Dan's has never forgotten how the Italian summer sun melts into her curls, illuminates the chestnut tone to vibrant caramels and bronzes and wisps of gold. She always looks so soft in the European lights. Her dark eyes— fringed by darker lashes— glimmer with something akin to amusement, and her plump lips curve into her best estimation of a real smile. She's still got all the trappings of an ice queen, but sometimes in these quiet moments, when she's lounging in the gazebo of their rented villa, and he's scratching into print all the pretty little follies he wants to string together into existence— ones about her, mostly in relation with him— it feels like something close to perfect. It feels like she didn't rip out his chest and swallow it whole. Like she didn't sob into his shoulder that she didn't love Chuck— never had— but she didn't know if she loved him either. As if she didn't runaway for half a year to explore all the paths untaken.

Dan remembers the hurt and the solitude left in her wake. He remembers misguided snogs swapped with an equally hurt Serena— his first love. The girl whom he's always viewed as golden and glimmering and never touched by all the underhanded dealings and vicious gossip spewed by the suit clad folks that have always infested the world of the upper east side. Dan remembers Nate and his friendship being lost in the whirlpool of everything else, remembers begrudgingly helping Chuck with his hopeless fight against his manipulative non-dead, officially dead father. But most acutely, Dan remembers the chasms in his chest that Blair had once effortlessly filled with her splendid peals of laughter, and her snide comments always on the right side of sardonic.

Dan loves her, he's always loved her if he's being at all honest. He was drawn in by the steel in her bones and glint of determination in her big eyes, but it was sealed by the way she crooned bubblegum incites of topics even Dan finds are out of his depths. Was completely helpless when he tasted her butterscotch kisses laced with spice that's distinctly her own. Dan loves Blair and when she came back, sun kissed and wearing the latest French fashion, he knew that the simple truth of it would never alter.

"Humphrey," she had greeted when he first opened the door to his loft, cautious and hesitant— as if she could ever think that her place forged into his world would ever dissipate.

For his part, Dan couldn't muster anything to say— which Blair would later tease on account to his preferred profession— Instead, he just stepped forwards, and collected her small form into his shaking arms. He squeezed her close, as if she was in danger of floating away, and plunged his face in her dark locks, smelt the familiar jasmine scented perfume that clung to her, always. He suddenly felt weak in the familiarity of the moment.

What brought them here, to Venice under Blair's behest so that Dan could work on his upcoming novel without distraction (As if she was unaware that she was the greatest distraction of them all in his world), was long and strenuous. They stayed friends, they're still friends. They went to the Met's latest exhibits, watched Broadway plays and the ballet. They spent weekends in each other's constant orbits. Blair was finally enrolled into Yale and Dan published his second book and was signed on for a third and a fourth.

Dan let her mend all the jagged bits that feel like their swallowing her whole in the middle of the night, and Blair let's him hold her like a treasure to be cherished. The nights when they get lost in each other's gazes, and fall into a scramble of kisses and caresses and tangled limbs in sheets, they don't speak of it the next morning. She's still finding herself, and Dan knows that they're running on the silent consensus that they're the endgame, but Blair needs to know that she doesn't have to have an endgame to be happy.

Dan would give her anything to be happy.

His eyes linger up from the paper he's sweeping his pen across, feels his cheeks infuse red when he sees that Blair's gazing at him the way she does only in private. Loving and amused and gentle. It's a look that never fails to make Dan's's chest contract and him feel like he's soaring.

"You're concentrated," she mildly notes, stretching her arm behind her head as she begins to get up.

Dan smiles at her, lopsided and besotted.

"Priyanka wants a first draft by next week."

"Well," Blair sniffs, tossing her weight to her left hip which makes the skirt of her sundress ruffle, showing off more of the soft, smooth skin of her long legs. "You're welcome for the trip then."

"Mmm, I don't remember thanking you." Dan counters, sly smirk on his lips.

"Well I won't let your lowly, Brooklyn manners get in the way of your proper appreciation for me Humphrey. I can see the gratefulness in your eyes."

"Well you've never been shy in excepting praise," he preens at her sudden, delighted giggle.

She struts closer, runs a hand through his hair, face morphing into severe disapproval at it's unkempt state.

"You need a hair cut, I'll make an appointment with Felipe when we get back to the city."

"I like my hair," Dan argues just to be contrary, making Blair role her eyes so far back that he's afraid she strained something.

"I won't be seen in public with Mr Muppet Hair. I've got a reputation to uphold Humphrey."

"Fine Blair," he sighs, faux aggrieved. "Whatever you want."

"Sound a little more put-upon," she challenges, hands on her hips and dark head tipped imperiously. "You know you'd never be able to get by without me."

"Oh yes Blair, but of course. Who else would tell me about the stock value of Birkin bags or what Hilary Clinton eats for breakfast."

"You're lucky, truly," she grins, laughter in her eyes.

Dan doesn't let her joke about that, he takes her hand into his own, flips it around so that his thumb runs over the inside of her palm in soft reverence.

"The luckiest."

Her expression melts into something genuine, and Dan doesn't notice it when she leans forwards to press a kiss full on his mouth. It's the first time they've done this in daylight for nearly a year— he can't help but be elated. His hand cuffs the back of her neck, and he drags her lip between his teeth. It feels like everything has suspended for them, for that precise moment, with Blair's soft perfume tickling his nostrils, and Dan's's insides buzzing with a sensation he's only ever felt by her.

Slow, but still far to quickly, Blair pulls back, swiping her thumb against his lip with a small smile of her own.

"Sorry, old habits die hard."

"Please never let that die," Dan pleads, which makes her laugh before leaning back down.

Everything feels etherial.

..

..

Notes: Thank you so so much for reading this! I've loved these two for sooo long and it'd mean the world to me if you let me know what you thought! This caem about from a prompt on Tumblr that read "Person A kisses Person B after they break up, Oops old habits die hard."

Hope to hear from you soon!

All My Love

~Len