Hope you enjoy…
Chapter One: Ghost of New York Past
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"He and I had something beautiful
But so dysfunctional, it couldn't last
I loved him so but I let him go
'Cause I knew he'd never love me back
Such pain as this
Shouldn't have to be experienced
I'm still reeling from the loss,
Still a little bit delirious
Near to you, I am healing
But it's taking so long 'Cause though he's gone
And you are wonderful
It's hard to move on
Yet, I'm better near to you.
You and I have something different
And I'm enjoying it cautiously
I'm battle scarred, I am working oh so hard
To get back to who I used to be
'Near To You' by A Fine Frenzy
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Nobody quite seems to know how to react when Blair and Eric are together. Because he is the one who was 'outted' in front of all those prominent in their generation at a party hosted by one of his supposed best friend's. And she; she is the one who traded in the former Golden Boy with behind-closed-doors Daddy issues for the resident bad boy whose reputation for womanizing and drinking was already in place to greet him by the time he walked through the doors of St. Jude's as a freshman; Daddy issues not so much hidden in house, but six feet under.
It should annoy them; but exhaustion has wearied them over the years and frustration over things that seem so trivial is merely a further waste on their tentative energy sources.
So they let the society wives talk in their hushed tones with their pointed looks, let the teenage socialites spy behind giggles and stares that proclaim knowledge they have no idea of.
And they haven't given up; they just didn't fight it to begin with.
It isn't a battle they should have to win; isn't a battle they should have to fight.
It isn't a battle at all.
Others may misinterpret it: they may judge them from their pedestals or praise them from the sidelines; but they know what they are, and they have never once forgotten that.
They are two people who found each other in a time of unspeakable need, and have clung to one another ever since.
And they don't need anyone else to understand that: because it should be common sense, their migration.
Explanation and justification should have been demanded of those that fled, not those left behind.
And that's part of the problem.
They don't deserve it, and they certainly shouldn't expect it. So she offers them none: not any of them.
Except him.
She shouldn't have to, doesn't have to, but she knows she would. If he ever comes back.
That is the problem.
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The doorman has enough tact and sensibility not to openly gawp at Chuck's presence when he steps through the entrance to saunter inside the fortress of gold across a carpet rolled red for his arrival.
His eyes burn with the clash of color, and he nods briefly at Arthur on the desk as he strides into the elevator; waiting for him.
He's not naïve enough to feign ignorance to the elder man with the knowing gaze: eyes as clear and vast as the ocean watch his every move with a kindness and relation that makes him jam his finger into the button harder than is probably necessary.
Except it is necessary.
Because he deems it so.
And that's the way it should be.
He's Chuck Bass and he doesn't answer to anyone.
He catches sight of chocolate locks cascading over shoulders and flowing over porcelain skin; sees ruby red lips and big doe eyes.
Mist clouds his vision and he shakes his head to clear it, not even bothering to try and argue the cause.
Waving off the 'help' lingering around him, he strides towards his destination. And rolling his eyes at his body's betrayal, he raises his head; jutting out his chin and steeling his gaze to what lies ahead. He lifts his hands and wraps them around cool metal before him; allowing the chills to run a complete course through his veins before he takes another step.
And with a smirk, and a mischievous glint in his eye, he pushes open the double doors to the world beyond.
He always did know how to make an entrance.
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A hush falls over the room and there's clear gasps from unashamed mouths: but the Oh My God's aren't like the scandalized utterings Blair's used to, they're Oh My God's like they have been graced by the return of the Prodigal Son.
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When Chuck enters, eyes turn to him and people spread to the fringes. His step is light, stumble-free, and he strides into the room with the ease of the Devil amid the flames of Hell itself.
Brief flashes pay testament to his presence, and accompany the flurry of words that he catches surrounding him. Eyes are still on him, words are still about him, photos are still of him.
Some things never change, he thinks.
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Blair raises her eyes in the direction of the source of all this commotion, and glass slips from between her fingers and drops to the floor with a shatter that resounds the room, but is deaf to her ears.
She doesn't register the looks around her, the words that have migrated to surround her, the people milling about her: doesn't see anything but him.
She can already smell him on her clothes, feel his touch on her skin; sense his eyes fixated on her.
Nothing else matters in that moment, except her and him.
The Prodigal Son really has returned.
Chuck Bass has come home.
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"My land is bare of chattering folk;
the clouds are low along the ridges,
and sweet's the air with curly smoke
from all my burning bridges."
Dorothy Parker
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TBC…
A/N: I apologise profusely for the delay. I did mean to update when I said, then our internet went down for like a week or more, and then I went home for the holidays and was visiting family and friends an it was all jus crazy.
So I apologise for the wait and the shortness of this chapter, I'll try update each day from now on or as soon as – this isn't going to be the longest fic ever, don't worry, lol ;)
Thanks for reading and reviewing – it means so much to me!
Steph
xxx
