Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, its characters, I don't own its tedious storylines.
Rating: T
Characters: Dan H./Blair W.
Summary: about-face. Blair is in love with Dan.
Author's Notes: Fic was inspired by Massive Attack, 'cos there are few things as /seductive/ as 3D's voice (or in this case, Hope Sandoval). Also, this is, I guess a pretty poor attempt to break free from my massive writer's block and ever absent muse so obviously I'm not promising anything. This installment is short and I want to continue this as a three-parter, but right now I'm labelling this as a oneshot because I don't trust myself with these things very much.
But...enjoy. :) And please review!
Love is like a sin my love, for the one that feels it the most.
~Paradise Circus
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November 29, 2011
He was mosaic. Neat and unblurred; his whole meant more than the tally of each piece.
Sometimes she felt a strong pull towards him, which she acquiesced with only momentary hesitation. Because he never refused. He never budged. He would always know when something was wrong. He was her solidity. Her burrowed integrity.
That night faded imperceptibly. She was on his couch, legs tucked, wearing a Philip Lim exclusive. Probably looking as out of place as an atrocious accessory mismatch, she noted subconsciously.
Her eyes followed him warily, as his feet shuffled around the kitchen, speaking in hushed tones into his phone.
"We need to talk."
Blair was aware of an undercurrent urge to walk to him, listen on their conversation but she hushed herself; it concurred with another urge to storm out the door she always suspected of being a fraction away from completely falling off its hinges whenever she walked through them.
His conscience was rubbing of on her, she subconsciously tried not to eavesdrop. Only after a dozen seconds later, realising what she was doing, she stopped herself and listened.
"Okay," she heard him smile first, and looked up, watching as he directed it at her. "I'll meet you tomorrow," he said into the mouthpiece.
"That's it?" Blair arched an eyebrow sardonically, as he finished the call and sauntered over to her. "I had equipped myself with smothering anguish in case you had burst into a rhyming verse."
He pulled a ha-not-amused face at her but failed because he couldn't not smile.
her legs had an itch. Her hands played with a frayed sofa thread as he plunked down next to her.
"She-"
"Spare me the details, Dan," she cut in abruptly, sounding exasperated. She couldn't quite remember when she had stopped calling him Humphrey. "I'll get more than enough from Serena."
"Well," he shrugged his shoulders. "I did think you were being uncharacteristically quiet. But I hardly started. But the microwave's been running since three minutes and we can start the next show in five," he flashed her a quick lopsided smile.
They were in the middle of their personal Cary Grant Remembrance movie marathon - till Serena butted in.
"Actually," she was on her feet the next second, collecting her clutch and turning to face him. "I have to go," she said shortly, looking at him pityingly. "Sorry about the popcorn."
"What? It was homemade, Blair. You said you this was the most unproductive day you ever lived half an hour ago. Who am I supposed to watch this with?"
"As you mentioned already, popcorn. Nothing beats homemade," she chimed in a dry voice, realising belatedly that she sounded like a redundant commercial - already at the door. Her feet were forcing her to move forward even if she wanted to stay in.
She heard him get up and exhaled as she felt his presence behind her.
"Alright, so you'll just bail out on me, Waldorf?" he commented wryly.
She was out the door when she turned back. "Or, you can call Serena up and watch with her. Makes for quite a marvellous date."
And she slammed the door close and shut herself out.
He was kaliedeoscopic.
With him, what you saw was what you'd get and what you'd get wasn't unremarkable. Whichever side you looked at.
Somehow she had hired a taxi to the Central Park. It reminded her of Nate for some reason. She tried to smile.
She would never have had to worry over her words if she had said something like that to Nate.
Dan Humphrey, however. He has a too massive intellect for his own good.
She had two calls from him and she had turned off her voicemail.
She wanted to escape. She wished she could tell Serena.
She leaned against a lone railing, her mouth set in a grim line, refusing to think, refusing any tears that threatened to become conspicuous.
For crying out loud, he was Humphrey! He was the Brooklyn Bridge. He was the gawky junior in high school. He was unamusing, bigoted and every time her eyes used to land on him, she wanted to sneer or roll her eyes just for the sheer adventure of feeling her sockets pain.
Before it used to be Nate.
She chided herself childishly.
What had happened?
It didn't work.
So she let herself drown.
She felt the wind on her face before she felt something roll down her cheek, her teeth chattering, each of her senses making her feel bitter and cold. She cursed him, aloud. She wanted to push him, smack him, anything. She wanted to never set eyes on Serena again; she never thought she'd fall back to this - for each brick she thought she had cemented that warded her from inane envy and acrimony, she felt the ceramic crumbling at her feet and blown away.
She wanted to go back to the loft, to him, and watch that damn movie till sleep eluded them.
She thought that the spiteful Blair in her wanted to cringe for letting her thoughts so much as drift towards that path.
The apprehensive Blair in her shivered.
Her phone vibrated as she reached up to brush off a tear, showing an unread message. She didn't want to see it, but she felt a compulsive urge to anyway.
Are you there, Blair? Pick up your phone, call me.
She didn't. She stared at it with obsessive calm as time abated in meaning before finally, her feet suddenly becoming too heavy for her, she dragged them like lead.
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