Disclaimer/AN: I definitely still do not own anything. All of the characters and all that belongs to the show, Gossip Girl and I got nothin'. Now that I know what drabbles are (the whole 100 word count thing), I decided to give it a go. Let me know what you think!


Sometimes she hates him because he makes it impossible to breathe. Even on a warm beautiful day, she sees him and freezes. He looks at her from across the lobby of the Palace and her brain forgets to tell her lungs to inhale. She blames the shortness of breath on the lack of oxygen rather than the doubled speed of her pumping heart. She hates that he's messing with her health – physical only. The way he takes up her air and dares to look in her direction is positively infuriating. She hates that she only knows to hate him sometimes.

She never claimed to love him. Except that one time, but it was only because his dad just died. No, she refused to devote her life to a complete wreck. She just couldn't see herself wasting any more time on someone who couldn't appreciate her or her efforts. Just like the way she couldn't see herself surrendering her talents to a school less than Yale. She refused to believe that she can't find a handsome, loving man to serve her dutifully and live in an ultra-chic apartment in New Haven, attending her dad's alma mater. But life refuses her refusals.

He doesn't have enough words to tell her how he feels because he can hardly capture the big cloud of chemical reactions that occur when she's near. Something about nerve cells and testosterone, he's sure. Animal primal possessive instinct to expel liquid and scent all over his property. That something human in him that he didn't know was there that compels him to look her in the eye when he is inside her. But she's human too and born to be curious and wants proof, to hear and to know. So he kisses her, hard, and hopes that she hears.

He had never had to try so hard to push someone away. He was born a negative and so was everyone else apparently because only science could explain the way he repelled everyone out of his orbit. But she, who had been lurking in the background forever making snide comments about how he lived his life, picked up a completely different charge. She positively stuck to him and even when a hand pulls her away, they always crash back into each other, loud and hard. She's red and he's black and they bend their shapes to find that they fit.

He drinks so he can pee out his feelings later. The alcohol runs through his veins and burns everything in its path until it all turns to liquid ash, easily expelled into a urinal. The seven sins are nothing against the likes of a few good bottles. But he's yet to find anything strong enough to burn her out of his system. She spreads like a tumor, brunette tendrils creeping from his pores and growing into his limbs, clogging up veins and oxygen looking for that central organ deep in his chest. He'll keep drinking until he finds a cure.