A/N: As the chapter title would suggest, this is the final installment in this epic (alright, maybe not epic, I flatter myself) series-of-drabbles-that-somewhere-along-the-line-turned-into-a-real-story. I feel all nostalgic and sniffly. I will miss writing this. Twenty-nine chapters is a lot of chapters, guys.

I really hope you all enjoyed reading this a fraction of the amount that I enjoyed writing it. I'm so thankful for all your reviews and feedback, they really make my day sometimes. /cheesiness


His friends had been throwing him surprise birthday parties on the seventeenth of August every year since he turned nine, but genuine shock at the gesture never failed to register with Nate.

Not just the gesture was grand, however. Blair plus Chuck plus Serena plus an intense desire to please (and who wouldn't have an intense desire to please Nate, after all?) made for the kind of nights that later turned into Manhattan urban legends.

But honestly, who could blame him for doubting? After all, they'd already thrown him eight life-changing shindigs. What were the odds they liked him enough plan yet another?

Pretty solid, apparently.

"Wow," Nate said, looking around at all the people gathered in the Bass' backyard—about half of whom he'd never seen in his life, "This is a really big party." Blair grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Of course it is," she said, as if Nate were the densest creature to ever walk the earth. Blair smiled at him infectiously. "Just wait until you see the cake." But Nate was already distracted by a tall, skinny man-figure holding a guitar and a microphone about thirty feet away.

Nate gasped. "Holy shit!" Blair glanced up, her smile growing even wider. "You got the Virgins?" he asked, voice cracking audibly in, well, awe. She waved her hand dismissively.

"Chuck's idea," she told him. The comment fell on deaf ears, as Nate had already begun to wander in the direction of his third-favorite band on the entire planet. On stage! In Chuck's backyard! For his birthday!!

!!

Life can be rather surreal at times when you're Nate Archibald.

"Happy nineteenth birthday, Nathan!" yelled a gorgeous bikini-clad redhead as she brushed past him.

"You're not Nathan." The coy voice came in from somewhere around his left ear.

Serena!

Nate whirled around and grabbed her waist, pulling her in close by his side.

"Hi," he breathed, and pointed, grinning maniacally, at the stage.

"You're not nineteen, either, but I got you a present anyways," Serena informed him, leaning in for a kiss. Nate willingly obliged.

"I'm seventeen," he said, and then, "wow, that's really old."

"You're the youngest of us all, Natie." Serena reached up and pinched his cheek playfully. "Stop complaining."

Nate couldn't seem to force his mouth into not smiling. The Virgins called him up onto the stage, and he brought a sharpie. They signed his stomach. It was awesome. (Like he needed to tell people that.)

Even Vanessa came to his party, sitting at the makeshift bar, chatting with Is and a severely tipsy Penelope. All three of them wished him a happy birthday! Vanessa! (Is and Penelope he saw all the time, but hanging out with Vanessa?) Maybe his party was forging friendships! Okay, maybe they were all just more intoxicated then he'd originally guessed. Not the point.

He sat on the edge of the pool with Chuck, passing a joint back and forth. They marveled together at how trusty the floating blue raft in the water was—how could something so transparent and vinyl hold so many drunken teenagers at once?

And then Serena was back, with a tiny black velvet bag tied with a clear blue ribbon. Nate briefly wondered if she'd gotten him jewelry of some sort. (Blair had, once. It was odd.)

She'd bought him a boat. The bag just held the keys. (No big deal, just a boat.)

It was the best party Nate had ever seen.

And when he blew out the candles at midnight, he squeezed his eyes shut and made just one wish.

That it would stay like this forever. All of it.


A/N: Awwwwhh, I'm so legitimately sad for this to be over! (My emotions are sort-of how I imagine it feels to send a child off into the world, or something. Wow, I'm lame.)