Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Even though she doesn't believe in love
He's determined to call her bluff
Who could deny these butterflies?
They're filling his gut

-All Time Low "Remembering Sunday"

NEW YORK, NY; 2008

She walks around the hallway connecting Constance Billard to St. Jude's, fake smile shining brightly for everyone. Some smile back, while others merely look her way before resuming their business. The fast-paced world of New York City was beginning to gnaw at her.

She listens to the video iPod her boyfriend had generously bought her, the sounds of The Scientist echoing through her ears. She doesn't even like Coldplay, but she doesn't have the heart to tell him.

"I'll buy you an Erickson Beamon necklace."

She had given him a sad, withered look. He gave his usual smirk. She looks through her gold enV (latest model, of course) to find pictures of them smiling, happy. Drinks at the Palace with his friends, and hers. Strolls through Central Park. A scenic shot in front of Tiffany's, where he made her pose in a black dress, holding a croissant.

As she twirls her espresso-colored locks around her head, she ponders for a moment. Should she dye her hair a rich shade of auburn? Maybe get some gold highlights to match Serena's? Anything but espresso, anything but this. He would hate the change more than he hated his father.

Sebastian York comes to say that Chuck is looking for her.

"Hi, I'm Sebastian, and you are?"

"Chuck's girlfriend."

Sebastian's eyebrows are raised, but he stays surprisingly silent, which is more than she could say for the others. She knows they talk about her behind her back. She can hear them whispering incessantly before gym class, in the bathroom stalls, in front of her face. It doesn't help that she was splattered all over Gossip Girl's recent blasts, either.

She walks into class to find Chuck surrounded by several sophomores and juniors. She isn't surprised, he was always flirty. He winks at her as she walks up to kiss him on the cheek. As they embrace, she can feel him repel slightly, like always. This is routine for them, but neither of them is strong enough to stop it.

Feeling her shiver, Chuck tosses his St. Jude's blazer carefully over her petite shoulders. It smells distinctly of Camels and Acqua di Gio, with a faint hint of something illegal. They all had their vices.

At lunch, she picks and picks at her food. Kati and Isabel glance at each other, before pulling out their pink and yellow cell phones, most likely texting Gossip Girl. What else was new?

Serena looks disgusted, turning to face Chuck.

"You're deranged, has anybody told you that lately?"

He ignores her, just like he ignores everyone else. It was just his way of coping. He also copes through his aggression and insistence, which grew to mass proportions whenever he was upset. He was always so sweetly sarcastic. How had she fallen for this?

"Let me return those butterflies you so kindly bestowed upon me."

She grabs his hair rather roughly, the way she knew he liked it. The newly replaced leather in the limo was starting to bother her senses. She is sick of this, the way everyone was sick of her.

"I can't do this anymore."

He is still kissing her lightly (butterflies, so many goddamn butterflies) across her neck before he raises his head in shock. Or was it denial?


He is grabbing her hand, and she lets him. It is comforting for him, so she lets him. She always always lets him.

"I need you, I need this."

She is in tears as she holds his hands close to her heart.

"This, us. We aren't healthy, Chuck."

She hates the glittering ten-carat necklace dangling on her neck. She almost loses her nerve before the smell of new leather comes crashing back down on her.

"No. I can't. We can't."

She couldn't be his dead girlfriend's replacement. She wouldn't.

"I can't. Chuck, I'm not…"

His brown eyes shut, silently asking her to not say it. Please don't say it. Please.

"I'm not Blair."

His eyes shoot open, so red they look bloodshot. He hadn't smoked yet that day.

"Chuck, she's dead."

The three minute ride back to her apartment at Trump Towers seems to take an eternity. Chuck sits as far away from her as he can the entire time, glancing forlornly out the window. Before she gets out, he stops her.

"I never meant…"

"You don't even call me by name."

He goes back to staring out the window, a lost little boy once more. He is whispering.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Alexandra knew this apology wasn't directed at her, so she leaves, discarding Chuck's St. Jude's blazer in the backseat of the limo, a place not rightfully hers.


She looks happily surprised. He is all grins and no smirk, a real first for him. Figures.


His voice seems broken, like there is a frog in it. He hates frogs. What he liked were those damned butterflies. He was having that fluttering feeling again, but the weird thing was he couldn't feel anything at all.

"What are you doing here?"

He is still smiling, but there it was. The smirk was back.

"You didn't."

"It wasn't a big deal."

Tears form in her big brown eyes and suddenly he feels bad. This is the happiest he had been in months.

"Why did you do it?"

He was beginning to get angry with her.

"Why did you do it? I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't."

"Oh, so we're blaming me? Typical. You're so fucking typical."

She begins pacing, a very Blair Waldorf thing to do, even here apparently. Chuck puts his hands into his pockets and began to walk around. This place seemed small, but the edges of it were endless. If that wasn't a paradox, he wasn't sure what was. Whispers again.

"I missed you."

She looks up, catching it. A small smile.

"I was watching you, you know. We would have found each other eventually."

He kisses her softly, before increasing his speed. God. He fucking missed these butterflies. He was tingling all over and it was all because of her. She was still crying.

"I missed you, too."

Detective Andrews was pacing back and forth on the top floor of the Palace penthouse. He was in the middle of questioning Nathaniel Archibald, the boy who found his best friend dead on the floor of his bedroom suite.

"What's his name, son?"

Nate looks up, despondent. Was this guy kidding?

"Chuck Bass. Charles Bass."

He was going to need to smoke so much after this. God, what was he thinking? What the fuck was he thinking? And then again, maybe he wasn't. Blair did that to a guy.

He hadn't even left a note.

Andrews let Nate wonder off as he took a call. Nate could hear him from the bar, where he started pouring himself Chuck's favorite drink. Ironic. His whole life was fucking ironic, like that Alanis Morisette song that Blair and Serena used to sing all throughout seventh grade. God, Blair.

On the other side of the line, an officer asked Detective Andrews what he was ruling this one. He responded without hesitation.


He paused, looking at the pale boy, lying blue on the ground. An empty bottle of Vicodin lay in his left hand.

Serena walked into the graveyard carrying an assortment of hydrangeas. She lay them down by Blair's grave.

"Hey Blair. It's me. I brought your favorite flowers. You'd be proud; they're not even in season. Anyway, I haven't been to visit in a while, but you know me well, so I'm sure you don't hold it against me."

She pauses to wipe the tears from her face, a knot forming in her throat. She was finding it hard to breathe.

"I've been trying to get Nate to come, but he feels so guilty, you know? I know he wishes you and Chuck the best, as you two mean the most to him. Can you even hear me?"

Serena blows her nose into the Kleenex she always kept in her quilted Balenciaga tote. She always seemed to be crying these days.

"I can't believe you're not here laughing with me. God, Blair. Why did you do it? I miss you. I wish we could just take everything back. God, I miss you. Say hi to Chuck for me, okay? I love you."

She was chewing at her bottom lip again, a nasty habit, one of many.

"I was just coming to tell you that I got into Brown. Are you proud of me? The only thing that sucks is the already paid for train tickets to Connecticut. What am I going to do with those?"

Serena was sighing. She spots Dan in the distance waiting for her, not rushing her. He never rushed her.

"I still don't know why you did it, but do I hope you're happy now, B."

"Give me a chance. One chance."

"Forget it, Chuck. You're heinous."

"One date." He added, "Please?"

Blair shrugged her shoulders at him, sighing.

"And then you'll leave me alone forever?"

"You would think I'm the devil, horned mask and all."

Blair scoffed. He probably was.

"One date. That's it, Chuck. I'm serious."

"Of course you are. So, pick you up at 8? How's Taka?"

"I hate you."

He looks up at her from across the room, if it was a room. He doesn't seem too shocked this time.

"You should," he acquiesces.

She is still whispering.

"But I still love you."


"Don't what? Say it. Say you love me, too."

Chuck is strangely silent, fiddling with his thumbs. The room was getting smaller, it seemed. He almost feels claustrophobic.

"You doubt it? Even now? Blair, I thought you were a smart girl."

She hmphed.

"Don't get snarky with me, Chuck."

She got silent too, before replying softly.


They were watching the ballroom scene from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire when Blair deeply inhales some Armani cologne.

"You'll be the death of me."

Blair giggled.

"But what a way to die."

Chuck tickles her until they kiss.

"I love you."

He was distracted. Did she really?

"I love you."

"I heard you."


He looks up at her, brown eyes startled.

"I love you, too. And I guess I came because, because I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

They were silent for a long time (things seemed to be so silent up here) before Chuck speaks up once more.

"I couldn't even go to your funeral."

Blair looks mildly embarrassed.

"I didn't even mean to do it, I was just so angry and sad at everyone. At you, at Nate, at Serena, at my mother. It was weak of me, I know, but I hadn't seen Dr. Ostroff in months."

Silence fills the air once more before Blair resumes speaking.

"If you could change it…"

"I would."

They breathed. Did they even need air up here? There were so many questions, and there were still no answers.

"So we'll change."


"We'll go back. And we'll change."

Blair looked scared. She was always so scared, with no one to take care of her, until Chuck came along. A lot of good that did.

"What if I can't find you?"

"I'll find you."

He was always stronger than her.


Brooke Windsor runs out of the Starbucks on Kirby Drive, late for her freshman comp class at Rice University. With a nonfat hazelnut latte in one hand and her Kate Spade tote in the other, she wasn't watching where she was going. She runs into something. Or rather, someone.

"Hey, sorry about that. I didn't see you."

Brooke glared at him. Who did he think he was?

She was gorgeous. Christopher Blake was having a hard time not staring at the beautiful petite brunette in front of him. Even with the nasty grimace on her face, he wanted to ask her out. Whatever, he'd do it anyway.

"Any chance you're free Friday? I have tickets to see Coldplay at the Verizon Theatre."

Coldplay was Brooke's favorite. They'd been sold out for weeks and even her father (a lawyer with connections) couldn't find her tickets.

"Maybe. I don't even know you."

"Give me a chance. Once chance. I'm Chris, by the way. Christopher Blake."

She paused before holding out her hand.

"Brooke Windsor. And forget it. You're heinous."

"One date." He added, "Please?"

Brooke shrugged her shoulders at him, sighing. Why did all of this feel so familiar to her? She'd never seen this boy before.

"And then you'll leave me alone forever?"

The words fly out of her mouth before she even had the chance to think about them.

"You would think I'm the devil, horned mask and all."

Where had that come from? Chris was sure he wasn't even thinking that.

Brooke scoffed. He probably was.

"One date, that's it. Chris, I'm serious."

"Of course you are. So, pick you up at 8? How's Matsusaka?"

Sushi had always been her favorite.