Welcome, readers. It's Michelle, or Chuck and Blair, or Sunday Nights, whichever you may prefer.

It's near the holidays, so happy holidays!

Just a little one-shot purely out of boredom (and was inspired by two hours of rewinding TiVo to every Chuck and Blair scene possible.)

Disclaimer: Don't own Blair. Don't own Chuck. Don't care enough about any of the other characters to mention 'em.

Lastly, before I let you read, there are no spoilers of the episodes coming in January except for one teensy-tiny one that can easily be ignored so, if you'd like to ignore it Choc-Tee means cheers.

"Such florescent, you must wonder how I sleep
Shaking spells end, as the cuts lined up my knees

I guess I'm weightless, as I tape my eyelids up
But now I wonder that I may have ran too far

Watch me float by, a bending, arched and sweeping sight
Now play it backwards and I swear you will see me misty eyed."

The Dark Side of Indoor Track Meets
-Falling Up

They couldn't just leave it at that. Whatever happened, the ending between Chuck and Blair could never just be a sheet of thick, cream-colored paper, with three semi-sentences scrawled in scrawny handwriting. The end of Chuck and Blair could never be this sheet of torn paper, now covered with wrinkles and tears.

What had happened? He had come, she had comforted him, and she had thought that something had changed. She'd told him she loved him. She'd comforted him in the most maternally and Jewish way possible. She'd run after him, chasing him in despair, something Blair Waldorf had never sunk down to the level of ever doing.

But clearly, that wasn't enough. She could have jumped out of a building and Chuck would still be sitting unemotionally in his suite. He was selfish; he was coldhearted. How had she fallen in love with that? She was in too deep now. It was like putting a gun to her head, ready to commit suicide, only realizing, after the trigger was pulled, that wasn't what she actually wanted. It was too late.

She called him once. Voicemail.

Again. Voicemail.

A third time. Voicemail.

Despite her concern, she managed to leave a voicemail as heartless as he was.
"Chuck, just thought I'd let you know, I'm really not coming to find you this time. You think because you say that, I'll come searching the world for you. You know what? If you don't need me, fine."

-x-

The emotions he had felt as he was penning that letter were half the reason he continued to write. Blair Waldorf would be the death of him, he was sure. And while that may have been amusing a week ago, Chuck's theory on Lily's role in death of Bart Bass had lead him to believe that it was truly possible. Too many feelings could murder someone.

Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't just writing this letter to save himself. Although he wasn't ready to tell her, nor would he ever be, Chuck knew that what he felt with Blair was indeed, love. Unconditional and irrevocable love, one might say. He had to finish this for her sake, it wasn't healthy for her to love Chuck; he was the bad boy, not the golden prince Blair wanted.

He sat in the back of the limo, recounting the moments of his life, drowning them in alcohol. His phone was ringing, and he wanted nothing more than to pick it up and answer with an ever-so-casual "It's Chuck Bass" accompanied with his signature smirk. But he kept on drinking; To Blair. Cheers. To Bart. Bottoms up. To Nate, Vanessa, Lily, Serena. Happy Holidays.

Finally he was drunk enough to listen to his voicemail. The alcohol had created a shield around his heart, keeping all his emotions inside, with no penetrable opening to the raw, inner Chuck.

"…If you don't need me, fine."

Her words killed him inside. He wanted her, he yearned for her, he wanted nothing more than to have her lying in his arms, yet he knew that he didn't need her. It was better for the both of them, anyway.

"To the airport," he instructed his driver.

To emotions. Choc-tee.

Hint: Choc-tee means cheers in Thai. If you catch my drift -wink-

Yay. I've had writers block for a while, so it felt good to write something, even if it was rambly and definitely a little repetitive. And, I have no idea how that Twilight quote slipped in.

I passionately love reviewers.