A deafening silence lingered between them, a void that demanded to be filled. How could he possibly start? He had to find something, anything, to say. Thoughts raced through his mind like nimble fish—small, slippery, and impossible to catch. Every word felt insufficient. Distant whispers that came far too late. His fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against his thighs, the movement becoming more frantic as the seconds passed.
Blair, on the other hand, wasn't making things any easier. But why should she? Why should she speak first? What reason did she have to offer him anything but silence? She stared out at the vast, pitch-black ocean, the silvery moonlight painting a soft glow on her features. Not once did she look in his direction, as if he were a ghost, unseen and unworthy of her attention.
Perhaps he didn't deserve it. Perhaps he never had.
Chuck scooped up a handful of sand and let it slip from his grasp. Though it briefly occupied his restless fingers, he soon regretted it. He sighed, rubbing his palms against his pants, the gritty residue leaving faint streaks on the fabric.
The distance between them seemed infinite. Did she hope he would stay? Or did she want him to leave? Did she want to yell at him? Hit him? Watch the ocean swallow him up? Drown him herself with her bare hands? Or was it all of the above at once? He hated feeling so lost, unable to read her mind or understand her intentions.
Facing reality proved more daunting than mere contemplation. Before, the path forward had been clear. But now, sitting next to her—beautiful, real, and capable of hurting him as much as he could hurt her—he couldn't speak.
He took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs.
What if he said the wrong thing? What if he had already missed his chance? The windows closed, the door nailed shut. What if she didn't care anymore? What if, in this poor attempt to make things right, he only succeeded in causing deeper wounds?
Despite being a warm night, the proximity of the ocean made Blair shiver slightly, her hands rubbing up and down her upper arms to ward off the chill. Like a natural cadence, Chuck took off his riding jacket and held it out to her, but she didn't turn to take it. Instead, she remained focused on the remote and flat horizon, her eyes distant, hard and unreadable. He hesitated, then gently draped the jacket over her shoulders. For a brief moment, he hoped she would acknowledge the gesture, offer him a glimmer of hope, but as soon as the fabric touched her, Blair stood. The jacket slipped off her shoulders and landed softly on the sand.
And then, more silence.
Desperation took over, and he reached out, fingers closing around her wrist with a trembling grip, halting her retreat. She couldn't leave. Not like this. Not without hearing him first. The touch of her skin sent a chill down his spine, her coldness contrasting sharply with the warmth of his own hand.
"Don't go," he whispered, his voice betraying an unfamiliar crack. "Please."
Blair paused, the tension in her wrist easing slightly, but still didn't look at him.
"Please."
With a deliberate but firm movement, she pulled herself free. "Why shouldn't I, Chuck?"
"Because I… I really need to talk to you."
"Oh, isn't that just hilarious? I needed to talk to you, too," she shot back, her tone cutting like a knife. "And you left."
Her eyes finally met his, and once again silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. His heart pounded in the oppressive quiet. But this time it was fleeting, broken by the reminder of his own actions.
"For a week." Blair looked away, crossing her arms. "A whole damn week."
She wasn't just angry. She was furious.
"I didn't—"
"Why should I even bother listening to you now?" she interrupted. "You could have called, you could have picked up the phone, replied to a single text. Just one. Let me know you were at least alive. But no, you disappeared. Poof, gone. You see? Sometimes we don't get the things that we need."
Chuck swallowed hard, the words stuck in his throat. He had no easy answers, no perfect explanations. Still, he had to try.
"I'm sorry," he managed, repeating what he had written on paper a week ago.
But those two words only stoked the fires of her anger.
"You're sorry?" she spat.
His tone grew more determined. "I am, Blair. Truly."
"That's it? That's all you have to say?"
He took a deep breath, knowing that saying it out loud had been the necessary starting point, though it was far from enough. "No, that's not—"
Blair cut him off again. "What now? You expect me to forgive you and act like nothing happened? Do you even know what you're apologizing for?"
"I know exactly what I'm apologizing for, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I couldn't stay away—"
"You couldn't stay away? You've got some nerve, Chuck. Some goddamn nerve."
"Are you going to let me speak?"
"Save it. Why did you come back here? Why put in the effort when you could have just written yet another delightful note and sent it to your newfound best friend to deliver the good news?"
Chuck's brows furrowed, his voice catching mid-breath. "What?"
She began pacing back and forth, each step kicking up little clouds of sand that danced under the watchful eye of the moon. "It would have spared you the inconvenience of facing me and saved me from having to listen to your lame apologies."
"What the hell are you even going on about?"
"Oh, Blair, I'm sorry," she taunted him. "This has all been a mistake. Let me go back to my whoring and drinking and shutting down all my feelings because my father once told me that's what a real man does."
"Who told you that's what I came here to do?"
"You did! Every single day this past week."
"That's not fair."
But Blair was lost in her own world, her words spinning out of control. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, shaking her head. Her pace quickened, unable to stand still. "Can't believe I let you mess with my head like this. Trusted you, thought we could be something. What was I even thinking? You are Chuck Bass. You don't do relationships."
His own pulse quickened as the tension between them tightened like a coiled spring ready to snap. Chuck stood up abruptly. "Just let me explain."
"I should have known better. What did everyone say? Shit, I'm so stupid."
"You are not stupid. It's not like that at all. I am the one—"
"Why did I—"
"Blair!"
"What!" She stopped dead in her tracks. "Do you honestly think saying 'I'm sorry' fixes everything?"
He ran a hand over his face. "Of course not. But—"
"Think I've been living it up at polo parties, sipping champagne, laughing it off and sunbathing on the beach like life's a breeze, all because you scribbled sorry in that stupid handwriting of yours and ran away like a fucking coward?" Her voice rose, hitting a pitch that seemed to echo off the waves crashing nearby. "Well, news flash: that's not how it works! You really think that was enough?"
"No!" Chuck started to really lose it as he struggled to get more than a word in. "I don't think so. Please, calm down."
Blair's breath was ragged, her chest heaving. "Calm down? You don't get to tell me to calm down, Chuck. You left me. With nothing but a note. Do you have any idea how that felt?"
He took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding in his ears. "I know. I knew it was wrong the moment I set foot out of that room."
"No, you don't. Because if you did, you would have stayed."
"Look, I—"
As Chuck opened his mouth to speak, Blair's finger stabbed into his chest like a dagger. "And you... You." Her words came out in a rush. "What have you been up to these past few days, huh? Living your life to the fullest, I bet? Indulging in all the usual vices? Oh, forgive me, should I direct my questions to Serena? Cause she seems to know a lot about you. More than I do, apparently."
His stomach dropped. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.
"Leave Serena out of this," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's all my—"
"Oh, really?" Blair scoffed. "So gallant of you to defend her. What's next? Between texting each other, you braid her hair?"
"For fuck's sake, Waldorf! Can you let me finish a sentence?"
"You knew how I felt about her. You knew, and you didn't care. Don't you dare lie to me."
"Why do we keep circling back to this same damn argument?"
Blair's laugh was bitter. "I don't know, Chuck. You tell me. Or better yet, tell me how you'd feel if I ran away from you and the only person I confided in was Nate. Would that hurt?"
His jaw tightened, eyes darkening. "It's not the same."
"It's exactly the same!"
"It's not," Chuck insisted. "Nate was your boyfriend. There is history there. Feelings."
"So?"
"What do you mean 'so'? I only talked to Serena because it was the closest I could get to you! I don't know how many times I have to tell you that you are the only one I care about."
"So now it's my fault?"
"Stop twisting everything I say! Damn it, Blair, do you even hear yourself?"
"I was right here!" Blair screamed, her voice breaking. "You only had to come to me. Not Serena. Not anyone else. Me."
"Well, maybe if you weren't so damn impossible to talk to, I wouldn't have needed to go to her in the first place!"
Her eyes widened. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me just fine," Chuck replied sharply.
"If I'm such a nightmare, why are you here? Why not run back to your entourage of not-so-impossible girls?"
"Right now, I'm asking myself that very same question."
Blair shoved against his chest. "Then leave. Go!"
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes!"
"Fine!"
They stood there, facing each other, chests heaving like marathon runners at the finish line of a race they never intended to run. The air was charged with unspoken words and the bitter taste of those that had already been said. For a moment, he saw it clearly in her eyes, she actually thought he was about to turn and walk away.
And why wouldn't she? He had done nothing to earn her trust, in fact he had spent the last seven days methodically dismantling it piece by piece. The realization cut deep. How could he expect anything different? How could he blame her?
"You're a coward," Blair said, not giving him a chance to collect his thoughts or plan his next move.
Wasn't it always like that with her?
"And you can't stand it when things don't go your way. I'm not a fucking robot," Chuck snapped. He was still too tense, too on edge, bruised by her words and ashamed of his own. "You can't program me to do whatever the hell you want."
"Go to hell, Chuck. You don't get to turn this on me. You are not the victim here. All I wanted was for you to act like a human being."
"Well, I'm really sorry for not being one."
"You think you're so clever, don't you? But you're just a scared little boy hiding behind his father's big shadow."
"And you're just a spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around her. You know what? It doesn't."
"How dare you."
Without another word, insult or barb, Blair spun on her heels and stalked away, her steps quickening as she headed in the opposite direction, leaving the beach house behind.
Meanwhile, Chuck stood rooted to the spot, his chest tightening with each inhalation of the crisp night air that did little to soothe the burn of their argument. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was a distant roar in his ears, almost drowned out by the pounding of his heart. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface.
"Where are you going?" he called out, his voice harsher than he intended.
"Away from you!"
"That is not the way!"
"I don't care!"
"Slow down! You're only going to hurt yourself!"
Her footsteps didn't falter, her silhouette slowly fading into the night. "Shut up!"
Every inch of the widening distance between them was irrefutable proof of his failure. So much for trying to make things right, he thought bitterly. So much for apologies and explanations. The words he had said, and still wanted to say, twisted painfully in his chest. Why was it that the more he tried to bridge the gap, the wider it seemed to grow? He let out a heavy sigh, feeling the sting of his own impotence.
He had tried to get through to her, but it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. Every attempt at reconciliation slipped away before it even started, leaving him grasping at nothing. He had tried, but had he tried hard enough?
Blair Waldorf was a force to be reckoned with, impressive and proud, and you never wanted to find yourself on the opposing team. As a partner, she was unparalleled; as an adversary, she was devastating. Feared by many, her wrath left few unscathed. Yet she never let her composure slip—always calm, collected, and executing her vengeance with poised precision. He knew this well. He had been her ally, her accomplice, and reveled in it. Together, they could watch the world burn.
The confrontation replayed in his mind, every word and gesture echoing with excruciating clarity. To see her lose control so completely only revealed the depth of her pain. The look in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice—it all hit him harder than any physical blow ever could.
Did she know the power she had over him? How her contempt could unravel him completely.
It was so easy for her to push his buttons, and his knee-jerk reaction was always to fire back. Putting up a defensive front, countering with sarcasm and hurtful remarks was his way of protecting himself, a shield against admitting just how much he was hurting. How desperately he needed her forgiveness. How her silence and disappointment felt like nothing but condemnation. Because if there was anyone, anyone at all, who could get under his skin like no one else could, it was her. With others, he just didn't care; their opinions were insignificant, sliding off him like raindrops on glass. But Blair—Blair could cut him to the bone. Her words, her approval, meant more to him than he would ever admit.
With her, it was different. It always had been, and perhaps it always would be.
Blair was his anchor in a world that often felt chaotic and meaningless. And he didn't want to give up. Not on her, not on them. Not on himself.
He squinted into the darkness, his eyes straining to follow her path. Where the hell was she going? "Blair, wait!" Finally, Chuck moved, his steps quickening to catch up.
"Come on, just hear me out!" he called after her. "I screwed up, okay? I was scared out of my mind. I thought I was protecting you, but you never needed that. I had it all wrong, and it just took me some time to figure things out, but walking away and shutting you out was a mistake. I understand that now. I just... I want you to know that I..."
Her voice cut through the night. "Shit! Ouch! Damn it! Shit!"
"Blair?"
"Ow!" she whimpered.
He sprinted over until he was within inches of her. Blair sat on the sand, cradling her foot. Her face, illuminated by the moonlight, was contorted with pain, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pressed into a tight line.
"What happened?"
"Go away."
"Are you okay?" Chuck insisted.
"Just peachy," she said through clenched teeth. "I woke up this morning and thought, 'What a wonderful day to break my ankle!' So after wasting my time with an insufferable, obnoxious bastard, I decided to end it by coming here and doing exactly that! Shit! Ow! Go away, Chuck. Leave me alone."
"Let me—"
"Don't you dare come one inch closer! I don't need you or your so-called help. Just stay away from me."
"Is your foot numb?" he asked, ignoring her protest and crouching down beside her. "Is it swollen?"
"Don't touch me," she hissed, swatting his hand away. "This is all your fault."
"My fault? You're the one who insisted on running barefoot on the beach at night."
"Well, you didn't stop me, did you?" She shot him a look that could freeze fire.
"I tried."
"Like you always do, half-heartedly."
He winced slightly at her remark as he tried to assess her injury, squinting in the dim light. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to listen to me once in a while."
"And you're an idiot," she shot back. "Ugh, all this sand. It's everywhere."
"We're on the beach. What do you expect? Manhattan's paved streets?"
"Shut the fuck up."
He couldn't help but chuckle softly.
"Look, I don't want to fight. Let me help you," Chuck offered.
"I don't want your help. I can do it myself," she insisted stubbornly, attempting to get up only to collapse back onto the sand with a cry of pain.
"Always so stubborn," he said.
"So besides being impossible, I'm stubborn too?" Blair's eyes flashed with defiance. "Make up your mind."
"You can be both," Chuck said, a hint of a smile breaking through.
"I hate you."
"I know, but let me take a look."
"No."
"Why are you always so difficult? Why can't you just let me help?"
"Because I don't need you," she snapped, her voice softening slightly as pain overcame her resistance. Tears glistened in her eyes.
"Clearly, you do," he countered, nodding towards her ankle. "Does it hurt?"
"No, it feels wonderful. What do you think?" she rolled her eyes. "Of course it hurts! I think it's broken."
"Can I?" He gently reached for her foot, his touch careful and tentative. This time, she didn't pull away.
"Ouch!" she yelped, smacking his shoulder. "Watch it! Can't you be more careful? Chuck! It hurts! It's broken, I know it is."
"It's not broken," he said, examining it thoroughly. "Likely a strain or a sprain. I can't see much in this light, so I don't know if there's a bruise, but it's not broken. Trust me."
"How do you know? It definitely feels broken," she whined.
"It's not misshapen or misaligned."
"Chuck…"
"Did it make a popping sound?"
"No," she said, trying to remember. "I don't know."
"Does it feel numb? Does the pain extend from your foot to your knee? Can you wiggle your toes?"
"I don't know."
"Give it a shot, Blair. Or do you want me to move them for you?"
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
"Oh, so now you're an expert on injuries? Some kind of twisted Boy Scout?"
"Why, Waldorf? Would you like to see me in those olive convertible pants? I must admit, the color is hideous, but I would make an exception just for you."
"As if I'd ever be impressed by a pair of pants."
"Is the neckerchief doing it for you then?" Chuck teased, raising an eyebrow.
Blair scoffed, but he caught the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"Your toes," he reminded her, not wanting to lose focus. He could flirt and tease her all night if she let him.
She hesitated for a moment, then followed his instructions. Her toes wiggled tentatively as she tested the responsiveness of her ankle.
"It hurts, but you can move it, it's warm to the touch, and it feels like muscle cramps, right?" Chuck recounted.
"Yes."
"And you're as stiff as a board."
"Thank you very much."
"You're welcome."
He let go of her foot, and she slapped him lightly on the arm.
"Fair enough," he said with a smile.
As he stood up, Chuck extended his hand to Blair. "Come on."
She eyed his hand suspiciously. "Where exactly?"
"To the water. Soaking your ankle in cold salt water will help reduce swelling and numb the pain so you can shut that pretty mouth of yours and stop whining. It's also a natural antiseptic. Try to keep up, Waldorf. You're the smart one."
"How? How do you know that?"
"Because I read."
"You read."
"Why is that so shocking? Do you think I'm Nate?"
"No, it's not that. I just… It's nice. That you know."
"Someone has to balance out your dramatics with some actual knowledge."
"As if."
"I twisted my ankle when I was a kid," he offered. "Spent hours bawling my eyes out. Yeah, yeah, I know, Chuck Bass reduced to tears. Pathetic, right? I couldn't let dear Bart witness a moment of such weakness, so I hid in the hotel kitchen. One of the Palace employees, a sweet lady, found me and helped me. She took some ice from the freezer, wrapped it in a cloth and applied it to my throbbing ankle. Of course, I objected, insisted I didn't need any help. But she wouldn't have any of it. I don't think she even knew who I was. Then, because I couldn't let it go, I had to find out why the damn thing actually worked."
"Sweet lady, huh?"
"A real charmer. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Can you stand up?"
"I'm not limping to the shoreline. You go."
"I go? I can't exactly take your ankle with me, Blair."
"Then bring the water here. I'm not budging. It hurts."
"And how exactly do you propose I do that?"
"Figure it out."
He shook his head in amused disbelief. "You are insane."
Well, if she wanted him to figure it out, he was going to do just that. Capitalizing on the fact that she didn't appear inclined to throttle him on the spot, he rolled up his pants. In one smooth, confident motion, he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
Blair's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips. "Chuck!" she protested. "Put me down!"
"Not a chance," he countered, tightening his grip. "And quit squirming, or we'll both end up eating sand."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Can you blame me?"
With each step, Blair's resistance melted away. Her protests faded, and the tension in her body dissolved like sugar in warm tea. It felt so nice to carry her like this, intoxicating even, so he deliberately slowed his pace.
He had never claimed to be a saint, so he let himself revel in the luxury of holding her close.
As they neared the water's edge, the waves swirled around Chuck's feet, inviting them further into the embrace of the ocean. The gentle lapping of the water against his ankles sent a soothing chill up his legs, grounding him in the present moment. He stopped when it rose just below his calves, the rhythmic pulse of the tide a calming counterpoint to his racing heart.
Blair, uncharacteristically quiet, raised her gaze to meet his. There was an intensity in her eyes, an earnestness, as if she was trying to dig out the unsaid words hidden deep between them. The connection that had been lost. Her stare lingered on his lips, a subtle but unmistakable gesture. It almost seemed as if… as if she wanted to… No, he must be imagining things. The night breeze ruffled her hair, sending loose strands dancing around her face, and the sight alone stole Chuck's breath away.
He exhaled softly. "What is it?"
"Your lip has healed nicely."
Her observation caught him off guard. "I had a great nurse," he replied absentmindedly, the words automatic.
"Don't remind me."
With a tender touch, he gently set her down, making sure she could stand as the water enveloped her injured ankle. Though he remained nearby, she instinctively grasped his arm, pulling him even closer for support. Just to keep her balance, he told himself. At first, Blair winced, then exhaled in relief as the coolness of the water dulled the ache, her breath escaping in a whispered sigh of relief.
"Ah, it feels so much better," she murmured.
"You see? I told you."
"Don't look so smug about it; I'm still mad at you."
"I know."
In a bold move, Chuck wrapped his arm around her waist, steadying her as she leaned fully into his body. Blair didn't resist; instead, she let go. Her face softened into an expression of deep calm, and she closed her eyes with a small, sweet smile on her lips.
A warmth spread through Chuck's chest, and he found himself reluctant to let her go.
How could he suspend time, if only for a little while longer? How could he preserve this instant for eternity?
After a while and much to his dismay, he knew it was time to go. The night air had grown colder, and the chill of the water seeped into his bones. He could hardly feel his feet. Blair hadn't complained, apparently lost in thought, though he suspected she was more attuned to him than she let on. The nerves that had briefly calmed down now churned in his stomach again, tightening with the conversation they had yet to have.
Now that the shock of her injury and the urgency to deal with it had worn off, were they destined to plunge into another round of fighting, screaming, and pulling each other's hair out?
He feared that speaking now would upset the fragile balance between them, a balance so precarious that even the slightest breeze could topple it.
"Let's head back," he suggested.
"Can we stay?"
"You'll freeze to death."
"You'll keep me warm."
Her cheeks flushing in the moonlight, she realized her slip and quickly added, "Okay, let's go," before he could even answer.
Was this it? Would they just walk back to the house and let the silence swallow them whole?
Chuck turned and offered her his back, inviting her to climb on for a piggyback ride. He helped her up carefully, mindful of her foot. As Blair wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his back, the caress of her breath against his ear made him question his very existence.
Making their way back along the moonlit beach, the rhythmic sound of the waves accompanied his steps while the same nagging feeling tugged at Chuck. Something needed to be said. They couldn't just go back to their bedrooms and pretend nothing had happened. What good would that do?
His voice was a hesitant knock on the door. "Blair…"
She shifted slightly on his back.
"I need to explain."
Blair's breath hitched. "Explain what?"
"Everything. What happened, why I acted the way I did."
"And why did you?" she asked, cracking the door open just enough.
Chuck cleared his throat, refusing to be left standing on the threshold any longer. "I was scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The fact that he couldn't look at her, and she at him, made it easier to speak.
"Scared? Of what?"
"Of me, of you, of us. I honestly believed it was for the best. I didn't want to hurt you."
Blair tightened her hold around his neck, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. "You think leaving me on that bed didn't hurt? I waited for you. That day, and the next few."
"I know, and I'm sorry."
"It was pathetic."
"It was not."
"Then what would you call it? Please, enlighten me. What do you call trusting you to fight for us? Apart from sheer masochism, of course."
"You were, and still are, stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for, especially when it comes to listening to your heart. That's what it boils down to."
Her grip on his shirt loosened a little bit.
"Hold on a second," he said.
Chuck carried Blair to the spot where the night had started, where it all had started when they were kids, under the same stars that had witnessed their deepest secrets and shameful thoughts. His forgotten jacket, helmet, and the towel she had brought to sit on were strewn across the beach. Carefully, he lowered her onto the fabric.
Enough was enough. No more hiding, no more taking the easy way out. He couldn't keep talking without looking at her. The cloak of cowardice he'd worn like a second skin for too long now was suffocating. Chuck sat at her side, their eyes locked like a melody finally finding its harmony.
Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I fucked up, I know that, but I was only trying to protect you."
Blair blinked rapidly. "Protect me from what?"
"From myself."
"What do you mean? Did you really think I would be better off without you?"
"Not right away, no. I knew it would hurt, but in time, yeah. I hoped you'd find some peace. Happiness, even. I convinced myself you would. In a twisted, fucked-up way, I just wanted you to hate me."
"Why?" Blair's voice softened.
"Because I can handle hate. I've dealt with it for as long as I can remember. In that moment, with you curled up next to me on that bed, it just felt easier than facing the reality that I might not be the guy for you. That I might not be able to make you happy. That we might not be the picture-perfect fairy tale you've always dreamed of."
"I don't want a fairy tale, Chuck," she said, her eyes holding his. "I only want something real."
"If you hated me," he continued. "I could easily keep up the act of the heartless playboy. The one who doesn't give a damn, who's all about the power plays and the ruthless maneuvers. The one who doesn't show any signs of weakness. The guy who wouldn't shed a tear if he twisted his ankle. I could shut myself off and finally be the son my father wanted me to be. But it was just a cop-out, an excuse to avoid the truth."
"What truth?"
"That I'm not the son he wants, and I'll never be. That no matter what I do, I'll always be a complete disappointment to him. No matter how hard I try, I'm always going to fall short in his eyes. But that's his problem, not mine. I feel, as deeply as the rest of you do."
"Your worth isn't defined by your father's approval. You don't have to be Bart Bass," she almost spat out the name.
Chuck's shoulders slumped as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I don't want to be," he admitted, the words heavy with years of suppressed pain. "I really want to be my own person, Blair, unapologetically so."
It felt like a heavy chain had been lifted from his chest. He straightened his posture, as if reclaiming his own identity right there on that beach. To finally declare his independence from his father's crushing expectations. To chart his own path.
Her eyes softened, glistening with unshed tears. "I think you might be surprised at how much people really care about you. Lily, Nate, Serena." A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Me."
"Why are you so afraid to let yourself feel?" she asked. "Why were you afraid of me?"
"I didn't want you to see me," he confessed.
"Why?"
"What if you end up hating me like he does? Not for anything I've done, but for who I am." His hands fidgeted with the edge of the towel. "What if you see the real me and turn away, just like he did? He knows my true self, and he doesn't like me. It's never been enough, and it's always too much. Too soft, too weak, too emotional. No one has ever truly loved me—why should you be any different? Why should you even care?"
She reached out and gently placed a hand on his, stilling his restless fingers. "Do you hate me for who I am?"
"What? Of course not. That's absurd."
"Why do you think I would?" Blair moved closer, her thumb gently stroking the back of his hand.
He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Because I'm Chuck Bass."
"And I'm Blair Waldorf. You may screw up, I may screw up. That doesn't take away the fact that we understand each other better than anyone else ever could."
"I truly am sorry, Blair. For not staying when it mattered the most, for leaving you alone, for giving up on us. I'm sorry for letting you think it was all a mistake. But most of all, I'm sorry for not listening and for taking away your right to send me to hell yourself if you wanted to. And for that lame-ass note."
Her hand squeezed his. "Thank you."
"You need to know, no matter how far I've been, I haven't stopped thinking about you. It's been that way since the first moment I saw you."
Blair's eyes widened slightly. "Really? Has it?"
"Really."
It was as if she'd been hit with something as wild and unthinkable as water not being wet or the earth being flat. How could she still think so little of herself? How could she not see how incredible and amazing she was?
She stayed silent for a moment, then let out a slow, measured breath. "Can I ask you something?" she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Anything."
"When we were playing the drinking game on the yacht, you mentioned one thing."
Chuck tensed. Not the yacht again, he thought. Not now.
"I said a lot of things that night, Blair. Many of which I'm not proud of," he admitted.
"Nate's surprise," she pressed on.
His heart pounded hard in his chest. "What about it?"
"Was that the romantic night you said he asked you to plan? Was that all you?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Answer me."
"It was."
"Why?"
"Because Nate asked. He made you a promise he couldn't keep, so I stepped in. I'd do anything for him," Chuck explained, his words coming out in a rush. It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either. There was a small, guarded part of his heart that he still wanted to protect.
Blair clicked her tongue. "The truth, Chuck."
But what was the point? Wasn't it to show her everything? To tell her everything. If there was ever a moment to be completely honest, it was now. So, he did.
"Because the thought of you being so excited only to be crushed again was unbearable. You were always waiting, hoping for something that was never going to happen. Always so miserable, letting him treat you like you were worth nothing. I just wanted you to be happy, even if it was only for that one night. That's all I've ever wanted for you."
"Oh."
"I did it for you, Blair. Because I… I love you."
Her hand trembled over his, her breath quickening. "You really love me?"
"More than anything."
Every nerve in his body screamed to close the gap between them, to press his lips against hers and finally show her just how much.
"It's as if the world might burst into flames if I kiss you," he murmured without even thinking.
"Then let it burn," Blair said.
Author's Note:
I am so sorry it took me so long to get this up! Life's been crazy busy this month, and I guess I just wanted to make sure I did it justice. Thanks to everyone still supporting this story; I really hope you enjoyed the rollercoaster ride on this one! I think you already know what's coming next 😊