A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback! I'm sorry for the delay for this update – the show sucked and it just sort of zapped all my creativity.
She skips her Renaissance History class on both Wednesday and Friday – she and Ryan get ridiculously addicted to Harper's Island and spend hours curled close together in front of each other's laptops, determined to know who the killer is. Neither of them guess correctly, but he lets her pretend, in the end, that she knew who it was all along.
She doesn't do the readings for her Anthro course on economic development; instead Ryan takes her out for gelato and they walk along the city streets until dusk fades into night and her feet are begging for a break.
In the past, she thinks, these would have been signs that her life was falling apart.
Now they are signs that she's putting the pieces back together.
She comes home one day to find Serena, Chuck, and an almost-empty bottle of scotch sitting on her living room floor.
For a moment she can only stare, before she asks sharply, her voice at a higher pitch: "Serena?" by which she means explain yourself this instant.
"Calm down, Waldorf," Chuck answers lazily – even though she was definitely not speaking to him. "We were just having a conversation."
Serena blinks big blue eyes up at her. "With drinks," she adds unnecessarily.
"Serena," Blair says again, because it's the safest word she can think of.
"Chuck brought you flowers," Serena replies. "And chocolates, and – "
Her hands clench into fists. "This is my house, Serena, you don't just get to – "
And all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Nate appears. His wraps his hand around her elbow and pulls her out of the room without a word.
"What are you doing?" she demands once they're in the kitchen, yanking her arm free.
His eyes drift over her face, wide and dark blue. "Are you okay?"
She scoffs, doesn't bother answering. "How could you let him in here?" she hisses. "You know what he did, you know – "
"Yeah, I know," Nate cuts her off. "But Serena doesn't, and she's kind of in a crappy place right now, so when he walked in here all she saw was her brother offering to get her drunk." He shrugs.
Blair narrows her eyes dangerously. "Are you saying this is my fault for not telling her?"
"No, I'm saying…" He blows out his breath. "I'm just saying it's not her fault because she didn't know. I wasn't here when he first came in, I had a game earlier. It's not like I want my girlfriend and best friend getting trashed in the middle of the afternoon."
She sighs, her anger dissipating. "Fine."
"Look, I'll get him to leave if you get Serena to bed for me."
She smiles a little; there's something familiar, almost nostalgic, about those words. "Some things never change," she sighs.
Nate grins.
She invites Ryan over for dinner on a Friday night.
(It's the proper thing to do. Her mother and Cyrus are in Paris, but Serena and Nate count as family, so she thinks it's enough.)
He smiles when she asks him, rubs at the back of his neck nervously. "You're gonna have to give me some guidelines as to what the dress code is. The last time I was at your place I had a uniform to wear."
She smiles. She likes his t-shirts and soft sweaters and jeans that are casual but not all ripped up.
"Wear what you always wear," she says.
The meal is catered. Blair reads recipes excellently but her actual culinary skills are limited, and Nate and Serena are just hopeless when it comes to feeding themselves – those two seem to think that Pop-Tarts are gourmet food.
She wears a dress (simple but with pretty detailing) and she picks out Nate's clothes for him, slacks and plaid shirt, even though he huffs and rolls his eyes playfully at her, and Serena comes into her room to twirl around and ask for Blair's opinion on her outfit of jeans and a white shirt.
In the dining room, there are candles on the table, but she re-thinks that at the last minutes and puts a couple bouquets of flowers on instead.
For the first time in her entire life, the table looks too large, the décor looks ostentatious, and the lineup of four different forks for varying portions of the meal seems a little ridiculous.
But only a little.
If dinner is a mess, it's a flawless one.
Serena greets Ryan the second he gets off the elevator with a bright smile and stories about that time when they were fourteen that she convinced Blair to go skinny-dipping and they almost got caught by the Coast Guard; she whispers, "Embarrassing stories are a requirement, B, so shhh" when Blair attempts to protest.
Nate smiles just as warmly and the guys fall into an intense conversation about hockey teams halfway through appetizers. Serena takes the opportunity to kick at Blair's ankle under the table and arch her eyebrows and mouth he's cute super-obviously, all of which are things Blair studiously tries to ignore.
Instead, she chooses to add points in the sports-themed conversation as often as she can. Which, it turns out, is almost never.
Just when she's beginning panic, beginning to think she put too much dressing on her salad, beginning to believe all of this might have been a mistake, the main course is brought out and Ryan enthuses, "I love salmon," and winks at her across the table.
"So, Ryan," Nate says once he finishes dessert, suddenly very somber, "What are your intentions?"
"Nate," Blair whines, her cheeks flaming. She would stab his foot with her shoe if they were sitting close enough.
"I'm just asking, Blair."
"Well, don't."
Serena interrupts with the giggly instruction: "Ignore them." She slips out of her chair and wraps her arms around Nate's neck, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
Nate heaves a sigh, but he smiles. "Apparently, we like you."
Ryan laughs, his eyes dancing in a way that makes Blair's heart flutter the slightest bit. "Apparently, eh?"
"No worries," Serena says, as Nate gets up and takes her hand, leading her out of the room, "Someone here really likes you."
Blair glares, but Serena just makes a face back.
Ryan turns to her once the other couple leaves, laughing about something a couple rooms away. His laughter is softer, gentler when he asks, "Really, eh?"
"I like your friends, you know," he says. He's moved his chair much closer to hers, so that their thighs are touching, while Blair picks idly at the rest of her cheesecake.
"They're ridiculous," she replies with a roll of her eyes, but she knows that the way her lips quirk must give her away, so she admits, "But I love them."
He plays with her hair, winds curls around his fingers, and she can feel his breath against her neck. "I think a person's friends say a lot about them."
She meets his eyes, widening her own browns ones. "I didn't realize this was a test," she says coyly, setting her fork down.
"Doesn't matter." His gaze drops to her mouth and then darts back up, their eyes locking. "You passed with flying colours."
Her smile softens and she nods toward her cheesecake. "Help me finish?" she requests, handing him her fork.
"You have to help me help you finish," he says teasingly, and he pops a bite into her mouth before she can protest.
When she kisses him, his mouth tastes like chocolate and wine and the kind of possibility that has the potential to fill her heart to capacity.
"So?" Blair asks, arching her eyebrows at her reflection in the mirror before she sticks her toothbrush back into her mouth. Serena is standing behind her, in the doorway of the bathroom.
Her best friend yawns and then smiles. "He makes you happy."
Blair turns on the tap and spits neatly, lets her hair fall into her face to conceal the sudden grin that's pulling at her lips.
"Yeah," she says, "He does."
Ryan meets her after one of her classes one day, takes her books from her arms and hands her a French vanilla latte, wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her full on the lips, right there on the sidewalk, under the sun, murmuring, "You're beautiful," against her mouth.
He eats with her at one of NYU's dining halls. He draws a heart in kitchen over the plate of fries that they share.
She giggles and brushes her legs against his beneath the table. It occurs to her, briefly, that maybe this is how love is supposed to be.
They go to an off-off-Broadway show on a Wednesday night. The acting is good and the storylines are awful, but the things Blair will always remember about that night are the games of tic-tac-toe she and Ryan play on the back of his program using a monogrammed pen from her purse, and the way he holds her hand nearly the entire time.
Afterward, they walk back to his place and by the time they enter his apartment they're both breathless with laughter and neither of them can remember what the joke is.
On his couch, they kiss and kiss, and he lays her across the cushions gently and trails his lips down her neck, slips a hand very slowly under the hem of her dress; gives her plenty of time to protest.
She doesn't say a word, just kisses him back and presses a hand against the back of his neck, but he pulls away anyhow, brushing her hair out of her face with careful fingers.
He balances his weight over her carefully, asks, "What're you thinking, Blair?"
She frowns a bit, tilts her chin up to kiss him again. "What are you thinking about?"
He laughs lowly. "I'm thinking I want to know what's bothering you."
"I'm just…not entirely sure what you are to me," she murmurs cautiously, her eyes searching his. Are you my boyfriend? She doesn't know if she's ready for that.
Ryan smiles at her and her heart pounds and he runs a hand over her side as he tells her, "I am whatever you want me to be."
To her surprise, the first thought that pops into her head is, mine.
With Ryan, the first time is different.
There are no split-second decisions, no abrupt bravery, no impulses, no limos. Nor are there years of planning; no hotel room, no candles, no lacy lingerie purchased months before.
It just happens…naturally. On a day when they've spent a couple hours on his bed, talking and laughing and kissing; it's early evening and the sun is starting to set, bursts of light seeping in through his windows, casting a glow over the room.
Blair lets him undress her and lie her down and it all feels good – she loves the sound of his voice when he whispers to her and the feeling of his skin against hers and the way he touches her, delicately but with surety.
She doesn't know if he assumes that she's a virgin or if he assumes that she's not or if he even assumes anything at all, but he kisses her sweetly, tongue sweeping past her lips, and he asks her, "Okay?"
And she's a little bit shaky but she smiles back at him just as sweetly as he kissed her, murmurs, "Okay."
(And she is glad he does not ask her if she's sure.)
tbc.
