Chuck sat in his armchair, eyes on the television. He had no idea what was on the screen.
He would never admit it, but he was sulking.
He did not want to spend the evening alone in his suite.
Then the door opened, and despite himself - despite all his better intentions - Chuck felt his heart raise. Then he cursed himself. Stupid. What was he, some kind of pathetic girl?
It was Nate, of course.
Who else?
Nate.
Chuck deliberately didn't look up, still scowling.
Of course it was Nate.
What did he care, anyway?
"Hey, man." Nate came and flopped down on the sofa next to him, oblivious to his scowl. "Blair not here?"
Oh, well done Nate. Genius.
The guy was a genius.
"Your powers of observation never fail to astound me, Nathaniel," Chuck spat out.
There was a pause.
Nate looked a little taken aback.
"Uh... Chuck?"
Chuck sighed.
He shouldn't take it out on his best friend, he knew.
"According to Blair, Humphrey is better company than her boyfriend," he snapped at last.
Ok, he knew he wasn't being fair. He knew why the whole Tisch thing was so important to her; he knew that was all it was.
But still.
He needed her.
He was loath to admit it, but it was painfully true.
He was suffering Blair withdrawal symptoms.
Nate snorted.
Chuck stared at him in outrage. Was his best friend laughing at him?
"I'm sorry, man," Nate attempted, but he was still grinning. "You're so whipped."
In what universe was it ever right for Nate to be saying those words to Chuck? Chuck Bass?
"I am not," he responded automatically, realising at the same time how pathetic that retort was.
He cursed silently.
Turned back to the television, ignoring Nate with intent.
Chuck Bass was not whipped.
He just missed Blair.
"Chuck. Chuck?"
Chuck realised Nate was calling him, and dragged his eyes way from the book he'd spent the past hour attempting to read.
The Outsider. He'd always empathised with the main character - outcast from society for breaking taboo, doing something outrageous. Ok, killing someone was a bit extreme. But the idea was there.
He'd hoped a bit of existentialism would distract him - but he'd forgotten that the main character was continually plagued by headaches. Headaches that hit a bit too close to home. He'd also forgotten the main character's love scene on the beach, and the description of the kissing, the waves and the sun on the girls skin...reminded him far too much of days with a certain brunette over the summer. The sex, the sand...Blair's laugh...
Scowling, he tossed the book down.
"Chuck," Nate called again, exasperated. "Man, your phone?"
Chuck sat up then, finally recognising his familiar ring tone. He hadn't actually checked his cell all day.
He frowned when he saw the display screen - unknown number.
He was not in the mood for courtesy calls.
He picked it up, ready to snap something down the line. "Hello?"
"Chuuuck!"
He straightened. He knew that voice, slurred though it was.
"Blair?"
"Hellooo. Chuck."
She was drunk.
Blair was drunk.
"Blair, are you ok?" he asked slowly, trying to assess just how bad she was.
"I'm great! Great!"
She was wasted.
Chuck knew for a fact that Blair had not got that drunk since she was fifteen, the first time he and Serena and dared her to down the scotch he'd stolen. He'd found it hilarious at the time.
Blair had learnt her lesson, though; she'd never let herself get to that stage again.
She hated being that out of control. Not to mention that ill the next morning.
Chuck knew Blair could handle her drink; he knew she was normally careful, controlled. Even - then, after Yale and Baizen - she hadn't gone that far. That he'd seen, anyway.
"Blair. How much have you had?"
Nate was listening now, in surprise.
"Chuck! Chuck, I miss you."
"Blair. How much have you had to drink?"
"I'm at a party, Chuck!"
He sighed. That was it.
"Where are you?"
"I'm at a party!"
"Waldorf-"
But the line had just gone dead.
Growling, Chuck hit redial. The number had been withheld.
He tried Blair's cell instead.
No answer.
"What's going on?" Nate asked from the sofa. "Blair's drunk?"
"To put it mildly."
Chuck tried her phone again, but there was still no response.
He knew that Blair would not want to be this drunk. Especially not if she was at the Tisch party.
He would have to go pick her up.
And he had no idea where the party even was.
How the hell had this happened in the first place?
Suddenly, he scowled.
Humphrey.
He turned to Nate.
"I need Humphrey's number," he snapped.
Nate blinked. "Dan?"
"He's with Blair!"
Not wanting to incur any more of this sudden wrath - what was Chuck's problem lately, anyway? - Nate relayed the number.
Dan took a while to pick up.
Idiot. Moron. Absolute -
"Hello?"
"Humphrey. Where's Blair?"
It took Dan a second to work out the owner of the irate voice on the other end.
"Chuck?"
"Yes, Humpty dumpty, well done. Where is my girlfriend? And how the hell did you let her get to this stage? Maybe you haven't grasped the requirements of accompanying a girl, but I'd say looking after her is pretty basic-"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Just tell me where you are!"
Dan frowned.
He did not deserve this level of anger, this abuse - he hadn't done anything to Chuck.
In fact, he'd pretty much had it with Blair Waldorf and her boyfriend.
This was the last time he got involved with either of them again. It had been a serious mistake from start to finish. Not that he'd been given a choice in the first place.
He hadn't been able to find Blair - or, more importantly, his script - anywhere.
He suspected she had deliberately turned her phone off.
She must have known he'd be looking for her.
Enough was enough.
"Not that I need to tell you this, but I'm in my room. Trying to do an assignment. So I really don't have time-"
Humphrey had left her alone at the party?
"Where's Blair?" Chuck demanded, furious beyond belief.
"I have no idea. I was actually hoping you could tell me. And maybe give me back my-"
"What do you mean, no idea? Where's the party?"
Dan was lost now.
"What party?"
Chuck stifled a groan. Why, why did he have to waste so much time on cretins? Blair needed him now.
"The Tisch party. The one you're both meant to be at?"
At last, Dan worked out what he might be referring to.
The party.
His mind worked furiously.
Blair must have found out about it - and of course she'd have gone.
Alone, he realised.
With Paul Hoffman.
Much as he hated Blair at the moment, pain in the ass though she was - if that were the case, he didn't want to think about what could happen.
"Paul Hoffman's party?" he asked slowly.
"Presumably," Chuck snapped with impatience. "Why aren't you with her?"
"She's there now?"
Chuck rolled his eyes. "Yes." How could one person be so slow? "And she just rang me, and she is not in a good state. Thanks for taking care of her. So if you could just give me the address to this stupid party so I can go pick her up before she does something she regrets-"
Dan suddenly felt ill. Not in a good state?
"Wait, Chuck." He got to his feet, searching for his jacket. "This may be more serious than that."