The name 'Blair Waldorf' hung in the air, carrying more weight than any promise made in the inebriated chaos of a party—though, truth be told, Chuck hadn't made any.
The group of girls began to whisper among themselves, talking about the Queen of Constance Billard and how her path was not to be crossed. Ever. They had unwittingly stepped into the territory of someone whose reputation far surpassed the allure of casual flirtation. In a synchronized retreat, they left their friend alone with Chuck and Blair. Cowards.
Blair's expression hinted at a victorious satisfaction beneath her composed exterior. A suppressed smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the result of asserting dominance in a social arena where power dynamics were carefully measured. After Serena had outmaneuvered her in her own battle with Georgina and Dan, she needed a win, even if it meant crushing a simple, insignificant bug.
"Understood?"
"Y— Yes," the girl stammered.
Blair looked down at her. Her poised demeanor, authoritative tone and the subtle smile that threatened to appear lit a fire within Chuck. It was an intoxicating force that enthralled him, reaching every fiber of his being and awakening a primal desire. She was so... looked so... It sent a shiver down his spine, a sensation that seemed to intensify with every heartbeat.
Misinterpreting the focus of his thoughts, Blair gripped the lapel of his suit jacket and pulled forcefully, separating him from the unnamed girl and closing the gap between them. The assertive gesture, while impertinent, only served to further fuel the flame.
"Stop being such a pig," she commanded.
Chuck responded with a deep, resonant laugh that not only increased Blair's anger but also simultaneously made him even more aroused.
Damn her.
Once outside the house, the brisk night air did little to cool the fire that raged within Blair. Each step she took seemed to magnify the intensity of her fury. Chuck quickened his pace to catch up with her.
"Can you slow down?" he urged, his voice cutting through the silence between them.
Blair shot him a 'don't you dare speak to me now' look and continued walking. Chuck fell into step beside her, undeterred by the coldness of her gaze. What was wrong with her? Sure, the little charade with Serena had been excessive, but Blair for sure had to know it was an act. Right? And if not, what was the problem? Blair should at least be grateful Serena hadn't used Nate to try out her acting skills. After all, Chuck was the lesser of two evils, wasn't he?
Arthur opened the door of the limousine with polished, practiced finesse, awaiting their entrance into its luxurious interior. As the door closed behind them, the symphony of the outside world was hushed, cocooning them in a bubble of apparent tranquility. Blair peered through the tinted window, still reluctant to say more than three words.
With a glance at Chuck, his driver, the epitome of professionalism, sought guidance through the narrow aperture of the lowered window that separated them. "Where to, Mr. Bass? The house?" he inquired in a respectful tone.
Chuck replied with an almost imperceptible shrug, a nonchalant gesture that implied 'she's the boss', as if passing an invisible baton of authority to Blair.
"Miss Waldorf?"
Quickly taking the reins, Blair answered. "The usual."
Why would she want to go there?
Arthur acknowledged with a subtle nod, his eyes reflecting a clear understanding of the dynamics at play. He navigated the limousine through the bustling streets, a discreet witness to the duo in the backseat.
The club, hidden behind a deceptively average façade, promised much more than met the eye. The sleek bouncer at its entrance, familiar with Chuck from previous visits, wordlessly ushered them through the parted velvet ropes.
With a hand on Blair's lower back, they stepped inside as the thumping bass of the music pulsed through the air, setting the tone for the decadent party within. The sultry ambiance, flattered by the subdued lighting, cast an aura over the fashionably dressed guests that were engrossed in animated conversations and rhythmic dancing. It was one of the good nights.
A disconcerting, uneasy silence had prevailed during the drive from Nelly's house. Blair's behavior oscillated between strict avoidance and passive acceptance of his presence, creating a confusing tapestry of mixed signals. Though it seemed that she couldn't bear his proximity, the fact that she not only allowed him to accompany her but also let him touch her was driving him insane. The push and pull she exerted on him was excruciating.
Blair led the way, navigating the dance floor with purposeful steps while Chuck followed close behind. The crowd parted as if recognizing their dominion over this realm. The club's atmosphere was electric—a heady mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the hypnotic allure of the music.
Finally reaching her destination, she leaned against the bar counter, beckoned one of the bartenders to her side, and ordered a martini.
"Did you know you don't have to bother with the crowd? Our private spot is always prepped and waiting for us," Chuck remarked, signaling the man to fetch his regular order.
"Shut up."
He was well known at the club, a place he frequented with almost obsessive regularity every summer. Chuck had once tried to sell it as a good investment for his father's company. However, before he even had a chance to pitch the idea, Bart had greeted him with a complete catalog of insults. In the end, he accepted and embraced everything his father had accused him of being—an alcoholic good-for-nothing, unworthy of the family name. Now, the club served as a refuge from the outside world, a place to forget and immerse himself in the company of women as the nights went by. It seemed, at least, that his father's insults had found some basis.
Over the past summer, as things between his best friend and Blair took a turn, she had gradually become his club partner. Their shared love of indulgence added another bullet point to the extensive list of similarities that bound them together.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on with you?" Chuck leaned casually on the counter, perched on a stool.
"No."
"Should we just stand here in awkward silence like a pair of mutes?"
"Silence suits me just fine. I prefer it over enduring whatever you're about to say."
When Blair was like this, she was truly infuriating.
In response, Chuck casually ignited his second cigarette of the night, opting for a break from weed this time. He took the drink the bartender had brought over, adding it to the collection of alcoholic beverages whose contents had become a blur in his mind. Taking a sip, he allowed the alcohol to take hold, a subtle warmth enveloping his thoughts as he sought solace in the numbing embrace of the intoxicating mix. The air thickened with oppressive tension, each sip and drag a silent battle against the charged atmosphere.
"Stop smoking," Blair demanded.
"Anything else? Do you want me to get down on all fours and wag my tail like a dog? Be fucking serious," Chuck retorted, taking another drag.
"It's fucking gross."
He exhaled smoke. "I couldn't care less."
"You're killing yourself."
"Again, not on my list of concerns."
The alcohol and tobacco were emboldening him, casting a harsher edge to his words. And even though he didn't want to, Blair was making everything so damn difficult. Was this still about Serena? Or Nate? Or had it evolved into something else entirely?
"If this is about what happened with Serena…" Chuck dared.
"It's not."
"It sure as hell looks like it is."
"Can you just drop it?"
"I can't just stand here and pretend everything's fine and dandy when you won't spill what's eating at you or even have a decent conversation with me," he insisted, his speech rushed. "Especially when I know I'm the one you're pissed at."
"You're always so sure you've got it all figured out, aren't you?" Blair replied, refusing to break eye contact. "But maybe, for once, it's not about you."
"Go on, keep denying it."
"That is the truth, Chuck, like it or not," Blair stated firmly.
"You're such a brat."
"Brat? That's the best you've got?"
"Maybe 'brat' is too generous for the tantrum you're throwing right now," Chuck remarked, his patience wearing thin. Snuffing out the cigarette, he lit another, a challenge dancing in his eyes. "Frankly, I've witnessed more maturity in a two-year-old. Even our dear friend Serena could outclass this performance."
"Well, Chuck, if you're seeking maturity, perhaps you should have consulted with your dearest Serena. But then again, expecting wisdom from someone who willingly plays along in her theatrics might be a stretch."
Blair drained the remnants of her drink, slid off her stool and seamlessly blended into the pulsating rhythm of the dancing crowd. Her every move was part of a delicate dance, a subtle sway that betrayed the influence of the alcohol coursing through her veins. Not wanting to leave it at that, his own inebriated brain forced him to follow her.
"Let me go," Blair spat loudly, turning around as Chuck grabbed her arm. "You have no idea how much I hate you right now."
"Then why did you even let me come with you in the first place?" Chuck asked, his tone rising.
"You came of your own free will, just like you do everything else, don't you?"
"What does that even mean?"
"Nothing."
It was as if she was... jealous. No, that couldn't be right. Blair, jealous—of Serena and him? Chuck struggled with the possibility, dismissing it as a mere hallucination induced by the alcohol and drugs. Yet the elusive truth hovered within reach, tangible despite his attempts to ignore it. Smoking may not kill him, but Blair just might.
"Is this guy bothering you?" A tall, slender blond boy with piercing blue eyes appeared by their side, a spitting image of none other than Nate. Distinguishing between these generic jocks seemed like a Herculean task.
Chuck's jaw clenched. "Leave us alone," he growled.
"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to her."
Who did this guy think he was? Did he have any idea who he was talking to?
"Yes," Blair replied, meeting the boy's gaze.
"What?" both the guy and Chuck said at the same time, their surprise echoing each other.
"He's causing a scene. Please, make him go away," Blair clarified.
"You heard her."
"You've got to be kidding me," Chuck muttered.
"I won't say it twice. Let me go."
And Chuck did just that.
As the blond boy led Blair onto the dance floor, Chuck retreated to his prior position on the stool. His jaw tightened with an intensity that mirrored the clenched grip on his glass. The movements of the couple were slow, deliberate, as if each step was a calculated move in an unspoken game. Blair knew what she was doing, and she knew damn well that he was watching. It all felt like a challenge thrown at him, but what else did she expect him to do?
Chuck tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he could play this game as well, but the knots in his stomach told a different truth. The more Blair's silhouette swayed on the dance floor, the tighter the grip of anxiety became. It was a visceral reaction, a stomach-churning realization that this was more real than he cared to admit.
The pulsating music became a distant backdrop to his swirling mind. The boy's hands rested on Blair's waist, guiding her through the rhythm, and Chuck's fingers tapped restlessly against the bar counter. He took another sip of his drink, the bitterness doing little to mask the acrid taste of jealousy that lingered in the back of his throat.
Though Chuck had seen Blair with Nate doing far worse than this, the intensity of what he felt in this exact moment was incomparable.
The Nate look-alike leaned in, whispering something in her ear that elicited laughter from Blair. Chuck couldn't fathom why he didn't leave, why he remained seated like a spectator in his own tragic play, watching the girl of his dreams revel in the company of someone insignificant.
The dance turned more sensual, more charged, and Chuck found himself caught up in the movements of their bodies, but it was not just the dance that gripped him—it was the way Blair was looking straight at him. Each glance, as the other man's hands moved up and down her body, seemed to draw Chuck into an intimate choreography of its own, as if both their souls were entwined in a dangerous tango under the dim lights.
It wasn't merely a dance; it was a manifestation of desire, a connection that transcended the boundaries of the physical plane. Each of her movements ceased to be a mere performance, morphing into the unspoken sentences of a wordless conversation, a dance of longing and restraint that left him hanging at the edge of a precipice. Her eyes seemed to be telling him everything her mouth could not. It became a silent declaration, an intimate exchange, creating a space where the uncharted territory of his unrequited passion unfolded with an intensity that resonated beyond the dance floor, giving way to something different, something more.
At that instant, he questioned the reality of the moment, unsure if it was unfolding before him or if it was just a figment of his imagination.
He was way too drunk.
Chuck couldn't stand it any longer. It was either time for Blair to tell him what was going on in plain English, or he would put an end to it and let her dance solo. The constant guessing and tiptoeing around the tension that hung between them had worn him down. The ball was firmly in her court, and he couldn't continue to navigate the intricacies of their relationship in the shadows. If there was a chance, however slim, he needed to know. Breaking her gaze, he returned to the comfort of his glass.
A bartender unknown to him wiped down the counter, stealing a glance at Chuck. "Rough night, isn't it?"
Chuck, still lost in his thoughts, shot a sharp look at the guy. "Don't we pay you to stay quiet?"
"No offense, but I couldn't help but overhear your thoughts from across the counter. Figured you might need a chat."
"You must be new."
He was relatively young, not much older than Chuck.
"I started yesterday. Please, don't fire me."
Chuck waved him off with a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry."
As he took another sip, feeling the burn of alcohol, he sensed himself teetering on the edge of control, the room spinning around him.
"Is that your girlfriend?" the guy said, nodding towards Blair.
Chuck laughed. It was probably the funniest thing he had heard that night.
"Then why am I here wallowing in my own misery while she twirls around with someone else? She's just a friend."
"It didn't seem that way considering how you two were talking earlier, or looking at each other just now."
"People need to stop saying that."
The bartender leaned on the counter, a small smile playing on his lips. "If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck."
"Maybe I should murder that duck."
"Putting an end to it doesn't change the fact that it's still a duck."
"But it does make it go away, doesn't it?"
"I can't argue with that."
Chuck raised his glass, mimicking a toast with a final sip, and awkwardly left the emptied glass on the counter. He had reached his limit for the day, or perhaps even the entire week. The bartender promptly took the glass and continued to clean up.
Without another word, Chuck rose from his seat and walked out of the club with an unsteady stride. Hands tucked into his pants pockets, he leaned against the nearest wall. Despite the tempting urge to light up another cigarette and sink deeper and deeper into oblivion, he resisted, well aware that his lungs would probably thank him for it.
At the street's end, a disheveled figure lingered, looking as if they were waiting for someone. He didn't care. Further down, a group of girls assisted one of their own in hailing a taxi, ensuring her safe journey home. The bouncer cast Chuck a knowing look, his expression tinged with a hint of sympathy. As he stood there, the surroundings gradually blurred in his mind.
After a while, Blair emerged in a rush, scanning the area until her eyes met his. A sigh escaped her lips, her features softening in relief.
"I thought you left," she said, standing in front of him.
"I didn't want to interrupt. You were in such delightful company," Chuck explained, his words slightly slurred. Still, he made an effort to regain his composure. "I'm sure the topics of conversation were as thrilling as ever."
"We weren't exactly conversing, to be precise."
"If only I'd known it was a non-verbal affair, I might have brought my own dance partner."
"Don't start," Blair warned.
"Start what exactly?"
"The jealousy act. It doesn't suit you."
"Ah, no? And what exactly suits me? Watching you from the sidelines without saying a single word? I'm so tired of being the good guy around you, Waldorf."
"You have no right to be jealous."
"You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it with intention," Chuck replied, a hint of accusation in his voice.
"I did not."
"Stop lying. You did."
"Why would I?" Blair countered, her tone challenging.
"To get back at me," Chuck stated simply, pulling his hands out of his pockets as he moved away from the wall. "I'm not Nate, Serena or your typical pawn. Twisting me in circles won't make the truth go away. It only fuels the explosion."
Chuck turned away, running a hand over his face. It was imperative to put some distance between them; proximity blocked his ability to think clearly.
"Here I thought you would be glad Serena chose me instead of Nate," he said, not expecting a response. Blair would retreat into herself, triggering the familiar denial loop. He hadn't imagined that something so trivial would escalate to this point.
Her response surprised him, "Well, I'm not."
"And why is that?"
A breach in the shell had opened. And Chuck was going to take advantage of it, no matter what.
"Because I'm just fed up with her getting away with everything!" Blair exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "Sick and tired of her having it all! She just slicks her hair back, and suddenly, everyone's at her beck and call—Nate, Dan, the guy who pops up around the corner… You. She just has it all and is never satisfied. Always craving more."
"Can you please stop comparing yourself to her?"
"I can't!" she screamed. "Chuck, you don't understand."
"What do I have to understand? That you're leagues more intelligent, interesting, and witty than any woman in the whole city of New York? That you're beautiful? That you embody everything a woman wishes for and a man desires? Have you ever taken a good look at yourself in a mirror?" The words spilled out of Chuck's mouth like water bursting through a dam, and he desperately wished his lips would stop their relentless flow. To no avail. His mind remained defiant, refusing to submit to the physical restraint he sought.
"Yes! And that's the problem."
"What do you mean?"
Blair looked away from him. "The mirror reflects everything I am, but it also magnifies everything I'm not. It's a constant reminder of the expectations and standards I'm supposed to live up to, and it's exhausting."
"You are remarkable, Blair."
"I'm not going to fool myself into thinking otherwise just because of your soothing words."
"What will it take for you to believe that what I'm saying is the fucking truth?"
"You're my friend. Of course you have to tell me that."
A wave of intense heat swept over him, his heart pounding rapidly, and his tone carried a sharp edge, "Well, Blair, right now I really wish I wasn't."
"Friendship is the only thing that we have."
"Don't I fucking know it." Chuck retreated a step, running a hand through his hair.
He found himself breathing heavily.
"Why are you so angry all of a sudden?"
"It's nothing."
"Now you won't talk to me?"
"That's rich, considering I've been chasing you all night."
"Tell me," Blair approached him, closing the distance a little.
"I'm not telling you shit. Why is it always me who ends up giving in? With you, it's like pulling teeth." Chuck asserted, exhaling sharply. As he tried to put more distance between himself and her, he stumbled. In response, Blair quickly reached out and grabbed his arm. "Shit. I can't even think straight."
"Are you all right?" she asked, not letting go.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think I like following you around, begging for your attention and forgiveness for something I didn't even do? It's pathetic." Chuck chuckled darkly. "I'm so fucking pathetic. Dear Dad should see me now; he'd have a good laugh." Straightening himself, he continued, "And to add insult to injury, the icing on the cake was witnessing that little spectacle you orchestrated with that Nate Archibald wannabe. Yes, Waldorf, I'm marvelous."
"Just like you did with Serena."
He pulled away from her. "Enough with Serena!" They were going round in circles. "What is so unforgivable about what we did that made me deserve a night like this? You said it yourself. We're friends."
Blair crossed her arms in a defensive stance, but he remained silent. Chuck refused to say anything more.
"You… you were the only one she hadn't gotten her claws into," she stammered, unable to meet his eyes. "Seeing you look at her the same way Nate looks at her was... You… you always chose me over her. Always. Until tonight."
Shit.
"Blair… It was a fucking game."
"It made me sick."
"Why?" Chuck pressed, desperately needing confirmation in her eyes that this went beyond Serena.
It wasn't enough. After all that had happened between them, Chuck needed something more. "Why?" he asked again.
"Never mind."
"No, not again." Chuck shook his head and tried to walk past her on his way to the limousine. "I can't do this again."
But Blair didn't let him, stepping in front of him. Their bodies were too close to his liking. "What more do you want me to say?"
"The truth. That there's more to it than me choosing Serena over you because, let's face it, Blair, you're not stupid. You know as well as I do that I would choose you over and over again, over her, and anyone else."
"It made me sick to see you with her, just as it made me sick to see you with Georgina or any other girl. I can't explain it. The thought of seeing you with anyone else is nauseating," Blair confessed.
Blair's admission reverberated in the charged air. She took a step forward, her eyes locked on Chuck's.
"Why?" he whispered.
Their breaths mingled for a moment, a shared anticipation hanging in the balance. In a bold move, Blair's hand found its way to the side of Chuck's face, her fingers lightly brushing the line of his jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The touch was not only tender but also tentative, a silent acknowledgment of all the unspoken desires that had been kept in the shadows for far too long.
Time seemed to slow as she closed the remaining distance, every inch of his body seeming to ache. Her lips met his with a fierce urgency. The kiss was intense, a passionate fusion of longing and desire that spoke louder than any words could. For that stolen moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and they were enveloped in the profound connection that had always defined their tumultuous relationship.
If he hadn't been dreaming before, he was clearly doing it now.