Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip girl, just the specific world I choose to bring the characters into!
Happy Reading.
Along came love, she had yearned for so long, she felt on fire
She'd do anything for him
He was close as the label in a shirt, never left her side
He would lace handkerchief in the rain if she ever walked by
He'd do anything for her
Hold back and kiss slow
The lights out in your cold heart now
Stuck in a world that would pull them apart, and it cost in time
If only they knew that ahead loomed a cloud that was as black as night
She'd do anything for him
They were strong, they could take on the world and put up a fight
And even the clouds couldn't stand in the way when they held on tight
He'd do anything for her
-White Diamonds
Chapter Ten:
For the first time in several weeks, the laptop balancing on Dan's knees didn't take on a blunt offensive air. Instead, it had transformed into a welcoming plateau, upon which, words fell from his thoughts; settling heartily on the blanks in front of him.
The work was tedious at first – having to ease the character from his mind as if she were genuinely in front of him, the brisk air whirling around her brunette tresses.
To be fair, she had been standing in front of him hours earlier. Her head tilted to the side, a mug cupped between her pale hands. Blair. She consumed him, filled a page and then the second, fourth, seventh; until satisfaction no longer relied on the amount of accomplished work he processed. Rather, the inspiration that pulsed through him feverishly.
His fingers ached and his mouth ran dry, but he did not think thoroughly of these things or the close proximity to which caffeine happened to be. Shivering beneath the flimsy material of his housecoat he stopped momentarily, hands frozen over the keyboard. Quickly, he moved to close the window in front of him – kicking the switch on the heater underneath his desk with the tip of his toe.
Earlier on, as the cities' rumbles grew with the rising sun, poetry had fanned from him, now safely stowed away in the depth of his computer documents as he stood; quickly pushing away the inspiration long enough to retrieve a cup of coffee and a bagel.
Blair couldn't breathe – she was perched on the edge of the bathroom counter, her head in her hands, hyperventilating.
The morning had started out so fantastically and had somehow taken a detour straight into an afternoon of complete and utter disaster. She didn't know what to think – couldn't – she just needed to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
"I thought I'd find you in here" Victoria exclaimed softly, her thin arms wrapping around Blair's shoulders tightly. She breathed in the flowery scent of perfume, sobbing hard as she rested on Victoria's chest.
"Everything's going to be fine." Blair nodded but remained superbly unconvinced. Everything seemed to be falling apart.
"S-seven designs" she cried, "s-seven!"
Seven pieces of her collection, a third of the entire thing, fucked up by her incompetent staff, dropping her back on square one just a few days before the debut. It was ridiculous and she was beyond angry – so frustrated that she was crying at work - which was practically unacceptable.
"I just couldn't stay in there for another second. I would have just fired everyone – I don't need any of them anyway, right?"
Vix laughed, producing a chocolate bar from the back pocket of her jeans. Blair broke off a piece, the milk chocolate melting on her tongue. It was just what she needed, even if it came at an extra pound or two.
She moved back from the embrace, "except from you Vix – I'll always need you."
A few strands of Victoria's red hair fell from the barrette that held it and curled at the base of her throat. She was a tall southern bell, whom Blair had met during freshman year when she had arrived at her supposedly "single" dorm only to find a roommate.
Originally, in true Waldorf nature, she had absolutely despised the girl - only to be caged inside for months at a time together. Connecticut's rain pelting against the windows, preceded by downfalls of snow four feet thick. A friendship during her first winter away from home that had yet to find weakness.
"I just can't – "
Vick quickly interjected, "Baila you'll get it done" she assured, handing Blair a few pieces of toilet paper.
"Two days," the idea was dreadful, hours ahead of her that entailed reworking that which she had already completed a few weeks earlier. She dabbed at her eyes, panic thrumming in the pit of her stomach at the continued thought.
It had to be done and she would do it. Perfection was the driving force behind her work, her fashion; it was the one place in her life she could control, where chaos failed to rise from the floorboards.
Dan. She would have to call and cancel their dinner tonight. Shit. He had been planning it for a week but what else could she do? Her work came first, and sometimes she hated herself for it but it was a part of her.
It was the ease that came with arranging your life around something rather than easing something into it. 'Waldorf designs' was her solitary means, it had defined her for the past seven years and boyfriend or not she wasn't just going to let it slide into oblivion. After all it was her last name too.
"So," Vix broke the silence, "who're you gonna fire?"
"Gerry" she sighed, "he's the one who messed everything up."
"Yeah fuck Gerry, he's an idiot."
Blair swatted at her, laughing, "Exactly."
"See you out there?" she nodded as Vic smiled and turned towards the door.
She was alone with her thoughts once more. Carefully, she fit her public image back into place after a few minutes of uninterrupted silence, no longer feeling the vulnerability that had come in mounds a few minutes earlier.
Free to be Blair Waldorf, she chided to herself ironically. Free – the last thing she truly was - as she opened the door.
Ready, set, go.
He had no real idea as to what he was doing and yet somehow it all made sense in an illogically logical way. Dan had dived head-first into the darkness and was presently occupied with fragments of words and plots, piecing themselves together in his head.
The woman who spoke so clearly, stood so defiantly against the monotone backdrop that she was irresistible, the reasoning man beside her and a progressive city surrounding them.
Macy & Harrison, the protagonists to his developing plot, a fresh story in the face of the abandonment of his headlining and might he had, contracted, novel.
He was exhilarated by it, the inspiration that flourished inside his veins. The idea's that flew at him furiously, demanding to be recorded, included, needed. In the distance the discordant ring of his phone could be heard, sluggishly, he rose and trudged into the kitchen, picking it off the counter.
"Hello?" He glanced back at the pages sprawled on the coffee-table, as to make sure the night air did little to whisk them away.
"Did you see Blair Waldorf at the reunion?" There was a frank heaviness to Jenny's tone as she asked.
Shit. Shit. What?
"Uh I think so yeah," What are you doing?! "Hello to you too" he added haughtily.
"Yeah hi, Nate and I just got an invitation to her show." He was uncomfortable, not knowing entirely how to broach the subject that sat idly in front of him.
Blair had been apprehensive about the runway and they had seen very little of each other for the past few weeks. All that could be heard from her were take-out orders and pay-per-view preferences when moments were snagged. Aside from the late night phone calls whenever she had an anxiety attack and needed a soothing voice.
They didn't speak of it – any of the preparations. What he knew was only relayed when she had been sobbing and her words hardly audible, the desire stronger to hold her in his arms than it had ever been before.
Just that afternoon she had called to cancel on a romantic dinner he had been planning for several weeks. All in lieu of a disaster that had rendered her designs short a couple of days from the show.
He had been upset for an hour, angry even – but he had come to understand eventually. Her work was her life and he couldn't expect her to give up a piece of herself for him.
Standing there in his robe, with coffee-stained teeth and bits of bagel sitting on his chin whiskers, he couldn't tell any of that to his sister.
"Ah" it was hardly a response but her impromptu rant continued.
"Well I don't know. I thought maybe you had seen her or something, because I asked Nate and he says that he didn't."
"I saw her very briefly. She uh, said something about getting the 'ol gang' back together."
It was a terrible lie and the second it came from his lips he wanted to suck it right back under his tongue.
"The gang?" her tone was sharp – disbelieving.
"Um, like you and Nate, Vanessa, Erik and Serena, the 'gang'."
"Oh, well" he could tell she didn't want to sound oblivious to this idea, "I guess that makes sense."
WAMBAM! JEDI MIND TRICK MASTER DANIEL HUMPHREY, SAY WHAT?
"So you're going too then?" she asked.
He took a sip of his coffee, the warmth trailing down his throat, "I got my invitation this morning."
The second Jenny hung up he dialled Blair's number, praying she wouldn't kill him, or at the very least hate him for the rest of his life. She had been pretty stressed lately – such was followed by a type of inability to predict the outcome of her reactions …
It had been done, completed with a singularly relenting breath. She placed the pen on her desk as she licked the last envelope, handing it off to a US mail carrier. Invitations that would soon make their way into mailboxes, freshly pressed into the hands of uniformed doormen and presented on silver platters by butlers and maids.
She was glad for her residency in New York if nothing else, where else in the world could you get a mail carrier at six thirty in the morning?
It wouldn't be a horrible thing to pepper in a few extra seats in the first row. Admitantly she missed Erik, adored him to the core and wondered what he had spent the last ten years doing. After the lunch with Serena she had a slight moment of hardship in letting that slip from her hands but ultimately she had.
Vanessa Abrams was another story entirely, she would have full out rejected that idea – no matter Dan's personal opinion, had she not heard that Abrams had acquired a press-pass and would be one of several photographers stationed at the end of the runway.
Nothing could be done about it, nothing she would allow herself to do anyway. The press would be all over it if she banned a random woman, rumours would fly.
However, she briefly considered placing a restriction on anyone with Chuck Bass' physical description, but realized that would include a number of celebrities. She was in no mood to leave things up to chance but she had it on good authority that he was hardly involved in Vanessa's work. She would only breathe a sigh of relief if he didn't manage to show up – no point in getting excited just yet.
The sun had yet to raise into the sky, stuck beneath blooming grey clouds, the residual keepings of a curt winter in the city. She had been poised over her sewing machine since the sun had set the day before, functioning purely on her seventh cup of coffee - black with copious amounts of sugar. It was a particular fixing that she had become addicted to, thanks to a certain Brooklyn boy.
A few hours later she woke from a listless sleep, arms outstretched towards the thin creases of forgotten dreams. Slowly, she climbed from her bed and into the kitchen. A stewing pot of tea sat dutifully on the stove as Dorota perched at the breakfast table with the New York Times in her hands.
Blair's throat was dry and scratchy; she pulled a cup from above the sink and poured some tea into it, stirring milk and spooning some honey in too. The bitter sweet concoction fell down her throat in hasty gulps as she gazed out the bay windows. The weather seemed unwelcoming of any mention of spring; wind stirred fallen leaves into the air as rain pelted the glass. Unfortunate, but the show would go on; it would just involve heavier coats.
"Morning" she swiftly peeled the arts section from the paper, grazing over its contents with a lazy yawn.
"Good morning Ms. Blair," Dorota replied, sipping at her tea, brown eyes peeking up at her.
She put down the paper after a few minutes, feeling useless and unwanted. It was almost four in the afternoon; she had been all but banned for the next three hours. Thank-god she had left detailed and very crucial notes with Tabitha, her head assistant, who she could only pray was doing everything exactly the way she had described it.
According to Vix she became a raging maniac, changing her mind several million times until seconds before the lights went down. And so in Blair's best interest, due to her increased anxiety around spring collections, Vix had suggested thinking it over and writing down a concrete list of instructions to be delivered by currier along with the last seven designs.
It had all been finished that morning before she went to bed. Maybe she did get a little tyrannical but there was a name to uphold, a business to keep in tact and so many people to please. After all she would still arrive on set a good two hours before the show began; enough time to make sure everything was perfect. Besides, she did pay people for a reason right, this reason - the completion of the dirty work without a worry.
"Ms. Blair, do not worry" Dorota said evenly, "your show will be great."
What if the designs hadn't made it to the hall, what if she had to propose a show designs short of her promised collection. How could Dorota possibly know anything when she herself had never been more uncertain?
Blair exhaled, taking an elongated sip before asking, "Do you really think so? I mean you've seen everything in various states of completion and I – well I want to know what you really think."
"They were," she quickly corrected her tense, "are beautiful Ms. Blair, you are much talented."
She let this arrange around her. Instil what confidence it could before looking up from the countertop, she offered a weak smile, plucking a bran muffin from the plate in the center. She nibbled at it in further analysis, giving herself something to think of beside the show.
"Thank-you Dorota."
As a graduate of St. Jude's one of the most prestigious schools in the nation, having had dated a few heiresses from that of Upper East Side descent in his youth, Dan had never really been to a fashion show before. At twenty-eight and living in Brooklyn he liked to shop at tiny thrift shops on his side of the bridge and was a proud fan of pull-over sweaters and plaid.
The whole concept of trends seemed a pointless endeavour to him. He wore what he wanted; fuck everyone else and their opinions. Oddly enough he was inside one of the most prominently buzzed about fashion shows in an Armani suit. No plaid, no pullovers, no jeans.
"Dan!" He turned, scanning the crowds for Jenny, whom he spotted near the front of the row.
"You're next to us," she smiled, patting the seat next to her. At least his girlfriend had placed him next to people who could guide him easily through the night.
"Snazzy, man" Nate flashed his brilliant smile, Dan shrugged in response.
"I was going for successfully modest." To be honest, he called Jenny for fashion advice, who had promptly rushed over with several suits.
He had rolled his eyes and sighed for the duration of the hour but had relented to wearing the one she had picked for him.
"You cannot" she said as he changed into what seemed like his tenth suit, "just show up to one of these things – all well – you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he parried, stepping out of the bathroom. As far as he could tell there was no difference between this suit and the very first one she had tried on.
"It means," she motioned for him to turn, "that flannel and denim haven't been 'in' since 1994."
"There is nothing wrong with my clothing Jen."
"Your opinion, but it is definitely all sorts of wrong for an appearance at a fashion show." She shook her head, pulled another suit from the couch and threw it at him.
"Try this; I think it's the one."
He grumbled, marching into the bathroom, "So what if I don't adhere to a specific set of standards and tastes, it's not like a super huge freakin' deal."
But apparently, when your girlfriend is Blair Waldorf, you can't deny that it's one of the bigger deals. Truthfully he wouldn't be here if she wasn't his – both as a woman and a muse.
If she didn't happen to be the beauty that had designed, created and orchestrated this entire thing he would very well have shown up in faded jeans and a torn sweater. Okay – in that scenario he wouldn't even be here.
Yet another way his life had been changed.
"BLAIR," someone was calling her name. She spit the pin from between her lips and tacked it on the underside of a pant leg. She stood up, brushing the dust from her legs, "good to go." The leggy blonde smiled and walked off to the makeup department.
Dahlia, Tabitha's assistant, pushed past the chaos and took stance in front of Blair, a model behind her. "I've lost the accessory to this dress and I can't find it," she was all but pulling her hair out at the words.
She glanced over the outfit, "don't panic Dahl, that's my job."
The headset buzzed nosily as several on floor assistants reported the guests as they began to file into the tent. The wind had relented since the afternoon but the rain still fluttered towards the ground.
She frantically took the ornament out of her own hair and adjusted it to the model's curls with certainty. One crisis averted.
Dahlia was just one of several people who had come only to take a piece of her frayed calm along with them. Although she was in her element it was as though she were standing naked in the center of Times Square.
There was little time to think, her show was at the point where there was nothing more to do but go with the flow. Six months of work that boiled down to eight hours and one collection. She looked at her watch – five minutes to go.
"Let's go everyone!" She called, feeling anxiety pulse through her. She inhaled deeply. In. Out. And took stance at the front of the line. The models walked past several of her employee's, lint brushes in hand, scanning outfits and fixing loose strands of hair.
She was at the helm, the final stage, and she still felt exposed. Vulnerable. The cue music began and the lights lowered, she adjusted the corner of a blazer before mouthing 'go' as the blonde walked into the flashes and down the runway.
Serena was late as she carefully made her way down the aisle just as the first model moved towards the end of the runway. A man was supporting her, helping move her belly towards the front. There was something familiar about him, as if Dan had spent time around him at some point or another. His name was on the time of his tongue and yet he couldn't ebb it into consciousness.
"Oh my god" Jenny exclaimed, "its Erik and Serena."
Erik, Erik Van Derwoodsen, Serena's little brother? He squinted, trying to place the kid he had known with the man who was quickly approaching. No such luck.
"Hey guys" Serena gushed, plopping into a seat next to him, "man it's packed in here. I think we just saw Madonna."
"And Lourdes," Erik added, although he was older his voice still held the same youthful tone; Serena slowly unclasped her arm from his and settled further into her seat.
"Hey S," Jenny exclaimed, "my god you look just about ready to pop."
She laughed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, "I'll be lucky if I don't have him right on the runway."
Erik unbuttoned his blazer and sat next to her, "Oh but it would be such a fantastic story sis."
"Erik," Nate nodded in his direction, offering his hand, "great to see you."
"You too, so Mr. and Mrs. Archibald huh, I always thought it would happen."
"Oh shush," Jenny whispered, "you did not."
"Dan," he turned, smiling at Serena's brother, who watched him closely, "how are you?"
"Well I'm just fine, and you're all grown up. I barely recognized you."
"Well that is generally what happens" Erik laughed, "and I barely recognized you myself."
With the introductions over, everyone's attention turned to the runway, as a fourth model made her way towards the photographers. On the other side of the stage Dan noted several celebrities, everyone from Lady gaga to that twilight guy.
Weird.
Blair was a real celebrity after all; he supposed he shouldn't feel like a loser. Watching her collection as it was admired by people with real credentials made him want to shout from the rooftops that he loved her. He almost needed everyone to know as it was anyway.
And she was the best thing about him, the best thing to happen to him. Was it too soon to say that, to even think it? It had only been a month and yet he had never been surer of anything.
With Beth it had taken a year and even then as he had said it there was a silent quivering in it, a flimsy unknowing. He had been nervous for the past few weeks – where could a kid from Brooklyn fit into a socialite's life? But as he sat there, surrounded by famous people in ridiculously expensive clothing – he fit – a little awkwardly. But even if it was in a fluke spot he had at least managed to wedge himself somewhere.
Her world was not his own and yet it wasn't as difficult as he dreamed it would be. To adore her, need her. Was it crazy to fall in love so fast?
It was so hard to differentiate these days. As a boy he had always felt that the older somebody got, the stupider they became. Only with the wisdom that supposedly came with age, everyone just decided to call it "being clever."
Maybe all he was doing was being utterly clever about his feelings.
The last model came backstage and down to the end of the line as the applause started, it roared through the air like electricity. Then, all 27 models were making their way down the runway for the last time that night.
The only audible sound to Blair was the pulsing of the blood in her veins as she made her way into the spotlight. She was at the end of the runway, directly behind was her last name, WALDORF DESIGNS.
She was floating on electricity as her pumps met the glossy floor, surrounded and engulfed by the attention. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt from the happiness, the smile that curved her lips as she waved furiously to the crowds.
It was finished. All the stress, late nights, and the coffee she had consumed in efforts to stay awake, and this was it. The end result – the reason behind it all, everything had clicked into place just when she was worried it wouldn't.
She stood at the center of the runway, arm extended and waving, blinded by the flash of cameras. Her smile was brighter than it all; she had been taken from under her rock and given it her all. Back to the sketch board after a few months – how ridiculous was it that she was thinking about winter designs in the very minute she was enjoying the coming of spring?
And she looked for Dan in the sea of faces and found him looking up at her. Grinning, he nodded once and she half-curtsied in response, drinking in his smile as she counted breaths and spoke.
"Thank you everyone, thank you."
With those words she turned and moved towards backstage, the loud applause heightening as she exited. The best feeling in the world that nothing could ever replace and it was all hers to display and covet, hold as close as she could for days to come.
"But the paparazzi?" her hand clutched his tighter, a swift laugh falling from her lips. The light caught the apples in her cheeks perfectly, Blair was radiant.
"Fuck the paparazzi, this isn't about them – it's about us."
His mouth opened slightly, to his recollection that was the first time he had heard her swear. In his presence she had yet to utter anything more than a distracted 'frack.'
"Are you sure?" She turned to him, took his other hand in hers and brushed a soft kiss to his lips.
"I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life."
She stepped forward, holding his elbow as they made their way down the staircase. It was a matter of seconds before everyone in the room was glued to their movement. And then the applause started, breaking through the awkward film of judgement.
He glanced at Jenny, standing silently next to Nate, who had just finished piling a sausage roll into his mouth.
Blair grabbed two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and handed one to Dan. She held up her glass as an employee passed her a microphone. The rumbling noise quieting gradually as she started to speak.
"I'd just like to say that tonight was absolutely amazing," he stood there awkwardly as she continued, "and I could hardly have done it without my team. So this is to you, and a wonderful show that didn't go bottoms up – unlike the champagne."
Gentle chuckles erupted as she bent to put the mic on the floor, intertwining her hand with his once again as she downed the contents of her glass. Whispering low in his ear, "and to my boyfriend," her teeth bit his earlobe discreetly, "thank-you."
He nodded; as his heart skipped a beat.
On the Upper East Side, at an after party where class and money feigned precedence over humanity, he had found the one thing he needed the most. A void that he didn't even know existed, until she had filled it.
Serena winced. The baby had wedged his heel underneath her ribcage and was presently sitting on her bladder - she really, really needed to pee. The last twenty five minutes had been spent idly chatting up Dan and Blair, Blair and Dan – the couple.
It was beyond weird, like she had stepped into some kind of alternate universe. And yet there they were, being happy in each other's arms, and after the initial shock had worn off there seemed to be naturalness to it.
The way he watched her; the tender caresses on her bare flesh, Serena grinned idiotically at the thought. It was exactly the way Alex still looked at her, even after several years of marriage.
She needed air, needed a moment to catch her breath and recollect her thoughts. So she had excused herself from the conversation and clambered into the street.
Currently standing as she was, on the sidewalk, clutching her purse and drinking in the fresh night air.
It was just then that Benjamin decided to play with her bladder and kick at her abdomen with surprising force. She leaned against the wall, using it to support her weight. Her skin was taunt over her bones and she was consistently uncomfortable.
The last few weeks were always the hardest.
Erik had suggested taking her home in the cab ride over but she had adamantly refused. He didn't push. She needed to apologize to Blair – to bridge the gap she had created by imposing Chuck's memory on the tabletop during their lunch.
God, what a bitch she had been to do that. What was she even thinking? Oh yeah, of course Blair will want him back, that's why she hasn't talked to him in eight years. Of course all they need is a little push and some 'parent trap' scenarios – that would fix everything.
She was with Dan, and happy. It didn't matter how many years they had spent apart – Serena would always know true happiness when she saw it in Blair's eyes. It managed to grow inside of her like a blooming tulip during spring.
She was beautiful.
And they were all supposed to be grown ups. Bass, brother or not, had made his own decisions. Choices that had led to the severing of Chuck & Blair the couple, and she would have to suck up her major dislike of Abrams if she wanted to build a tolerance for the woman.
She couldn't just throw a tantrum – try to stick her nose in places it didn't belong – when it really was none of her damn business.
Pregnant with her third child and she still acted like a seventeen year old sometimes.
"Sis" looking up from her feet she moved quickly to steady herself, rolling backwards a little, "sis are you okay?"
No.
"Chuck?" his hand fell to the small of her back, guiding her as she stood up straight. He took her purse and tucked it in his coat pocket, "what are you doing here?!"
She was panicking. Please, please, please tell me you aren't here for who I think you're here for.
"What do you mean?" he cocked an eyebrow.
Ugh, trying to play dumb, really? She was pregnant – not blind or stupid.
"Chuck, don't" she seethed, "really."
"I really have no idea as to what you're talking about Serena; I'm here to see Vanessa."
Smooth, like honey. Damn his conversational skills and charm. Damn him, damn him.
"Bullshit. The name on that door is Waldorf, and I know you can read."
He turned his lips downward in a lopsided frown, "my intentions are entirely innocent."
She adjusted her coat, sucking in a breath, "oh right, because showing up at your ex-girlfriends when you're getting married is innocent! Thanks for clearing that one up."
She grimaced – apparently Ben thought he was a soccer player - or gearing up for some kind of physical sport straight out of the womb.
"Look, forget it" he answered sharply and with concern, "You never answered me. Are you alright?"
She pushed him away, huffing, "Ben's kicking a lot that's all."
He nodded once, his trademark scarf blowing in the wind.
"You look cold S; you shouldn't be out here, much less attending this particular event."
She turned her chin up, "Well I am."
"Evidently," he breathed, "let's get you inside."
She pushed at his chest, "no. You can give me my purse and I'll go inside. You can get right back into your limo and wait for Vanessa back at the hotel."
She grabbed her clutch from his pocket, flashing a quick smile before turning towards the entrance.
"She's dating someone" she said gently, "Dan actually. Waldorf and Humphrey." She turned to look at him, "you need to stop hoping she'll come back to you."
He was still as stone, his hands in his pockets, the brisk air tugging at his scarf and rustling his hair in every direction. She hated this – having to tell him – but he needed to know. Needed to move on and try to be happy with his life.
Their era together as the reigning king and queen of the Upper East Side had officially ended, even if it had taken ten years. He needed to accept it.
Authors note: Hihihihihihihihi guys! I have no internet at the moment but I finally am managing to update :D In other news, hrm, so there's a bit to digest there but basically it's just Dan and Blair being all lalala happy (AS THEY SHOULD BE!) and of course Chuckness. Hrm. Theories thoughts? And I think it would be pretty incredible if I got some reviews so … leave me one, please? (: (: