Daniel Humphrey's eyes slowly adjust to the dim light hovering over his small Italian apartment. The lamp on his desk is turned on, putting a spotlight over his typewriter. Being in such an old place brought about a hidden nostalgia and he longed to press the stiff keys, snapping each letter to the crisp white pages. There are numerous sheets full of black ink lying beside the archaic device, no longer in their original neat pile.
At the end of the room he sees her, she has pulled the small chair from his desk over to the window. Her legs are folded against her chest and her chin rests on her knees as she peers through the dusty glass. The lights from the street cast an innocent glow that erases the tell-tale signs of a melancholy existence. Dan is afraid he dreamt her up, like so many times before. But there she is, her dark tousled tresses cascade down her back, wearing the wrinkled button-up shirt he wore just a few hours before.
She hears the rustling of the comforter as Dan sits up in bed, and turns her head to meet his gaze giving him a warm smile. He is relieved to see her doe-eyed brilliance has not tarnished over the years.
"I hope I didn't wake you," she said.
"You didn't," Dan replies. He is convinced that he woke himself up just to make sure it was real. Dan is certain he was seeing things when he saw Blair walked into the Regina Hotel Baglioni bar. Dan had just finished an interview for Vanity Fair on his latest book being adapted to the silver screen.
She smiles again before returning her look back to the world outside. Dan wishes to see that smile a million more times in his lifetime.
As he sits at the edge of the bed he grew curious of what out there was captivating her attention. He makes his way to the window he stopped by his desk. The pages that had been so meticulously stacked up the day before now showed signs of being sifted through. Dan bends over and picks up a page that had fallen on the floor. Immediately he recognizes it as the page that was previously threaded into the typewriter, there is hardly a proper paragraph on the sheet.
He doesn't notice Blair Waldorf looking at him, "It's a beautiful story Dan. Quite possibly your best one yet."
"Thanks," Dan cannot help but feel a little uneasy at the notion of her reading the first draft. The truth is, his eyes are the only ones that he allowed to read it. His publisher had begged him to give her just a sample of the work, but he refused.
"How does it end?" her expression exposes her cynical nature yet the question seems soaked in hope.
He rubs the back his neck, "I don't know."
Dan has never really thought of the end, it is a perpetual narrative that surged out of his fingertips each day. No end was ever in sight, up until tonight that is.
"All your works tend to end with a jilted lover and a bitter protagonist. You should let them be happy, just once," her words are spoken almost like a private prayer.
In that moment, he realizes that he could deny her this wish.
"Then I'll write them the happiest of endings," he says before leaning in to kiss her.