Intense chapter, guys. . .

The first time he had bought her flowers, he was seventeen and naïve. Not a single of the red roses ever reached her. He had thrown all of them but one, which he offered to the interior designer Lily introduced to them.

I'm Chuck Bass.

Then when Gossip Girl announced Blair would be returning from Europe, he tried to appear unaffected. Having wasted away his summer without her. But he couldn't be indifferent. And this time they were yellow roses, beautiful and golden, and yet again she did not touch them. In the shadows, he had met her triumphant eyes as she smiled and kissed someone else.

It did not take long for them to play their games again, chasing each other in circles, halting every now and then and turning. They had agreed to wait for the right time, although he doubts now how much he truly meant that. And then his father died, leaving him an orphan. He pushed everyone away, disappeared to Bangkok, and was dragged back a month later by Jack Bass.

"I'm Chuck Bass!" he yelled. From the edge of the rooftop, in his drunken stupor, he could barely make out the blurry lights, the faces of Blair and Jack.

"No one cares."

She, against the cold of the winter wind, stepped forward and looked up at him. "I do," she told him, raising her voice. "Can't you see? I care."

That had been a long time ago. The next time he purchased her flowers, it had been for an apology, for choosing his fears and vices above her when she did not deserve it. He remembers her saying she had had enough of it, that only he didn't believe in himself. But most of all, he remembers her throwing his flowers into the elevator, just missing his foot, as the doors closed in on him.

--

Today he decides to give it another shot. This time the bouquet is composed of purple orchids, vibrant and light, because he knows will always white flowers pale next to her. He wants to cheer her up a bit, considering how disheartened she seemed a few nights ago.

He steps out of the elevator, controls the growing grin on his face, and steps out confidently. When he bought them the suite, he requested personally that security be private. This is where they are most safe.

The key is inserted and removed, the door swung open and shut quietly.

"Blair?"

He walks into the bedroom where she is still, her eyes on the television screen, watching, and it takes only a few moments for him to realize it's his face on the screen. He hears Carter Baizen's voice. And then he knows exactly what this is.

"Oh, God. Turn it off, Blair." She glances at him expressionless and ignores him. "Blair, turn it off, don't watch this—I'm going to kill him, the bastard—"

He can only stand here, watching along with her, but knowing every terrible word coming. No clues can be seen on her face. Not one. She sits there quiet and still and attentive.

"She is one of my oldest friends."

"You can go with that."

"I suppose you have your own idiotic theory, then."

"You're still in love with her."

Chuck is frozen on the spot, breathing shallowly, and for a brief second he is amazed at the composure of his face on television.

"Was I ever?"

And he recalls that conversation with his mind running desperately ahead, fumbling. He looks up and curses. Blair still doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He knows this is the worst kind of reaction from her.

"Please. I never loved her. It was a game."

"Where did you get that tape?"

"It was delivered. " Her tone is evenly smooth. "With love, from Carter."

The dread almost knocks the air out of him; his fingers are shaking in anger.

"Baizen."

"I'm glad he did, though."

"What?"

"Makes me realize how stupid I'd been."

"About what?" he asks loudly.

Blair stands and throws her hands into the air, surprising him.

"Everything! Carter Baizen knows about this, and given how much he hates you for sending him away years ago, this won't stay with him for long." And then, as if weary, adds, "I think part of you meant what you said."

"I only said that to rebuff him," he bites out. "I swear to you, it was a lie."

"It's not the first time you said that."

"I lied then too."

When she looks up to him, he finds her eyes teary and doubtful, and it wrenches his gut to see her this way again. A tiny quiver on her lip betrays her. He knows everything in her is fighting not to crack.

This is it, he thinks. However painful this whole affair has been for him, at least they were partly together. But there would be no more chances for him.

The video breaks off suddenly, and a new scene emerges. It's Carter fucking Baizen with that stupid smirk on his face.

"You were right, Bass," he says. "But I hope you don't mind my little. . .present. Oh and before I forget, Mrs. Archibald—well done. "

He clicks off. The room is now heavy with silence and darkness, and he wants to say something to try and salvage all this. But whatever he tells her, it won't change. And anyway, he is rendered speechless by the fury threatening to burst out of him, at her, at Carter, at himself.

"Blair—"

She cuts him off. "I don't need to hear it. We have to end this, Chuck. There's no other option."

"There is. I'll find Baizen, I'll blackmail him or bribe his silence—whatever he wants. He clearly just wants something and it won't be hard to find out what it is."

"But he's dangerous," she retorts. "He can reveal this in a whim! And who knows, maybe if he knows, then someone else knows too."

He throws the flowers across the room with one hand; it lands scattered across the corner of the room, a mess of color. "You're being a coward."

"And you're one to judge?"

"I said I'd fight for this. At one little scare you decide to just pack up and leave and pretend nothing ever happened. We can fix this."

"Chuck, we can't."

He knew it, feared it even. Yet hearing her say those words sting more than he could have imagined.

"Don't leave." His own tongue feels dry at his sharp words; she's already begun to gather the few things she brought here in the first place, and head out the suite. The fire in him wants to burst in fury. "We can fix this! If there's anyone who could, it's us."

"Fix what?' she demands, storming out into the hallway with Chuck following her. "This isn't even a real relationship! It's a game like you said, Chuck."

She will never know how much those words sting.

"All you want is an excuse to leave," he snaps angrily. A few guests passing through are staring, but he spares them no glance. "Admit it. You've been waiting for something like this to happen."

She stops abruptly and turns back at him, eyes haunting. When she speaks she speaks in a quiet and disgusted tone.

"You're sick."

"Come on. You're scared, and you're too much of a coward to actually end things. So you wait for something like this, and look now—it's a perfect excuse!"

"Did you really think I would leave Nate and Sophie for you?"

"Then why let this happen for so long?"

"I don't know."

He steps closer and grabs the bag from her roughly. Her eyes are shining. "Answer me."

"I don't know! I shouldn't have succumbed to this. I shouldn't have."

She wrings her bag from his grasp, turning on her heels for the elevator. Her finger reaches out for the button, but instead, finds itself pressing the back of his hand. He isn't going to her walk away just like this. Not so easily. This is real to him and it is to her too; he knows she is lying to protect herself.

He finds her staring at him silently. As if asking him to remove his hand, which he refuses.

"I know you love Nate, and I know you love your daughter. I know you mean the world to them. But you know what? I love you too. They don't get to have you all to themselves because of a few papers you signed. It's not fair."

He wants to tell her he loved her even then, even when he couldn't say it. But he was a boy and now he's a man and he said it. That's the difference.

Her eyes widen. He pulls himself straight, his hand still firm over the arrowed button, his breaths the only noise aside from muffled sounds throughout the hall. His confession rings in his mind, already telling him how much of a mistake it was, how idiotic he acted. But if it keeps her here, even just for this night, it will be worth it.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out now, shaking her head. "It was stupid of me—thinking I could have both of you. But I don't want them to have to go through this. This is a mistake. And it's over, Chuck. We saw this coming."

God damn it. All of this. His eyes scan her struggling features, the suppressed blanket of emotions she is hiding, the determination. He cannot stop her from leaving.

Reluctantly, he stands aside and removes his hand stiffly. Avoids her looks of pending regret, as she lights the figure of an arrow pointing down. They stand apart like this, walls up higher than ever on this final night, and he feels his hands thrust themselves into his pockets roughly.

"I'm tired of this too. The secrecy, the guilt, the lies—"

"You said you didn't want it to end."

"I didn't."

"Then why are you making it look so damn easy to leave?"

As a sign of defiance, he doesn't move. He stands there looking at her blankly, feeling smoke replacing the fury in his bones, even as the elevator doors open up and she steps in, the doors closing in on her.

Almost a decade ago, he had stepped into an elevator with flowers at his feet, watching her face. The doors closed in on him. Now it's the other way around.

And the flowers this time lay a mess on the corner of their bedroom.