.
Blair,
Wait for me tonight.
Dance floor.
(I'm sorry, please believe me)
— Chuck