Note: I don't have a beta so I must apologize to you for any error – surely many – you can find in this story; if anyone of you has experience as a beta and wants to help me out please just contact me. I wrote this chapter out of impulse, I'm not promising anything but I hope I will be able to update it soon.

The delicate poetry of us.

The polish accent had quite surprised him when he had answered his phone. Their only interaction were the usual pleasantries and the suspicious looks she gave anyone who orbited around Blair; looks that later, at least toward him, had became less hostile and more puzzling. Dan was relived, and flattered, to have passed her test but most of the time he found himself trying to guess what she thought of him.

"Mr Dan I am sorry to disturb you."

"No, no, it's not a problem Dorota."

She had more manners then many other people calling him, and she was the closest thing Blair had to a mother so the call wasn't really a bother. But part of him was trying to suggest him the worst causes for that unusual event.

"It is about Miss Blair."

Five words pushed him to his feet. The book fell out from his lap and he held the phone with one hand looking outside the window like he could find the answer between the lights of Brooklyn.

"Nothing happened but Miss Blair not eating." He could easily guess that the wedding was making nervous enough to lose appetite, or that she was worried the dress wouldn't fit her, but he was sure Dorota wouldn't be calling for a futile reason. "She not listen to me," the woman insisted, the worry was clear in her voice "but she listen to Mr Dan."

"I'm not sure about this." He confessed with a low tone.

"Please, you talk to her. No one here for my Miss."

He doubted she would have listened to him right now. She was still angry at him about what had happened with Louis, but he couldn't refuse and he didn't really wanted to. If that helped her feelings and her wounded pride he could let her lash out on him until she wasn't ready to forgive him and let him be there for her. After all, that's all he was trying to do from the beginning.

"Miss Blair needs you."

Four simple words kicked him out of his loft on a Thursday evening, leaving him stuck in the traffic for twenty minutes until he abandoned his dad's care in the first parking spot he could find and made him walk around the city under the pouring rain so that he could make her insult him for being so stupid to spend the night poking into her alimentary habits.

He didn't mind the rain, and he didn't pay any attention to the people that moved aside to not hit him with their umbrellas.

This kind of weather made him always think about fresh starts, new possibilities and forgiveness; like God was erasing people's wrongs and everything bad was undone by the time rain stopped. Blair would have found the mere idea ridiculous. He could picture her with her untouchable aura, her red, heart-shaped, evilly perfect mouth labeling his dramatic attitude with the same tone she used to comments about girls wearing last season's item of clothing.

Dorota's eyes went a little wide seeing him there, completely soaked and he begged her with his eyes to not make any comment about his state while he gave her his jacket. He imagined she found him pathetic - he himself felt that way hearing the sound of his wet shoes on the parquet, but he was far from thinking Dorota could call him just because Blair had skipped one meal so he couldn't really manage to care about the maid's opinion of him.

She was impressed, and accompanied him at Blair's door with a warm respect before leaving.

He knocked, calling her "Blair"

"Humphrey?" her voice was surprised but still irritated "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you"

"You can take your excuses for your horrible behavior and give them to someone who cares"

He sighed, leaning against the doorpost with one hand and brushing his cold mouth with the other.

"It's not about that, even if an apology is necessary"

"What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" his hand was already on the knob but she denied him.

"Blair, I'm worried about you," he insisted "Dorota told me you're not eating much."

"Dorota thinks that anyone who's not her size is about to die from starvation!" her witty reply made him smile to the closed door, and Dan shook his head pressing his forehead to the white painted wood.

"And why would she tell you of all people?" her voice had a tone he knew too well. It was the insulted one. She used it whenever she saw him or a stallholder, at least until the moment they found a way to coexist and she found a way into his (now mess of a) heart. That tone had always bothered him. Now he found it endearing – couldn't someone just kill him and put him out of his misery?

"I don't know. Maybe she thought that you would listen to me" he suggested.

"The woman is gone senile!"

"You can tell her yourself, but Blair, now I am worried. Can't we talk?"

"It's not the moment." and he pictured her draped over the bed, surrounded by soft pillows, enjoying the warmth of the covers while he was freezing, or maybe just brushing her brown hair while sitting in front of the mirror; and for a moment he forgot why he was standing there outside her door begging like he was trying to get a private hearing from the queen. Which was pretty much what he was doing, really. "I don't want to see you." Her words were spoken unkindly and he just took the blow graciously.

Dan knew the script of this movie. She didn't want to see him, she didn't own him anything. They weren't even friends. Because a road trip, forty-two movies, one hundred discussions , two kisses he couldn't erase from his brain or wash away from his mouth (which had all the time now this unbearable hunger for her sweet taste) and one stupid, crazy, ruined heart didn't make them friends. All that only made them something indefinable, of no importance: Blair Waldorf, future Princess of Monaco, and Dan Humphrey, the guy that can love her only if he keeps his mouth shut about it.

He needed to be rational about this. He couldn't do much but walk away, hoping Dorota's worry was unnecessary, find himself a cab and go back to pick his car so that he could come back to the loft and take a hot shower before he could freeze to death. Instead he sat there in the hallway, his elbow on his knees while he tried his best to ignore the cold.

He didn't know why he couldn't leave her. If he was worried or he wanted her to forgive her. Or if he just missed her.

But he was so deep in his thoughts that, several minutes later, he almost didn't realize the door was opening.

She looked down at him astonished before remembering that she was supposed to be mad at him.

"I told you I didn't want to see you!" she insisted, scanning him with her glassy eyes. Dan stood, looking at her.

"Yeah, I heard that. But you didn't say anything about spending the night outside your door." He tried to make it sound like a joke but her faint smile made him doubt the outcome.

"So next time I tell you to go to hell do I need to give you directions?" she asked. He knew well enough to hear the change in her voice and to recognize the last assault before the capitulation.

"I would be indebted to you." he replied ironically, with a smile.

Blair was almost on the point to smile to him when she arched her eyebrow looking at him like he was a homeless asking for money.

"You are soaking wet!" it almost sounded like an accusation, and for a moment Dan tried to come up with an apology for his conditions.

"It's raining outside." he offered weakly.

"I know you're from Brooklyn but can't you afford an umbrella?" Blair asked like it was the most idiotic conversation she had in a while.

"It wasn't raining when I left my place. When it started raining I got stuck in the traffic so I left the car and walked here."

The moment Blair looked at him, standing so close, Dan had the impression that her eyes had grown soft for a brief moment. He couldn't be sure because she turned her eyes away and when she looked at him again that tenderness had disappeared.

"Since you seem to be the brightest bulb in the box and I can't count on your sense of self-preservation, I have to suggest that you take a hot shower before you collapse on my parquet."

"I heard it's very delicate, an unconscious body that falls on it could give it a scratch. To not mention the damage that the water can cause." He said, ironically.

Blair was about to make a new remark when she shielded herself with both hands turning her face "Oh please, don't sneeze on-"

He turned, covering his nose and mouth with a fist.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be. I have a royal wedding to worry about and your germs are completely inopportune."

"No" he explained, looking at her with soft, apologetic eyes "I'm sorry about what happened with Louis. I wasn't trying to lie to you or ruin your relationship."

"Then what were you trying to do?"

He gasped trying to catch words he could not offer her.

"Following your lead, I suppose. I am told I am good at that."

Blair smiled to him - the smile curved her pretty mouth and reached her rich brown eyes, and suddenly he didn't feel so cold anymore.