Wires

by nl7

"They were the same hard liquor, burning down your throat and to your core and to your brain." When Blair walks back into Chuck's life, the world comes to a screeching halt. Games will be played, tempers will be tested, thirsts will be quenched, and two sparks will go up in flames. AU, Chuck and Blair at boarding school.

13. Holding Me Under

Chapter 13: Holding Me Under

We might kiss when we are alone.

When nobody's watching, we might take it home.

We might make out when nobody's there.

It's not that we're scared, it's just that it's delicate.

We might live like never before.

When there's nothing to give, well how can we ask for more?

We might make love in some sacred place.

The look on your face is delicate.

- Delicate by Damien Rice

:::

February 8th, 2008: Dexter Hall Dormitories

There was some sort of odd satisfaction in waking up before Chuck did. Blair was an avid romantic, no matter how unfortunate that fact was, so she couldn't help herself when she leaned up on one elbow and stared down at Chuck Bass, whose lips were slightly parted, a faint crease between his brows as he slept. He still wore his dress pants from the night before, black slacks that rode low just slightly to reveal his silk, navy boxers. Blair bit down on one lip, which was still slightly swollen from the way he'd kissed her the night before, again and again for every time Harrison had so much as looked in her direction. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, revealing just a bit of the hair on his chest. Blair lifted a hand, passed her fingertips just above his skin and inhaled. His lips twitched in his sleep, and Blair smiled, leaned in until she was just a breath away.

Blair had met a boy months ago, one who'd promised her games and nothing more. Now here she was, in bed with a man who had told her he loved her on the night prior, a man who had thrust her into a chaos that only he could save her from, a man who...who now had his eyes open, a smile on his lips.

"See something you like?"

Blair yanked away, eyes widening in horror as a now fully-alert Chuck Bass stared back at her, sleepy hazel eyes alight with mischief. He stretched his arms out, curled into her, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her forearm in a way that made Blair tremble beneath her skin.

"Bass." Blair narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms over her silk robe, the dainty white nightie underneath. The room was still dark, and the cover of dimness made Blair pull closer to Chuck, despite her annoyance. "You were awake, and you let me..."

"I allowed you to continue stalking me," Chuck quipped, touching her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "You seemed to be enjoying it so much." He laughed, a startlingly authentic chuckle that brought a small smile onto Blair's lips. And then he had her waist wrapped up in two of his hands, and they were both sinking back into Blair's soft sheets. "It's amusing when you watch me, Waldorf. You get so wistful, like you're the star of your own little classic." He raised a brow, toyed with the lapel of her robe, slid a fingertip across the skin underneath. "If only Audrey could see you now."

Blair frowned, pinched Chuck's shoulder until he begrudgingly released her. In a low huff she whispered, "I'm no longer acknowledging you."

"Good," Chuck murmured against the back of her neck. "It's five in the morning. I have to maintain my classic good looks somehow." She didn't need to see the devilish smirk to know that it was there. "Wouldn't want to leave you without something to stare at."

Blair meant to hit him, she really did, but when she lifted a hand, he hooked himself around her, pulled her against the crook of his slumbered front. Sometimes this—him, the way he touched her, the way they so flawlessly fit into one another—it overwhelmed her senses, made her lose sight of anything before Chuck. She thought of dates and parties and brunches that had once been clouded over with fantasies about Nate, competitions against Serena—through it all, she now saw Chuck in the background. He was a page she had somehow skipped over, and now...she couldn't be bothered to remember the beginning or fathom how it all ended. Chuck Bass was her favorite part.

Blair smiled at the thought as she drifted back to sleep. She'd felt haunted when she first arrived at Briar, had spent more than a few sleepless nights up late with romance novels and nighttime television because she was afraid of where sleep might take her. But the nightmares came less often now, and never when she slept beside Chuck. There weren't contorted faces or pieces of twisted porcelain anymore. Instead, she...was home again.

The dream was hazy, her vision was filtered through a cloud of thin smoke as she took a few light steps into the Waldorf penthouse, still dressed in her Briar uniform. The halls were as gray as fog got when it wrapped around the East River after rain, and she knew that this could not be real. But she carried on anyway, trailed her fingers across portrait-less walls, climbed the grand staircase in silence. When she reached the top, her door was slightly ajar, light from her room spilling out and into the hallway. She pressed her hand against the wood, stepped inside, and found violet bursting from ever corner of the room. Her bed sheets screamed royal, and an array of collectible dolls and accessories were shelved and on display. Blair frowned. Her room hadn't looked like this since her mother's third remodel, and that had been—

"Oh my God." Blair lost her breath when another girl appeared before her, brown curls bouncing as she turned away from the vanity at the front of the room to glance back at Blair. It was...her. Or, a younger version of her. This Blair was short and more petite, her cheeks a bit rounder. But even at eleven, her lipgloss was flawless, her expression severe, her eyes ruthless.

The miniature Blair frowned, dropped the brush in her hand. "You're...me."

"Actually," the real Blair clarified, "You're me." She patted down her navy kilt, pursed her lips before taking a seat at the foot of her old bed. "I'm older than you. I'm..." Blair trailed off in slight disbelief. Why was she explaining herself to this hallucination? "I'm seventeen now."

"Oh," the mini-Blair murmured. She resumed what she was doing, went back to fiddling with something atop her vanity counter. The real Blair huffed at her blatant dismissal, stood up to peer at what she was doing. In her smaller, ruddier palms was a golden, heart-shaped trinket. She played with it for a moment, clasped it into a jewel-encrusted pin and smiled.

"Oh," the older Blair realized. "You're still in love with Nate."

The miniature Blair whipped her head up. "What are you trying to say?"

"I mean, you're going to give that to him, aren't you? You take the ruby ring, you give him your...heart." The real Blair shook her head, realized how silly it sounded now. "I'm just saying that you shouldn't bother with the formalities. And you most definitely shouldn't string yourself along with Nate. It's going to end badly, and you're going to ask for it back."

The younger Blair stifled a gasp. "You screwed it up for us, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" The real Blair let out a bitter laugh. "If you'd deign to get over your own insolence, you'd realize that we're the same person. Whatever I've already done, you're going to do, too. It doesn't work with Nate. I was a child then. There are other things, bigger things than sitting at his lacrosse games and getting grass stains on your Chanel. I didn't know what it meant to fall so madly, to fall so deeply for another person then—not with Nate. But I do now."

"You sound weak."

The real Blair curled her hand into a fist, caught sight of a photograph framed atop her old nightstand, two brunettes and a golden blonde having a picnic in Central Park. The print only served to infuriate her more. "Nate fucks Serena. He fucks your best friend. Does that screw it up enough for you?"

"Why are you acting like this? You're like...unhinged." The miniature Blair let out a crisp sigh. She sat up from the vanity, walked her older doppelgänger back until the real Blair fell onto the bed. "And…why are you dressed that way? That's not the Constance uniform."

"Which would make sense," Blair murmured. "Seeing as how I don't attend Constance anymore. I was sent away, not that it's any of your business yet."

"My God," the smaller Blair mocked, bringing her hands together in a slow, taunting clap. "Congratulations. You've officially become Serena." Her prepubescent features crinkled into a heavy frown. "Or worse...that drunken fool, Chuck Bass."

"Don't talk about him that way."

"Why do you care?"

Blair narrowed her eyes, and the girl mirrored her expression exactly. Was it even possible to out-bitch herself? Why was she getting so worked up, anyway? Soon, she'd wake up, and this would be nothing but a bizarre nightmare.

"Because you...I fall for Chuck Bass. I fall for the debauchery, the madness in his eyes, the leering, the snarky comments, the idiotic scarf he wears, the bowties he somehow manages to pull off. I fall for the way he loves his mother, even if it's breaking him down, even if loving her pulled him under. I fall for the way he makes me so furious that I can't even see straight, then brings me pleasure just the same. I fall for him irrevocably," Blair took a deep breath. "And he tells me that he loves me. Chuck Bass loves me."

The other girl was quiet for a moment, and through the panic, the exasperation, Blair could feel consciousness slipping over her once again. The image began to fade, and she stumbled back, but still, she could faintly hear, "And what did you say?" Then, "Did you...say it back?"

Blair paused. "No, I didn't. I mean, I haven't. Not yet, at least."

She saw the curve of her own lips smile back at her, saw her own cold reflection saying, "Good. Because he's going to break your heart."

The words echoed across her mind, whispered to her again and again, a horrific melody ringing in her ear. Because he's going to break your heart. Because he's going to—

"Waldorf?

Blair sat up in bed, fighting for breath as if she were a fish out of water. Her fingertips dug into the flurry of sheets beside her. She felt a hand on her back, Chuck's palm set against her thin robe, then up across the fabric to press into the back of her neck. Blair tensed, dropped her face into hands as she tried to calm herself down. "Waldorf," she heard him whisper again, closer to her face, breath hot on the curve of her ear. "Talk to me. Breathe. Is it like before, when we were kids?" He was being so gentle, and so considerate. It made the entire situation even headier than before. But before she could react, she heard her phone chime from across the room, saw her screen flash bright in the midst of early morning shadows. Chuck let her go, watched as she picked up.

"Mother," Blair murmured. She cast a glance at Chuck, rolled her eyes at him, jerked her hand up in an impatient gesture. "This is a...surprise." Blair cleared her throat, returned to her previous perch in front of Chuck. Whether it was a pleasant surprise or a potentially catastrophic one, she didn't know.

"Blair, what is going on?" Ah, catastrophic it was.

"You'll have to be more specific," Blair sighed into the receiver. As she spoke, she pressed the phone between her ear and shoulder, undid her robe until it pooled around her waist. She could feel Chuck's eyes trained on the nape of her neck, and she decided to toy with him, allowed her midnight black Bordelle nightie to slip from one shoulder. Blair was pleased to hear a sharp intake of breath from Chuck as her mother barked commands to some service staff in French. She felt his lips on her shoulder soon after, and she closed her eyes, fell backwards until her back was flush against his chest.

"Your headmistress called me," Eleanor droned as if she couldn't even be bothered to have this conversation. "She explained that there's some sort of trouble you've been involved with. Parties in the woods, frolicking with boys in school hallways. Blair, this was supposed to be a learning lesson for you, a prestigious institution where you could gather your thoughts, center yourself, remember that all of the drama isn't worth the price of your future."

"I would hardly call being attacked by a psychopathic rapist—frolicking."

"I thought," Eleanor continued airily, "that after you refocused, you'd be able to return to Constance for your final semester next year, graduate with your peers, save face in front of the people who will determine your future." At these words, Blair froze. Behind a wall of ivy, tucked into a nothingness beneath miles and miles of brambles and bushes, it was so easy to forget that life existed beyond Briar. She did have a future—at Yale, wearing pearls to seminar, having brunch with society's finest on the quad every weekend. And high school, even one as secluded and lavish as this one, would just be a memory.

"Return to—" Blair cut off, realizing that Chuck's lips had halted in their path across her collarbone. He was now peering at her curiously, head cocked to one side as Blair contemplated the appropriate response. "That all sounds fine, Mother. I'm not in any trouble. I'm just...adjusting. It was a big change, nearly uncalled for—"

"Yes, well, that's life, Blair. It's good that you get used to such changes while you're young." She heard Eleanor bark off more orders, a sharp contrast to Chuck's soft, naughty murmurs against her ear. His hand wrapped around her shoulder, dragged down to her hip. Chuck kissed her cheek, just under the curve of her chin, and Blair struggled to stave off a soft whimper. Until her mother spoke again. "You know, Serena made the front of the society pages."

Blair paused, narrowed her eyes. "Oh."

"She's been visiting the penthouse so often..." Eleanor trailed off, feigning nonchalance. But Blair immediately knew what she was doing, knew the voice of someone who was proving the point without uttering the actual words. "I've had her wear my designs out to her events. She has the stature of a model, and the poise of all of those other socialites. Seeing her there, so matured, made me think of how proud Lily must be."

Blair wasn't sure if Chuck could hear her mother's words through the veil of her hair, the broken reception of her cell. But it was almost as if he knew, as if he could sense her need the moment she drew in a breath, pressed her lips tightly together. He hushed her, ceased his sexual advances in favor of laying them both down. Blair closed her eyes, pressed her shoulder against his and murmured, "Did you call me for a reason, Mother?"

"I did," Eleanor sighed once more. "About that dinner for the parents of Briar..."

"It's a brunch," Blair corrected.

"Yes, well, I won't be able to make it. Cyrus and I are staying at this wonderful little waterfront chateau in Vienna. It's a marvelous change in scenery. You should really consider doing something more worldly with your spare time, Blair. Of course, you'll have to do the best with your existing resources at Briar, but—"

It was more than what Blair could take. In life, despite her social ranking, despite her class order, she was always a step below on the footstool, a diamond just one karat less. She had waded in still waters for so long, waiting for Eleanor to pull her through.

But there were other seas, Blair decided. Murkier, yes. But she preferred to drown in familiar waters than to sink in toxic waste.

So just as Eleanor was in the middle of listing yet another reason why Blair was such a major disappointment, Blair rolled her eyes and ended the call, dropped her phone, let it skid across the floor. And then she stared up at the ceiling, grateful that Chuck didn't have to look at her to understand why her heart didn't quite beat as fast as those of others.

"That was the mother of the year," Blair smirked, eyes still trained above her. "She was calling to announce that she won't be in attendance at the brunch on Sunday." She shifted, rubbed her shoulder against his, just to touch him, just to feel him there. He was the most unstable man she'd ever met, but somehow, she could only find reassurance in him. "Because nothing says family like an absent mother."

"What a coincidence," Chuck drawled. "Father Dearest is skipping out as well. Perhaps they've plotted something together." He teased her this time, kissed her neck, pulled her skin between his lips until he bruised beyond her skin. She moaned and he went on, down below her collarbone, whispering between kisses, "You know, I could...go for the whole stepsister thing if it was you." Blair rolled her eyes, felt him smile against the curve of her breast.

"Does anything innocent ever occur to you?"

Chuck feigned contemplation. "No."

"Of course not," Blair huffed. "God forbid you be considered a nice guy."

"That sounds...immensely boring," Chuck commented with a dismissive little wave. He perched up on one elbow, glanced across the room at Jenny's still-made bed. "It seems like we've permanently scared Humphrey away." He spread his fingers out over Blair's stomach and smiled. "Spend the day with me."

Blair shook her head. "Why?"

"There's no agenda, Waldorf," Chuck smirked. "At this point, I believe that I've made it pretty clear that I enjoy your company."

"As you have with other things," Blair hinted, alluding to his confession from the night before. But Chuck only stared back at her, and the madness that had previously struck him was now gone. Perhaps he had multiple personalities, Blair thought to herself. That certainly explained the brooding, pouty-lipped James Dean on some days and the suave, smooth-tongued James Bond on others. Fantastic. She had fallen for not one, but two sociopaths. She really should've considered breaking this off, if only for the sake of her mental health.

Chuck raised his eyebrows and turned up his lips at the same time, looking infuriatingly attractive. Blair frowned back at him. How did he do that? How had she not noticed the smolder before? Blair sighed aloud this time. Perhaps she would consider her mental health on a latter date. Which reminded her...

"I'm not going to ditch a whole day of classes, Chuck," Blair protested, hopping up from bed. Chuck groaned at the loss of contact, stretched his arms out to come up with nothing. "Besides, thanks to our little stunt, Mrs. Reginald has ordered mandatory meetings to ensure my emotional stability and healing. If I fail to comply, the action will result in a—" Blair crinkled her nose "—a suspension."

He chuckled then. "Waldorf, make that facial expression again."

Blair crossed her arms, cocked one hip. "Get out of my room."

"And miss the sight of you rolling up those knee-highs and buttoning that...sinfully angelic schoolgirl Oxford of yours?" Chuck pondered this with one finger on his chin. "No thank you. Your conversation with Eleanor did, however prompt an interesting idea. I think you'll want to hear it."

"Oh?"

"Why should we be present and parent-less at such a family-oriented event when..." Chuck trailed off, pulled out his cell phone to begin making arrangements. "I have a much more unsupervised alternative in mind?"

:::

February 9th, 2008: The Courtyard

"Yes, yes, so much yes," Diana yelped, clapping her hands together before Blair could conclude her play-by-play of their recently-made weekend arrangements. They were sitting out by the courtyard, sipping hot chocolates as their peers milled about, utterly oblivious to what they were planning. While the others would be hiding their stashes of booze and debauchery, practicing their finest mindless grins, they would be heading off to the city, clinking flutes of champagne, en route to a palace. Well, Chuck's palace, at least.

"That's sick," Damien agreed, nudging Diana's arm.

"How very concise of both you," Blair murmured. "I can see why you get along so well with Diana, Damien. You two just have such a way with words."

"That's just B bringing out the verbal abuse when she's excited," Diana announced, tugging at the scarf around Blair's neck. "Why do you think she and Chuck are always fighting?" Diana laughed at Blair's scowl and tugged again. But when she felt for the material, it wasn't Blair's usual silky Hermes. This one was thicker, knit and woven, nothing Blair would be caught dead in unless—Diana remembered Chuck's bare neck at breakfast that morning—it was a gift. "Well then," Diana murmured pointedly, smirking at Blair's fingers, which were now fiddling with material. "That's quite a scarf, Blair."

Blair sighed. "Do you realize that you're not as cute or as sly as you think you are?"

This time, Damien chimed in. "Man, that looks exactly like the one Chuck was sporting when I first met him. And he hasn't been able to part with it since. I mean, he doesn't even let me touch it, but I guess that someone's whipped now."

Diana grinned at Blair. "Looks like he's not the only one."

"Hilarious," Blair drawled, clasping her hands atop her lap. "Especially coming from a boy who spouts soliloquies every time a mousy little blonde so much as breathes in your direction, Damien." Blair shot him a cheerful smile. "And yes, Chuck told me about the tights."

"Tights? What tights?" Jenny suddenly appeared behind Damien, hands filled with a pile of textbooks and notepads. Damien cursed under his breath as he got up to peck Jenny's wind-kissed cheek. Jenny closed her eyes, leaned into his lips, then proceeded to dump the pile into his hands—nearly knocking the breath out of him.

"Thank you for the announcement, Blair," Damien groaned, setting the pile down on one of the stone benches beside them. "I really appreciated that."

Blair smiled again, but it was slightly kinder now, as if they had reached some sort of even ground. "Anytime, Dalgaard."

"Was that too heavy?" Jenny frowned. "Sorry. Winter finals are kicking my butt, especially in the design program. I feel like I'm dying."

"As do I with all of this complaining," Blair retorted. "Honestly, Jenny. Finals aren't until two weeks from now, and we have much bigger issues to attend to. So quit moping. It's depressing."

Jenny glanced up in disbelief and tucked a strayed strand of blonde away from her face. "Bigger issues than my scholarship? You guys...get one failed test, one awful grade, and you have nothing to lose. But I have to keep up, balance all of this stuff...and it's hard. It's really difficult, and I'm not like you guys. I'm not like any of you." Silence followed her words, and even Blair was forced to shift uncomfortably at the blonde's admission. It was easy to forget that Jenny was struggling, difficult to look past things that shone so brightly in their eyes. Jenny didn't want their sympathy, but they would never understand her. She looked around at her group of new friends, blue eyes wide. How long would it be until she was just that poor girl who used to supply the yogurt?

"Well, I can't argue with that," Diana offered, hoping to ease the tension. "But I can offer a distraction that'll possibly outmatch Damien's tights."

"Damien's wearing tights?" Ethan chimed in, appearing at the helm of the cobblestoned path that led back up to the Main Hall. He tossed a football in the air then caught it again with swift fingers. Behind him, Eric and Chuck were engaged in conversation. But the moment he caught Blair's eye, Eric's words were lost on him. It wasn't a full-blown smile—no, Chuck wasn't capable of that. But his features did brighten, and his gaze pulled from her flushed face to her little skirt, the red tights beneath them. Even the tin man had his vices, Blair supposed.

"Thanks for telling Blair about the tights, you prick." Damien grumbled in Chuck's general direction. But he halted his complaints when he realized that his friend was already seated beside the object of his infatuation, making some comment about her ponytail, and how convenient it would be to— "No," Damien quickly cut in, using one hand to cover his ear, using his other to cover Jenny's in mock protection. "We're not interested in hearing a play-by-play. This happens every time."

"You two take PDA to the next level," Diana seconded, throwing a tiny piece of gravel at the couple, who were clearly ignoring their protests.

"All in favor of a ban on eye-sex?" Eric offered, raising his hand. Ethan smirked, but after a rough shove from Eric, he begrudgingly agreed. Diana and Damien quickly followed suit. And after a moment of hesitation, Jenny waved her fingertips in the air, avoiding Blair's severe glare that practically hissed, traitor. While pounding an imaginary gavel through the air, Eric huffed, "Ban on eye-sex approved."

"Ban on eye-sex ignored," Chuck immediately countered, shamelessly using his own scarf to tug Blair closer.

"I—" Blair cut off, refusing to allow Chuck to fluster her this way. She placed her hand flat on his chest, pressed the heel of one Louboutin flat on the ground, quickly followed by the other. "We are partaking in no such activity," Blair sniffed. "It's just Chuck's face. He comes in either brooding or smarmy." Blair rolled her eyes. "There is no in between."

"Anyway," Chuck continued upon her finishing, as if they were one steady stream of wickedness, as if speaking in sync was as easy as breathing for them. "I'll need to make quiet arrangements at The Palace to avoid the wrath of Bart upon our arrival. So I need a headcount."

"I'm in—obviously," Diana chirped. Beside her, Damien raised a finger in agreement.

"We're not," Eric sighed. "Ethan and I will be fortunate enough to sit through stiff conversation, parental brag-offs, and stale brunch this Sunday." He paused, glancing at the blonde beside him. "I mean, the three of us will, right? Isn't your dad coming up, Jen?"

"Oh…right," Jenny murmured. Eric's words halted the flurry of champagne-soaked fantasies running through her mind. A night in the city had the potential to pry a starlet out of the little girl who draped herself in disguises, a pin cushion of a different kind. And staying in a room, in Damien's proximity, far away from this mess of rules and code of conduct? Just the thought of it brought on an unfamiliar sensation in the pit of her stomach. But then again, there was the problem of her father and brother, who were constantly worried that she'd return as some horrid Park Avenue piranha. And she wasn't even allowed off campus as a sophomore, but—

"Do you realize how perfect this is?" Diana suddenly whispered in Jenny's ear. "I've already texted Nate, and he has something planned for us." Jenny tensed up, glanced at Blair, but the brunette was heavily distracted by Chuck's murmurings. Diana persisted, "I hate to say it, but Chuck Bass might have actually redeemed himself with this one."

Well, Jenny had her answer. As if she could possibly let Diana run loose with Nate around Manhattan when the queen was also in town. The blonde shook her head, pulled out her cell to dial home. Someone had to do damage control.

As she went off to make a call, Ethan and Eric found peace in their own private conversation about the upcoming weekend. They had a comfortable relationship despite Eric's wariness of the news getting back to Ethan's father. But as Ethan tossed him the football, affection obvious on his handsome features, Eric realized that some risks were just begging to be taken.

"So, your parents," Eric murmured. "…Great."

"Yeah," Ethan said in a slight droll. "The excitement is…killing me. But hey—" Ethan glanced around the frosted courtyard before dropping an arm around Eric's shoulder. "At least we have each other, right?"

"Now that you mention it," Eric started, not sure how to go about his argument. "Don't you think you should steer clear of me while your parents are around? I mean, your dad is a little intense." A little was an understatement. "I just don't think it's worth the potential freak-out—"

"I'm going to come out to my parents," Ethan suddenly cut in. "Eventually. But I'm not going to ignore you until then. We're past that. Besides, my parents are so focused on my sister's drama that who I choose to study trig with is the farthest thing on their minds."

Eric raised his eyebrows, struggled to recollect the conversation they'd had after the Saints and Sinners ball. "Didn't your sister run away?"

"She's trouble," Ethan explained as he heaved a sigh. "And trouble always has a destination. She's never too far away, and they're never too far behind."

"Hm," Eric murmured, blue eyes raking over Ethan's grim expression. But before he could ask another question, he saw Blair shift upon the stone bench she sat on, take a last sip of her hot drink—saw her dart away from Chuck's grasp before he could pull her down again. Eric glanced at Ethan, tossed the football back into his hands. And then he too got up and shoved his hands into his pockets, jumped from foot to foot to keep warm. "I'll be right back."

"Blair," Eric called, forcing the brunette to a halt on the pathway.

"Eric…" Blair frowned at the perturbed expression on his boyish face. "What is it? I'm off to French literature."

"Blair, I didn't leak those pictures of Harrison," Eric murmured, lowering his voice when two sophomores giggled and stepped in unison as they passed by. He steered Blair off to the side, near the building's heavy shadow, a place he deemed appropriate for such secrets. "Chuck took off when he saw you with Harrison in the hall. I went to make sure that everything was okay, but when I came back…" Eric shook his head. "They were gone. Someone else took the pile. Someone else knew exactly what we were doing."

"Eric." Blair placed a light hand shoulder as she said his name. "This isn't some teen horror movie. It's not like anyone is out to get us." She rolled her eyes and dismissed his worries with a quick flick of her hair. "Whoever leaked those photos was only seizing on an opportunity, just as we were. And…we weren't the only ones who hated Harrison."

"I don't know," Eric murmured. "Something just…doesn't feel right."

"I know what this is really about," Blair finally concluded. As the wind picked up, she curled into her cape coat and shivered. "You're worried that Ethan's father will realize that you breached the terms of your little agreement by staying with Ethan. And while I admire your…devotion—" Blair squeezed his arm "—you've gone through much worse this year than battling a grumpy, middle-aged tyrant. He's supposed to be prestigious, Eric. He's not going to fight a kid."

Eric shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Look," Blair said, exasperated now. "Now you're starting to sound like Little J. We're going to be gone this weekend. I'm going to be gone this weekend." Her eyes were serious, her tone far from light when she commanded, "You're going to have to be a bitch enough for the both of us." And with that, she spun on her step and headed for class.

Across the courtyard, curved into the little alcove that swept away the chill from the rest of the yard, was Jenny. She let out a frustrated breath as Dan droned out another one of his typical lectures, arrogance heavy in his tone.

"I don't understand why you can't just pass on the message without throwing in your two cents," Jenny interrupted, picking at a nail, digging her flats into the gravel below.

"I'm worried about you, Jenny."

"You're not worried about me," Jenny retorted. "You just love to listen to yourself talk, and I can't do this right now, Dan."

"Why? Do they need you to run along and do their homework for them?"

"No," Jenny huffed. "Not everyone ends up like you." It was vicious, and there was a heavy silence that followed as if, for a moment, Dan couldn't recognize who he was talking to. Jenny calmed herself then, tried a gentler approach. "I'm fine, okay? I just don't have time to do the brunch thing this weekend. A lot of kids don't. I'm swamped with finals."

"Fine," Dan finally agreed. He paused, and she heard him breathing, steady, even, far from the unnerved whispers of the people there at Briar. "But you're different now, Jenny. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it."

"Well," Jenny replied. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you go write a book about it?"

:::

February 12th, 2008: Somewhere Along the Hudson River

Blair felt blindly for Chuck's hand in the backseat of his limo, clinking glasses and saluting fortitude with her other half. All around them were her friends—even Damien, however unfortunate that arrangement was. The swanky version of a road trip mix cut into the night air as they sped down a highway into the city.

And this time, Chuck did not tense, did not pull away when he felt her soft fingertips wrap around the palm of his hand. He continued to speak to Damien about some burlesque club that they had to check out one day in the city—Blair sunk her nails into his skin upon hearing this—but he still took her hand in his, stroked his thumb over the delicate pattern of veins and goosebumps etched into her soft skin. Things were different now, they all knew it, they could all feel it.

Things were going to be different now.

The sun was just setting upon the city when they arrived in front of a gated, crème building, spiraling up in a pirouette of extravagant fixtures and lit glass windows. It was still chilly in the city, and Blair kept Chuck's scarf over her trench coat.

"Welcome to my legacy," Chuck announced in the driest tone he could muster up. He passed them all brass keys, except for Blair, who frowned at being left out. But as Diana, Damien, and Jenny skipped off and into the golden lobby, Chuck lifted one bigger key and held it in the air between them.

"The royal suite, I suppose." Blair forced herself not to sound as giddy as she felt as she took the intricately cut piece of brass.

"Hm," Chuck mused, cupped her chin with one hand. "Anything fit for a queen."

:::

February 12th, 2008: The Palace & Bull and Bear at The Waldorf Astoria

Hours after Diana and Blair had gotten Jenny primped and prepped for their outing, after Chuck had suited up in his collared shirt, his deep violet bowtie, and slacks that seemed to fit to him perfectly, Blair pulled on a black dress that clung to her curves, stretched over her breasts and rounded them below a sweetheart neckline. She bit her lip, pinched her cheeks for a natural blush, stroked her fingers through her curls so that they were just a bit unrulier than usual. And then she stared at herself, truly took a moment to admire how much taller she looked, how her legs stretched, how the curve of her shoulders could quite possibly hold a siren's magic. And Blair finally understood, could finally see herself clearly.

Chuck Bass was attracted to her because she was attractive.

"Ready, B?" Diana's voice ended her little moment of self-admiration, and Blair whipped around to find her friend decked out in a sparkling shift dress—a little too Midtown for Upper East Side bar-hopping, but Blair excused her. Not everyone was cut out for this town.

When they arrived downstairs, the two boys were already waiting by the arched doorway, leaning against one of the marble walls. Blair sucked in a sharp breath, allowed Jenny and Diana to pass her by, when her eyes found Chuck. There was just something about him that called to her, despite her snarky insults, despite the many times she'd tried to convince him of the opposite. Perhaps it was the storm in his eyes, the fit of his suit, the tense, then relaxed movement of his jaw when he spoke. Blair suddenly felt like she was just walking into Briar on that first day again, the moment it became predestined that she would always be his.

Are you two friends?

Oh, Waldorf and I go way back.

Luckily, her nerves eased when Chuck cocked his head to the side, his smirk dropping to parted lips. He pushed away from the wall, stepped forward in slight hesitation, as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Blair was delighted with his reaction to her. And it wasn't just the way the ruffles clung to her hips, gathered around her thighs. He seemed to be admiring every little detail of her—the diamond studs in her ears, the suave red painted on her fingernails, the stray curl that brushed her collarbone. And then he came to her, as if he couldn't tolerate the distance between them any longer.

Blair grinned, passed a hand across his chest, took his hands and placed them on her hips. "Bass…" She trailed off, licked her lips. "I suppose that you'll do for the night."

"Well, I'm thrilled to meet your approval," Chuck retorted, his hands dropping dangerously near the curve of her bottom. And then, with a strange amount of honesty, he murmured, "You look stunning." Not ravishing, not decadent, not any of the over-drawn adjectives he often used in his skillful avoidance of true feelings.

Across the lobby, Jenny had been fiddling with her skirt when she and Diana had found Damien. Of course, she expected his eye to stray to the more extravagant and sexily dressed of the two girls. There was, of course, an undeniable history there, and Diana was clearly the more matured of the two, so—

"Baby," Damien suddenly greeted, side-hugging Diana, but never taking his eyes off of the blonde in front of him. Jenny blushed, hesitated at the pet name. But Damien was already gathering her into his arms, lifting her just slightly from the marble floor, kissing her cheek, lips brushing her chin, then silently asking her permission for a kiss. And she nodded just slightly, relaxing when he kissed her—a kiss so light and pure that Jenny felt the sensation of it right to her toes.

"No more of this," Diana groaned in an angry huff. "As the designated bitter fifth wheel, I order you all to stop." She spun around with a little flourish, marched over to the entrance. "At least…until I'm drunk."

:::

The Waldorf-Astoria stood a quick ten minutes down Park Avenue, and the group quickly found themselves lounging upon maroon velvet seats, hands poised on Bull and Bear's luxe black counter as socialites swirled around them, conversation dimming to subtle flirtation inspired by the bar's seductive lighting.

"But…we're all way underage, I mean…" Jenny trailed off when Chuck turned back, shot her a look that clearly said, Please. I'm Chuck Bass. And surely enough, they were all seated and attended to in a matter of seconds, the boys drinking down fine scotches, the girls idly stirring their martinis, rather preferring to drink in the atmosphere instead.

It only took a half hour for Blair to get just slightly tipsy, for Diana to grow anxious at the time—at the proximity of her post-bar plans, and for Jenny to quit pretending to sip her martini long enough to have Chuck order her a Coke. But instead of the snarky, superior remark that she expected, he simply downed her old drink, shrugged and said, "I don't blame you. I've had better gin."

And then he staggered away, appraised the girl who was not exactly his girlfriend from afar. His attraction to Blair was nearly unsettling. Every slight movement she made, even just the quickest quirk of her full, red lips, pulled at the wires running beneath his skin, brought him to life when he hadn't even realized that he'd been dying all this time. Chuck was just about to go…satiate his needs when he felt someone sidle up beside him.

But it wasn't exactly the brunette he was looking for.

"Diana," Chuck stated, already looking slightly bored as he sipped from his third drink. It wasn't as if the girl was especially happy to see him either, but the silence wasn't all that bad as they drank. Perhaps he could attempt to make conversation with her. She was, after all, one of Blair's closest friends now. And though he found the notion of making an effort extremely troubling, it wasn't all that daunting when he was appeasing Blair.

"I never," Chuck began, jaw tense, hands clasped together. "I never formally apologized for revealing your little indiscretion."

"Oh," Diana commented. "You mean the time you threw a tantrum and made a storm of absolute shit rain upon us all?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "That wasn't an open invitation to file a list of complaints," he murmured. "An apology isn't a courtesy that I extend very often."

"Well, as much as that warmed my heart," Diana sighed. "It's fine. It was probably for the best, actually. Secrets are like dark clouds, and they just get larger and larger until you can't see past them—until that's all you are." Diana hiccuped, and Chuck raised his eyebrows at her, lips hovering over his drink. "I'm very profound when I'm drunk," Diana explained. "Anyway, I think that we're all in a good place right now. Damien's my best friend, and I'd take that over anything else. You need someone who can hold onto your burdens for a bit, who can…" Diana let out a tired breath. "We're all really intricate, delicate people. You can't just trust anyone to string you back together when you're broken, you know?"

Chuck considered this, weighing her words as he would let the sting of alcohol rest upon his tongue before he drank it down. Diana wasn't stupid. He realized that now. It wasn't as if he'd considered her to be particularly daft before—he rarely considered her at all.

"Don't you have someone like that?" Diana offered, prodding for information that she most likely wouldn't remember the next morning. "Don't you have a best friend?"

Chuck pursed his lips, suddenly felt uncomfortable with the turn in conversation. He supposed that Nate had been a best friend once. Together they'd discovered the wonders of getting high, had hit on Chapin girls before Waldorf had hooked Archibald into a boyfriend-status. And when he'd gone to Briar, he'd found a drinking buddy in Damien, no particularly deep bond—just easy companionship.

But a person who understood him so completely, who gladly traced his pain back to her own, who rewrote his misery until there was no history before his hand in hers, before those hazy conversations in the twilight? That was Blair, he suddenly realized. Blair was his best friend. No other tepid bond could compare to what he had with her.

"Oh my God," Diana whispered, setting her drink down. It took Chuck a moment to realize that he'd murmured the words aloud in his slightly drunken state. He cursed, prepared to backtrack, already sliding from the barstool to end this conversation. But Diana stopped him, placed a hand on his arm. "No, it's okay. We're drunk, remember? All judgment is off." She hesitated before continuing. "It's just—it's scary how much you love her. It's just crazy that you both are tiptoeing around something so obvious. If you just decided to be together—"

That guarded expression returned, his eyes clouding over until they blazed. "There's a bar full of socialites here. You can't find someone else to torture with your drunken ramblings?" He glanced up, caught a flash of Blair's signature brown ringlets across the room. She had her chin set on her palm as some sleazy, suited Wall Street ape tried to engage her in conversation. She led him on with her body language, drew him in easily, but she kept her eyes on Chuck as the other man talked.

He cleared his throat, pressed his fingers into a fist. So she wanted to play.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Chuck said to Diana in passing, pushing away from the counter to stake his claim.

Diana rolled her eyes, waved her hand at his back as he stalked away. "No problem," Diana murmured, mostly to herself. "I have my own party to catch."

:::

February 12th, 2008: The Tribeca Grand Hotel

She and Nate had plans to meet up at the Tribeca, some grand hotel that Diana had only heard of once or twice. She wasn't exactly a city slicker like Chuck or Blair—even Jenny was years ahead in her experience with the concrete island. She hailed a taxi, fixed her hair, focused herself as they sped downtown. She was nervous, extremely nervous as the ticker raised and they drew closer to her destination. Things with Nate would be different now. She hadn't seen him since winter break, back when there had been a purpose to their coupling. She was broken, and he'd been there to comfort her. But what reason would they have to last now?

Diana paid her fare, stepped out, and stared up at the lights threaded across the building's face in front of her. There was no sign of Nate anywhere, just a few clusters of characters that Blair would have been appalled at, no doubt. She crossed her legs, passed a hand over her sleek ponytail as she waited outside the revolving doors. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake. She'd never felt so insecure before Harrison had—Diana swallowed, pressed her hand against her forehead to rid herself of the memory±but now she realized that the same charming boys who swept you off your feet had the power to drop you to the ground in the same instant.

Diana hesitated again, considered hailing herself another cab when—

"Hey," a warm voice murmured in her ear. Diana jumped for a moment, felt hands on her back, then arms encircling her waist. God, Nate smelled like cologne and looked like boys did in the movies. He pulled her in for a hug, and she sighed against his chest.

"I can't believe you're really here," Nate whispered into her hair. This was a good thing, Diana said to herself. Things didn't need to be so dramatic. They could be easy—this thing between them was effortless.

"You know," Diana teased, "you kept me waiting, Archibald."

"I'm going to make that up to you," Nate replied, raising his arm, pulling her hand to hook her fingers around the crook of his elbow. He began to lead her into the Tribeca's side entrance when a rainbow-clad woman shoved through the doorway and wretched all over the sidewalk. Diana raised a hand to her mouth, and Nate frowned, pulling her back. "Maybe we should…go for a walk instead." He turned to her, started walking them in the opposite direction. "You like ice cream?"

"I love ice cream," Diana stated, so overwhelmed with the adorableness of it all that she couldn't resist planting a kiss upon his cheek. The boyish grin appeared on his lips again, and he kissed her back, gently this time, cupping her cheek with one hand. They were just about to miss the light to cross the street when—

"Nate?"

She and Nate pulled away from each other at the sound of the girl's voice. When Diana turned, rather annoyed that someone had ruined their kiss, she saw a leggy blonde making her way across the street with a gruff companion, some boy with a mop of curly hair and a plaid shirt tucked into worn jeans. The two looked like polar opposites, Diana realized. And she didn't exactly like the way the blonde dropped the other boy's hand when she saw Nate.

"Hey," Nate breathed, a bit startled. He too dropped his hands from Diana's waist and lifted one to wave to the girl. "These are a few of my friends," he whispered to Diana in explanation. "Come on, I'll…introduce you." When they drew closer to the odd couple, Diana narrowed her eyes at the blonde again, realized that she looked awfully familiar.

"I've been meaning to text you…" the girl trailed off, smiled at Diana. "Oh! Who's this?"

They moved away from the street, stood next to a high-rise as Nate stepped between the three, a clueless referee. "Diana, this is Dan Humphrey, and—"

"Humphrey?" Diana interrupted, eyeing the boy. "You wouldn't happen to be related to…Jenny Humphrey, would you?" After all, they did share the same eyes beyond the haggard look he was currently sporting.

"You know my sister?"

"Know her?" Diana echoed, her smile brighter this time. "She's, like, one of my best friends. We're all down in the city to—" Diana cut off when she realized that Dan wasn't nearly as excited about her news. She pursed her lips, awkwardly backtracked now. "I mean…I just know her really well."

Dan parted his lips to reply, but the girl beside him beat him to it. "Wow," she said. "It's a really small world, isn't it Nate? You must know Blair, too. She and Jenny were at that gala together." The blonde's mind raced as she spoke. "Do you also go to Briar?"

Diana froze, the memory suddenly coming back to her now. She'd been staying over at Blair and Jenny's dorm room just shortly after the Homecoming Ball. Blair had gone off to the bathroom, and Diana had wandered over to her side of the room, traced curious fingertips over a frame that was caught in the drawer of her nightstand.

"Who's this?" Diana had asked Jenny, staring down at the portrait of Blair beside a cheeky blonde.

"Oh, that's Serena," Jenny had replied, her voice dropping to a hush. "We probably shouldn't have that out. She's the whole reason why Blair's even here." Jenny got up, took the frame from Diana and gently placed it back at the very bottom of the drawer. "That's the girl who slept with her boyfriend."

"How do you…" Diana suddenly felt heat rise, spread across the back of her neck. She wasn't stupid, was never one to play dumb in situations like these. "How do you know Blair?"

"I'm Serena," the blonde said, carefully now. Serena glanced at Nate, then back at Diana. "I'm guessing that she never told you about her friends back home? I'm…sorry. I thought that Nate might have…" As Serena tripped over her words, realization hit Diana at full throttle. She stumbled back, put as much space between her and Nate as she possibly could on the narrow street. She should have known from the minute that little look had passed between Nate and Serena, like they were built on a secret. And now, instead of the genuine surprise on Serena's face, Nate's features were colored with guilt.

"I think…" Diana turned away from them, placed her hands on her knees. "I'm going to be sick."

"Hey, are you okay?" Dan called from behind her.

"No, I'm—" Diana cut off when she felt Nate's hand on her shoulder, whispers of panicked reassurance in her ear. She shoved away then, tottered back in her heels. "You knew. This entire time, you knew that Blair and I were friends. How could you let this—" Diana dropped her face into her hands. "Oh my God, this is so fucking surreal."

"I – ah – I think we're going to head out," Dan chimed in, placing his hand on Serena's back. "It's getting late, and we have this movie to catch, so…" He shot a look at Serena, and the blonde nodded, lifting her hand in an awkward little wave.

"Right. It was…nice to meet you," Serena offered, glancing at Nate with wide eyes. "Um, tell Blair that I said hi."

"Yeah," Diana breathed under an incredulous chuckle. "I'll put that right on my fucking to-do list." She watched the couple disappear down the street, making a sharp turn when they reached the corner, and then she turned to Nate again, hands crossed over her chest, expression furious. "What the hell is going on, Nate?"

"I didn't want to tell you," Nate started, "Because I didn't want things to be awkward."

"Oh," Diana hissed. "Well done. Because this certainly isn't awkward at all. Is this your hobby or something? Do you just go out looking for Blair's friends to hook up with? We're not collectibles, Nate."

"I didn't know at first, and I was going to tell you eventually…"

"And then what?" Diana retorted. "We would all go on double dates with her and Chuck and live happily ever? You cheated on her. Don't you get that?"

"Blair and Chuck are…" Nate trailed off, derailed by the picture she'd just painted in his mind. "They're together now? He's her boyfriend?"

"This…" Diana shook her head, drew back even further. "This is so fucked up." She spun around, avoided his puppy-dog eyes, his stylishly messy head of hair. She didn't cry as she walked away—no, she was done with that.

"Where are you going?" Nate called out.

"Back to my friends," Diana called back, setting her eyes straight on the sidewalk in front of her. "The choice I should have made the first time around."

:::

February 12th, 2008: The Jewel Suite

"Did it make you upset?" Blair murmured against Chuck's lips, pressed her hips to his as he fumbled with the key to their suite, shoved the door open in one swift movement, pushed her up against the opposite wall in the next. "Did it…anger you to see me with him?" Blair yanked her fingers through his hair in an unexpected fit of brazenness. Her eyes lit with excitement. "Show me."

Chuck dropped his lips to her throat, used his hands to hoist her legs up around his waist. And then he pulled away, took a moment to study her, head pulled back, eyes trained on the mewling little goddess before him. Blair's head was tilted back against the wall, hair falling wildly around her face. With every breath she took, her chest heaved up in offering. When she caught him watching her, she glanced up through hooded eyelids, bit down on her bottom lip through a naughty little smile.

"I'm glad that you're reaping the benefits of my insatiable jealousy," Chuck rasped, pushing forward, scratched down her taut thighs with his fingertips, pressing his evident erection into her core. Blair moaned, and Chuck's head swam in the midst of his inebriation. "You like that?"

"Yes," she whispered, pressed her heels into his thighs, drawing him closer. They fell into a rhythm—broken, anxious thrusts, kisses sloppily pressed to heated skin. Yes, her words were slurred, and he was dizzy when he lifted her higher, shoved the neck of her dress down until it was scrunched up around her waist. He would stop when they got too carried away, if they went too far.

She wanted noble, she wanted valiant, and he would give her that. Chuck would worship her.

Blair's tongue found the shell of his ear, and her small fingers found the waist of his trousers.

He would stop, Chuck told himself again. He would stop in just a minute. He just needed to taste this part of her, just above the swell of her breast, just before the lace of her bra stretched over her chest. He dipped his head low, pulled the skin between his teeth, waited for the delicious whimper that was bound to follow.

Sadly, the moan that surfaced from deep within Blair's throat was not one of pleasure. She pulled away, her hands sliding, then scratching down the front of his chest, fingers curling into his dress shirt in imbalance, not passion. He grabbed her before she could slip and together, they stumbled back into the suite's bathroom, momentarily blinded by the flood of white light inside. She was panicked, and Chuck recognized the expression much too well.

Blair Waldorf was monumentally wasted.

"As much as I love—" Chuck coughed, grateful that she was too distracted to hear him, hear the word slippage. "As much as I…appreciate your current state of undress," Chuck paused, grabbing hold of her hips to walk her over to the toilet against the opposite wall. "You're not going to puke on me, Waldorf." He bent her over, lifted her knee as he knelt beside her, not wanting her skin to bruise against the marble. Blair groaned again, her brow furrowed, her lips parted to release heavy, anxious pants.

"You'd probably deserve it," Blair half-whimpered. And then it happened. She heaved forward and hurled, hands gripping the porcelain for support. Chuck crinkled his nose, lifted his hands to pull back her hair, to hold onto her hip and keep her balanced. Blair leaned against him, clearly horrified at herself. "This is so…" Blair shook her head, leaning forward again. "So disgusting."

At this, Chuck laughed, tucking a stray curl out of Blair's line of fire. "You're just drunk, Blair. It's not the apocalypse."

"Not to you," Blair grumbled under her breath. When she was done, Chuck pulled tissues from a box atop his counter and gingerly wiped at the corner of her lips. Blair watched him as he worked, hooked her fingers around his shoulders, trailed over and up the nape of his neck. Chuck glanced up at her and smirked, tossing the soiled paper in the trash. Blair sighed, lids fluttering in her drunken state. "Why do I feel like you're finding some sort of sick pleasure in this, Bass?"

"Because," Chuck grinned, lifting her up with a purposeful hand on her bottom. "You know me much too well." She shot him a look of disdain, then yelped when her feet left the floor, when he sat her down atop the edge of his bathtub. She watched him kneel before her, hesitated before she put her hands on his shoulders. He pulled one heel from her foot, the other following in seconds.

Blair frowned. "Careful," she warned, digging her fingers into his suit jacket. "Those are Manolos." But he tossed them aside anyway, smirked at the scowl on her face when he ran his hands up her legs, set them on her thighs. Blair watched him, calculating his expression with guarded eyes of her own. And then he pushed up, reached over to run a shower, took her hand to stand her up.

Chuck rolled her dress down, peeled it away until she was standing before him, covered in the weakest pieces of lace he'd ever seen. His throat constricted, the muscles along his hands and arms tensing wherever her naked skin touched his. She couldn't be naked. Not now. Not if this was his attempt at being—Chuck frowned—honorable. So he pulled her under the light pelt of the shower before she could protest, shoved his jacket up and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows.

"You're ruining these," Blair complained, staring down at the soaked fabric clinging to her curves.

"Trust me," Chuck smirked. "I'd be happy enough to leave you dirty."

"Chuck." Her scolding words faded into a quick sigh when his fingers worked into her hair, when the warm water slid across her skin. "That feels…good."

"You know," Chuck remarked, turning her around, massaging her shoulders with deft hands until he drew a groan from her lips. "I did want to get you wet tonight. But this…was far from what I intended."

"You ruin everything," Blair retorted, rolling her eyes. But when she turned to face him again, she saw such concentration in his eyes. He was so focused on caring for her, so careful with his touch, as if he was afraid to ruin this all with one misstep. This was not raw and empty, nor was it senseless. This was deliberate. And through the haze of her intoxication, she struggled to grasp onto it.

She was quiet when he lifted her from the tub, slipped her arms into the robe he offered her, pulled her wet lingerie off from underneath. Chuck leaned against the doorway, watched as she pulled a violet toothbrush from her overnight caddy and brushed her teeth. She somehow managed to do this in a lovely way, gently stroking the brush across her teeth, covering the side of her mouth when she spit. And when Blair was done, she went to curl up underneath the golden comforter strewn across the king-sized bed at the room's center.

She closed her eyes until she felt the weight of him sink into the space beside her, heard a light switch, let the room fall to darkness.

"Thank you," Blair whispered after several long, aching beats.

"Don't thank me," Chuck told her, his voice startlingly angry. "Don't treat this like an obligation. We've surpassed the formalities."

"But you're not my boyfriend," Blair stated, pressing her cheek into the cool pillow, listening to his even breaths. "We're Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck." Her voice was heavy, her eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion. "But if you were to disappear tomorrow, I would have no claim over you. It would be as if we never existed. Not now, not ever, not together." Dread filled her, made her chest ache. "But sometimes I think that's what you want."

Chuck said nothing, and Blair didn't look at him. She wondered if he was feigning sleep, wondered what he was thinking about. But they would never be the couple that just simply asked one another how they felt—not when he hated normalcy, not when she feared abandonment. So she rolled farther away from his warmth, wrapped her arms around herself. And this time, there was no satisfaction in their emptiness.

There were no hopeless words whispered into the night.

:::

February 13th, 2008: The Jewel Suite

Blair Waldorf did not take any satisfaction in waking up alone.

She felt Chuck's absence before she even saw the empty space in bed beside her. Somehow, there was not even a dent in the sheets, nor was there a hint of his smoky cologne lingering in the room. Just as Blair had sworn to him, Chuck came and went as he pleased, breaking and taking—leaving nothing behind.

Nothing but the two white pills and a glass of lemon water sitting atop her bedside table. She sat up, overwhelmed at the pain that rushed to her head in the same instant. She fell back against the sheets, almost cried out in pain when her whole body ached in protest. Blair was hungover, and she was alone.

Wonderful.

Blair rolled over in bed, grasped the pills, then sipped them down with the water. What a Basstard. He should either decide to be terrible or to be sweet, Blair thought. But instead, he enjoyed pulling her in and pushing her back. Rising up only to return to his shadows. And, quite honestly, it pissed her off.

Blair ignored the pounding migraine, retied her robe as she got up from bed. Light streamed in through drawn curtains, and Blair squinted against the light, admired the sharp edges of her old city from the highest suite of The Palace. She pressed her hand against the glass pane, pretended to touch building tops, nearly felt the breeze stir her Constance kilt as she sat upon the steps of the MET again. And of all people, it was her mother's voice that she heard echoing across her mind. After you refocused, you'd be able to return to Constance for your final semester next year, graduate with your peers, save face in front of the people who will determine your future.

Blair swallowed, dropped the curtains shut again. It was then that she heard faint knocking on the door of the suite. She considered ignoring the intruder until the knocks grew louder, sounded across the room. She walked over, pulled the door open to find Jenny standing in front of her, two cups of coffee nestled inside of a tray in one of her hands. Her other hand was currently occupied on her face, covering her eyes.

"Jenny," Blair hissed. "What are you doing?"

One blue eye appeared behind her fingers. "Neither of you are naked, right?

"Chuck's not here," Blair sighed, yanking the blonde's fingers away from her face. "But I'll take this." Blair plucked a cup of coffee from the tray. Jenny parted her lips, raised a finger to tell Blair that the cup was actually meant for Damien, but then she thought better of it. If Chuck was absent, that meant nothing good for Blair's temper. Jenny shut the door and followed Blair into the suite, taking a seat in the grandiose sitting area. Blair glanced over her shoulder. "Don't act so shy, J. You weren't exactly the picture of innocence when you were making out with Dalgaard last night."

Jenny flushed, her cheeks darkening to the color of crushed cherries, and Blair smirked. "Oh," Jenny murmured, sipping from the other coffee cup, looking anywhere but at Blair's knowing eyes. "You saw that."

"The entirety of Manhattan saw that," Blair said. "I'm surprised it didn't end up on—" Blair paused. "There haven't been any Gossip Girl blasts, no rumors circulating about our arrival. That's…oddly refreshing."

"Maybe she's out of commission," Jenny shrugged. She studied Blair for a moment, slightly jealous of how perfect her hair looked after she just rolled out of bed. And then she caught sight of the dark circles under the girl's eyes, the little cringe she gave whenever she stepped too quickly. "You're really hung-over," Jenny realized aloud.

"You sound a little too pleased, Humphrey."

Jenny only smiled down at the floor. After she and Blair had finished their coffees in silence, Jenny shifted on the chaise she sat on, turned to Blair, who was sitting on a plush stool by the window. "It's really early. There's a car waiting for us downstairs, but…" Jenny fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater. "We could just hang out."

Blair raised her eyebrows. "Hang out?"

When Jenny nodded, Blair hesitated before joining her on the smooth leather couch, before lifting the remote and turning on the television in front of them. Blair flipped through channels until she came upon Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn on the screen. And instead of moving on to find a classic or one of her soaps, she left it on Project Runway.

"You like this show?" Jenny asked.

"You like this show," Blair corrected. "You're into sewing, aren't you? You said that your dream was to compete on it." Blair seemed rather pleased with herself. "Besides, I do enjoy the runway. Some of them are utter disasters." Blair pretended to gag.

"They are," Jenny giggled, sinking back into the cushions. Together, they chuckled as Michael Kors issued a verbal beatdown to one of the disaster designers. Together, they pointed out one of the most gorgeous avant garde pieces that Jenny had ever seen and swooned over it. And when the commercial break came, they shared a peaceful glance, a comfortable one. Finally, Jenny broke the silence to ask, "Do you…want to talk about what happened with Chuck?"

"No," Blair said immediately, crisply. Jenny nodded, suddenly feeling embarrassed that she'd overstepped. And then Blair spoke again. "But you're just dying to tell me what happened with Damien."

Jenny grinned. "Well…"

"Go ahead, Humphrey. Swoon away," Blair sighed, standing to order them room service, an extravagant breakfast, an array of pastries and morning cocktails, all on Chuck's tab, of course.

:::

February 13th, 2008: The Briar Dining Hall

Now, this was entirely built off of speculation, but Eric assumed that if Hell did exist, it would be filled with fluffy-haired, diamond-coated socialites and cream puffs. Hundreds and hundreds of cream puffs. Eric sighed, scooted another one of the processed pastries away from his plate and returned to his seat in the dining hall, where his mother was currently wiping her chair with a cloth napkin.

"Really, Mom?" Eric stole the napkin away, silently begged her to sit down. All around them, the aforementioned socialites were competing through conversation: which seniors were getting into Ivy Leagues, which houses were going to be rented out in the Hamptons that summer, which trophy wife had the biggest of the Hillary Clinton-inspired bobs. Eric pressed two fingers to his temple, feigning the power of a shotgun.

"Don't do that, Eric," Lily scolded him, yanking her son's hand away. She turned to the other parents at the table and shot them an apologetic smile. "He's just kidding. He's not…" Lily leaned in, tapped her flawlessly manicured fingernails atop the pristine white table cloth. "He's not suicidal."

"Wow, Mom," Eric chirped sarcastically, shifting away from the rest of the group. "Thanks for that disclaimer."

"When are you going to introduce me to your friends here, Eric?" Lily asked. She daintily cut into the pastry on her plate, somehow managing to split the puff into ten minuscule pieces, then arranged them to make it appear as if she'd actually eaten something. Eric watched all of this silently, then dropped his head into the crook of his elbow. His mother wasn't terrible—not anything like the horror stories he'd heard of Bart or Eleanor. Lily meant well in her own skewed, self-centered way, but— "Perhaps you can introduce me to their fathers," Lily joked.

Eric groaned against the tabletop.

"So grumpy," Lily sighed, poking her son's side. "You'll have to come down to Cabo with me in a few weeks so that you can relax…"

"You're suggesting that I miss school for a week at a parent's brunch," Eric stated, shaking his head. "At school." He shot up from his seat before Lily could come up with something even more embarrassing to say and excused himself to head back to the buffet table. And in his avoidance of Lily, that was how Eric had found a miniature mountain of cream puffs on his plate. He loaded one more onto the top, nearly gagged at the sweet stench of tainted whipped cream. Eric heard a chuckle as he attempted to balance them all on his dessert plate.

"Didn't quite take you as a puff fanatic," Ethan laughed, stealing one from Eric's plate.

"Yeah, well," Eric sighed. "I'd take clogged arteries over parental torture anytime." Eric glanced around, eyes trained on the table Ethan had just been sitting at. His mother was sitting there, sipping a limeade, her eyes glazed over with indifference. "Looks like that's quite the party over there, too. I'm jealous."

"And that's her on anti-depressants," Ethan whispered, eyebrows raised. Despite the crowd of bored students and wacky parents, Ethan drew closer to Eric, curved his body so that they appeared to be average students picking out their brunch foods. But when the line cleared up around them, Ethan leaned over to whisper, "I really want to kiss you right now." Eric cleared his throat, fought back a smile as Ethan continued, "I really want to—"

"Ethan," came a low, tense gruff from behind the two. Eric nearly dropped the plate in his hands at the sound of Mr. Merrick's voice. Eric stumbled away from Ethan, wondered how a father and son could end up so utterly different from one another. The man stood up straighter, slanted eyes set only on Eric as he spoke to his son. "Ethan, your mother needs you."

Ethan hesitated at this, forced an amused grin. "Come on, Dad. I'm not even sure that Mom's conscious."

"Your mother," the man spat, slamming his down on the long ivory table, "Needs you now. Go." Ethan jumped at his tone, watched his father's curled fist, then shot Eric an apologetic glance. Eric was panicked as Ethan walked back over to the crowd. He attempted to follow, but the man stepped in his way, stood over him like a brick wall of bitterness between the two boys. "Eric van der Woodsen." The man pursed his lips. "It seems that you've forgotten our agreement."

"It seems that you're the one who enjoys stalking teenage boys," Eric retorted, remembering Blair's words, Blair's command. "So it's a little strange that you keep accusing me of being gay—"

"Don't you dare," the man hissed. When his raised voice drew the attention of a few parents and chatting students, he set his lips in a straight line again, turned his back to the rest of the room. "Did you think I was joking? Did you think I couldn't destroy you if I had the chance?" His gaze was murderous, momentarily throwing Eric from his stance. What was the man capable of doing? It wasn't as if he'd ever have any proof of their relationship, but if he did—

"There's nothing," Eric promised grimly, setting his plate down on the table. "There's nothing going on between me and your son."

"Keep it that way," the man ordered. "You wouldn't want anyone to get hurt under your fault, would you?"

Eric frowned. "What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying, kid." Ethan's father shot him one last glare before the PA system crackled from the makeshift stage across the hall. The headmistress stood at a podium, announcing the start of the school's presentation. Eric didn't bother to look back at Ethan's father when he made his way back to Lily, seeking her out for support in a way that he had not done since he was a young child. Over the sea of blonde heads, he found Ethan, but could not meet his questioning gaze. They were ill-fated and unfixable, Eric realized. They could not go back to an age of innocence now.

"Ladies and gentlemen—esteemed parents of our bright, young student body," the headmistress greeted evenly. "We're grateful to have you present here today, as it's so important that we introduce the lives of your children at home to their lives here at Briar. Our students have prepared a slideshow for you, a photographic account of their everyday routine, so if you'll just train your eyes on the screen behind me…"

Eric sighed, rested his chin on his hand. Ethan rolled his eyes up to the screen as the projector powered on. And then, for a moment, there was silence, the terrible, daunting kind of quiet that occurred just before a bomb was set off, before a person took their last breath, before disaster struck. Eric's heart halted to an unnatural stop, bile rising to his throat as he leaned forward, grasped onto the table for support. The color drained from Ethan's cheeks and he tensed, went into a paralysis so intense that he was reminded of his accident.

Because on that floor-length screen, on that illuminated backdrop there for all to see, was an image of Eric and Ethan reflecting back on the real pair, lips pressed together, limbs hooked around the other's, cheeks flushed from the cold, right on the night of the Saints and Sinners party.

:::

February 13th, 2008: The Back Woods

When Blair, Jenny, Diana, and Damien arrived back on campus, they were exhausted. The trip home had dragged on, the river seemed to stretch longer now, and the miles were endless. Diana was colder than usual, eyes set only on the trees passing outside of the car's window. They all relaxed when they saw the familiar brick spirals pirouetting out from behind stone walls, the grounds of grass cut at an even level. They all stood out front for a moment, stared up at the building that they called home. Damien pulled Jenny along first, pressed a kiss to her temple, wrapped an arm around her as they headed inside.

Blair turned to Diana, concern etched onto her face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Diana replied rather weakly. "I'm really tired. I'm, um…" Diana shook out of her daze, blinked back at Blair. "I'm really tired," she repeated before heading back inside. Blair watched after Diana, frowning as the girl disappeared into the building without her. God, what was wrong with everyone? Blair's throat felt tight, her skin warmed in warning of tears. Blair yanked her fingertips across one cheek, startled and livid at the wetness she found there. This weekend had been all about freedom—had been all about letting go of all that they'd been through over the past months.

Blair didn't feel free at all. Her heart belonged elsewhere, her wrists were bound in the clutches of solitude. But she couldn't just stand there. She couldn't just wait for some bumbling underclassman to find her standing out on her own in a state of such weakness. She composed herself, smoothed out her coat, wiped at her face once more before marching up the stone steps with her head tilted high.

"Waldorf."

At first, she thought she might have imagined Chuck's voice, might have still be slightly inebriated from the events of the night before. But no, he truly was standing there, perched behind the steps, a lit cigarette balanced between his full lips. Rage overwhelmed Blair's senses, and she nearly saw red when she marched over to him, yanked the cigarette away and stomped it to the ground. Chuck looked surprised for a moment, caught off guard when her tiny hands shoved into his chest, slapping him, then hitting him again with added force.

"You asshole," Blair seethed. "Was this whole trip just a game to you?"

"Feisty," was Chuck's only comment as he ducked away from her fighting fists, pulling his black coat around his front as a shield. Blair fumed at his words, went to hit him again, but he caught her hands, held them at her front. "Stop," he told her, his voice dropping low. "Stop, Blair." Chuck glanced around at the edge of the dormitories, the wall that faced the back woods. "I want you to come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Blair said as she fought him, hands struggling against his. "What—so that we can go hide away in your dungeon? I'm not interested, Bass."

"Why don't you quit the tantrum," Chuck murmured, stroking his thumb across her knuckles, "and trust me, Blair?" He paused, considered his own words, then added, "Please."

"Did you just say…please?" Blair asked with a slight frown, just to be sure. She leaned forward, sniffed the air between them. "And you're not drunk."

"I don't get drunk," Chuck promised, repeating the words she'd once said to him in anger, using them against her as he led her further into the darkness behind Briar. His lips lifted. "Remember?"

"You have ten minutes," Blair grumbled under her breath, pulling her fingers through his, pressing her petite body into his side. It was cold, and her legs could barely carry her forward in the chill. But Chuck seemed determined to get them to the shed before the sky fell completely black. When it came into view, Blair let out a little sigh of contentment, curled into him when they stepped into the pitch black hut. They stood there for a moment, and Blair grew antsy. "Why are we here, Chuck? What are we—" She froze when Chuck reached, patted his hand against one wooden wall, flipped a switch up to illuminate the room. But—Blair let go of his hand, lips falling open—this could not possibly be his shed.

"Chuck," Blair breathed, taking in the walls masked in fresh, off-white paint, chic black dots stenciled across one side of the room. The rest of the space was modeled as a Parisian suite would have been—faux shutters opening out into tiny windows, a beautiful vanity pressed up against the wall, an intricately-carved wardrobe was already filled with beautiful dresses, silk that Blair always saw on the runway whenever her mother brought her to Fashion Week. The floors were carpeted, small tables stocked with her favorite flavored macaroons, issues of Vogue from around the world. And there were portraits on the wall as well—a canvas of Audrey Hepburn hanging over a chaise so grand and plush that it could outdo a king-sized bed. Blair stepped into the room, breathed in the scent of roses, took in the sight of her own wonderland.

She could feel him watching her, could feel him waiting for her to react.

"Chuck, how did you—" She stopped herself, lips forming a smile, eyes still wide with awe. "Of course. You're Chuck Bass."

"Blair, I…look at you, and I want to give you everything," Chuck explained. "I wanted you to have your place here." He bowed his head at the admission. "I made the arrangement weeks ago, but you were so upset last night that I thought it was time. I know that I disappoint my father, disappoint teachers, disappoint everyone who's ever walked into my life." Blair closed her eyes at his words, feet frozen in place. "But I won't disappoint you. Not again."

Blair let out a breath, passed a hand over a rack of DVDs, a little screen by her bed to watch movies, she assumed. And oddly enough, she thought of that idiot Mr. Higgins, the English teacher who'd tried to embarrass her in class. It wasn't him that she remembered, but one particular question he'd posed to their class when they were reading Pride and Prejudice, one that he'd answered himself.

"What is love?" Mr. Higgins had asked, hands clasped together, leaning atop his desk as obnoxious teachers often did. "Anyone?" The room had been silent, the class had been bored and uninterested just before the weekend. Finally, Higgins had sighed, had raised his hands in front of all of them. "According to Austen, love is…" He trailed off, glancing around the classroom. "Love is finding the most self-centered man in the world who would fall to his knees to see her rise."

Blair blinked, finally turned to see Chuck standing behind her. "Why did you…why did you do this?"

"Permanence," Chuck stated, eyes tracing over the delicate lines upon her face. "If I were to disappear tomorrow then there would be an 'us' to claim. Then there would be this."

But he could no longer speak, could no longer breathe, because her lips were pressed to his, her body tethered to his grasp, her tongue begging for entry, her teeth biting into his lower lip. He groaned, anchored his fingers into one hip, fisted a hand into the tangle of her curls. She shoved his coat away, pulled at buttons with quick fingers, and they fell back, fell further until they tumbled into a mess of satin pillows and a plush duvet.

Chuck found the zipper of her shift dress and freed her from the material, ducked to kiss the hot skin between her breasts. Blair threaded her fingers into his hair, tilted her head back until the sight of the ceiling above her shifted into pink and red hues of pleasure.

"Take me," Blair whispered.

Chuck drew in a sharp breath and paused his advances to look at her. "Blair, I didn't do this because I wanted you to..."

"Now," Blair insisted in a hush, pushing the white dress shirt down his arms until it met her dress on the floor. She couldn't quite meet his eyes when she added a quiet plea, "please."

Chuck felt like a kindergartener on his first day of school, nerves coiling deep in the pit of his stomach. Their bet was forgotten, any former versions of himself sneering and shed like snakeskin. Her skin was warm and soft under his hands, and she was offering it up to him with the utmost trust and vulnerability—something sacred. Of course, they'd done nearly everything but the act itself prior to this moment, and they certainly weren't a pair that cared to be gentle, but this was different.

"Blair, games aside, I know how much this means to you." He lifted a hand to her cheek, and she shut her eyes at the contact, her lashes fluttering then casting soft shadows across her skin. His stomach turned again—butterflies.

Outside, the sounds of the woods acted as a melody. The room and all of its adornments shrouded them in romance. Blair squared her shoulders, looking awfully determined yet awfully afraid when she replied, "I know that. That's why I choose you."

Chuck looked down for a moment, lest he reveal the—Jesus—blush on his cheeks. He detested the way his hands shook and his wavering breath betrayed him. He would only pull away from her once more to whisper, "Are you sure?"

Blair kissed him with all her might. She pressed her answer to his lips—yes—then his tongue—yes—and he wrapped her in an embrace so tight that she wasn't even sure if she was breathing anymore. Their movements were frantic and wild as they fought to get their hands all over each other, but it was never quite enough, months and perhaps years of pent-up frustration coming to the surface. In the mess of it, Chuck realized that he'd wanted Blair before realizing that he wanted her, maybe before even knowing her. They'd been gravitating towards one another before time, before everything, from the very start.

Blair stared down at Chuck, his black hair disheveled, his sculpted features disappearing with every pass he made downwards, hot lips already kissing the inside of her thigh.

He pulled her shoes from her feet, sent them flying across the room as Blair moaned, "Prada!"

Chuck laughed openly, and for the first time they both dropped their guards and appeared as they were: two teenagers desperately infatuated with each other. He worked at the button of his pants as she writhed beneath him, fingers sliding through the hair on his chest, the line of his silk boxers. He groaned against her ear, dropped to lick the line of her collarbone. "I'll buy you new ones."

He reached down, hooked his finger into her panties and pulled until she could kick them away. Chuck undid her bra with an ease that felt fluid, much too easy when it had been so long since he'd touched her this way.

He knelt before her, traced his fingers across her breasts, followed invisible patterns down to her wet heat, and slowly slipped two inside of her. Blair lifted from the chaise, arching her back into the perfect curve, but Chuck's hands held her still, brought her down.

"Look at me," he whispered, cupping her chin with his free hand. "Look at me," Chuck repeated, more forcefully this time. Her eyes widened as she undulated against his fingers, desperate. "Do you remember the first time I touched you?" Blair moaned when he curled his fingers further inside of her and began to thrust. "Answer me," Chuck ordered gently, stroking thick fingers along her jaw. He leaned forward, lips hovering just above hers.

"Yes," Blair gasped, hips writhing, legs shaking. "Yes. On the fields. You touched me."

"No," Chuck rasped, his fingers stilling inside of her, leaving her flushed and frustrated. "Try again."

"Chuck, please," Blair whimpered. But he would not let up, would not give her the release she was so desperate for. She wracked her brain for an answer, reached beyond what she thought she knew to what had always been there. "At the Vanderbilt house," Blair realized. "When we were younger, we played that game." She opened her eyes, rolled her hips against his hand, rolled his boxers away from his hips. "No one had ever touched me that way. No one had ever made me feel the way you did—" She grasped him, stroked his length as she spoke. "I felt like I would die if you stopped. And I was so afraid of that feeling because I needed you, even then. I need you," Blair promised between kisses. "Even now."

"Fuck, Blair." His words were intermingled with a groan. He reached over her, and Blair heard the tear of foil beside her head. So, this room was not entirely for her, Blair realized.

Even as he slipped the condom on, Chuck did not falter in pleasuring her. He pulled the rosy bud at the peak of her breast between his lips, rolled his tongue over her skin. When he was finished, he fell between her legs and adjusted her to the sensation, watching her carefully as he rubbed himself against her entrance. He slid between her folds, and she gasped with blatant impatience, moving her hips to goad him inside of her. His lips parted against her chin, laughing at her ferocity. "Patience, ma chérie."

"Chuck," she whispered, the French on his tongue doing something to the heat broiling inside of her. He let out a broken gasp as she crossed her legs at his back and pulled closer, just enough to draw him in.

His first thrust was slow and deep, and he held still at every murmur of discomfort, kissing the hollow of her throat, her eyelids, her cheeks. And when she stiffened, Chuck tilted her face to the side, pressed his lips to her ear, all naughty obscenities and the sweetest endearments as he traced her lips with his fingers. He told her how incredibly tight she was around him, how gorgeous she'd always been, how many times he—Chuck Bass—had fantasized about this very moment. Finally, he filled her completely, a sharp jolt of pleasure rushing straight through him, and held his hips still to savor the feeling.

Blair clung onto him and whispered his name. He almost came right then.

Finally, Chuck grasped her chin and thrust again. Her pants heightened along with the push of his hips, and it was not the usual amorous duel they so often succumbed to. He surrendered to her slowly, eyes open, letting her see every expression of pain and pleasure—the fear held there. And she surrendered to him, allowed him to pin her wrists above her head, drape himself over her body as she left her control behind and swam over tide after tide of ecstasy.

She said his name over and over again, and Chuck grunted, pressing his forehead to her shoulder when it was all too much to bear. "Blair." He kissed her, left his lips against hers as they moved together. "You feel incredible." He heaved another groan, pressed her hands further into the chaise.

"God, Chuck." Blair, sweating and pink and beautiful, lifted her hips to meet his now, feeling emboldened as she bit down on the curve of his neck, searching, reaching—for something. The pleasure built as Chuck bit her back, released her hands to prop her hips up, beginning a rhythm of deep, punctuated thrusts outside of his control. He cursed. She was so wet that he could feel it on both of their thighs.

Blair cried out, nails digging into his shoulder blades. It was like jumping from a ledge, spiraling down into a pleasure so sweet, so intense that she could not recognize it. And as she panted his name, as she clung to him, Chuck thrust harder, embarrassingly loud whimpers and groans filling the small room as he finally—

"Blair, I'm going to..." he trailed off, grimacing as the rhythm of his thrusts grew erratic, and Blair pressed closer to him, chasing her own finish. "Oh, fuck," he groaned against her cheek, followed by a steady symphony of her name. "Blair, Blair, Blair." His thrusts were fewer and farther in between now, broken until they stopped completely, until she pulled him down against her, gasped for breath into the curve of his neck. "Blair," he whispered again, forehead pressed to her chest, her hand stroking through his hair as she came down from a few aftershocks.

Blair was light and dizzy as she fell silent. She couldn't say what she so desperately wanted to say, what she knew she felt, so waited for him to speak, waited until he quietly came to the realization, "It's always been you."

---

A/N: This won't be much of an author's note because I am absolutely exhausted. But a big thank you to those who've supported me through the epic journey of writing Wires. There's still a lot more to come, and I can't wait to see what you guys think. I love you all. Until next time, N