Blair Waldorf wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was just woken by a loud, blaring car alarm, and, getting up to scream at Dorota for leaving something loud, she was greeted with paint cracked walls and strewn pieces of clothing. She looked outside the window and saw the view of a bridge; not lush, beautiful Central Park, but a bridge. She looked beside her and saw that the boy underneath the covers wasn't even slightly bothered by the racket.

She was in Brooklyn. And, most terrifying of all, the boy beside her? The one so used to third world sounds that if a gun went off he'd probably call it a normal afternoon? The one with the muscular back she wanted to trace with her (chipped nail polish!) fingers? It was Dan Humphrey.

"Trying to sneak out on me?" Dan asked, catching Blair trying to put on the tight Herve Leger dress she had last night. Blair hated that his tone was cocky and comfortable. That's what she got for sleeping with him.

"I wouldn't know how to navigate out of this cesspool you call home anyway," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

"Here," he tossed his rumpled Brooks Brothers polo shirt (the one she picked out for him for last night) towards her, "this is much more comfortable than that excuse for clothing."

She turned around and smiled wickedly. "As I recall, you didn't seem to have any problem with this 'excuse for clothing' last night."

"Yeah, well," Dan shifted nervously, silently berating himself for not having a wittier response. What was he supposed to do? Blair was half naked, biting her lip as she tousled her already fabulously messy just-had-sex hair.

"I suppose Dorota might be looking for me," Blair said, noticing that Dan had just involuntarily licked his lips, gauging a response, she assumed. She vaguely thought this was wrong because he was Serena's step-brother and ex-or-maybe boyfriend, and maybe Dorota was looking for her (or maybe she knew what was going on, Blair wasn't sure.)

"I'm starving," Dan said, getting up. He put on a pair of boxers and one of the wifebeaters lying around. "I'm sure you are too. I'll make you breakfast."

Blair tried to ignore that Dan just ignored her (weak) attempt to leave. It was also kind of sexy, but Blair tried to ignore that even more. "If you poison me, Dorota will kill you in your sleep."

Dan laughed. "Let's go, princess."

"Well, Humphrey," she said, pacing her words, "that wasn't bad."

"I'm guessing that's the closest thing to 'that was absolutely delicious, Dan, you're the best cook ever' I'll get from you, so thank you," he replied, wiping the plates after Blair had just helped him wash them. This close proximity is not boding well for his self control. He turned around, and saw that Blair was teetering on her toes, which made his loose polo shirt ride up even more, dangerously close to where her legs meet her… Dan gulped, while Blair reached for the top shelves with the picture frames.

"Have you decided what to do with the other room yet?" Blair asked, inspecting a silver frame with an eight year old Dan smiling with one tooth missing.

"I don't know," he walked over, "I looked at some catalogues from Ikea and I haven't found a nice desk yet."

"That's because you're looking at catalogues from Ikea," she insulted calmly, placing the frame back. She walked to the empty room, Dan following her curiously.

"The desk could be here, near the window," she pointed out, "but we'd have to tear down this awful wallpaper." She took a fraying piece and started tugging on it.

"Blair, I don't think—"

"See!" she said, revealing a classic red brick wall underneath, "this could set the tone to your office." Dan noticed how excited she got. "Of course you'd need a chair, a comfortable one, and a bookshelf for all those carelessly strewn books you have under your bed."

"You looked under my bed," Dan smirked. It was quite endearing how Blair can inject herself into every aspect of your life. It was surprising how he let her.

"I'm sorry if a car alarm sounds like ambient noise to you."

"Where else did you look?"

"We can drill more shelves into the wall right there," she pointed to the farther side near the window, "to house your moleskin notebooks filled with lines like 'golden angel' and 'endless limbs'—"


"Some of them are horrible," she pointed out calmly, and he thought it was just her expressing her annoyance at how much of his poetry revolved around Serena. If she had looked into it further, she would notice that the pages were dated and the lines were full of corrections and cross-outs, almost as if he were unsure of the lines. He had one notebook though, filled with poignant words about a feisty brunette with a sharp tongue and a biting retort, free of corrections and mistakes. He hoped she saw this.

"Some of them," she trailed off, biting her lip, "ever consider getting a literary agent, Humphrey?" Blair had gone through his Serena Journals with (she hated to say it but) jealousy and disdain, but she noticed that the pages were dusty and creased with harsh cross outs and heavy correction fluid. There was one journal, however, with smooth, clean pages, and a girl who liked watching Hepburn in old run down cinemas with $800 shoes.

Sometimes it was ridiculous how Dan Humphrey made her feel.

"You have your own brand of devices, don't you, Waldorf?" Dan asked, amused.

"We should get you an AC too," Blair mused, smiling at him seductively. "It's awfully hot in here."

"It gets hotter in the summer."

"Either that, or just go about business naked," Blair started unbuttoning Dan's shirt as he walked towards her slowly.

"I think I prefer the latter," he remarked, before kissing her.

"Go back!" she shrieked, as Dan was flipping through the channels. It was two in the afternoon and they were having lunch—take out from one of those French restaurants she adored in the Upper East Side, delivered by a confused Dorota (how much more confused could Dorota be when she asked "Miss Blair come with me back to Manhattan?" and Blair only shook her head, settled herself beside Dan, and thanked her for her time.) Her legs were carelessly draped on his lap, and he'd never been more comfortable in his entire life.

"Paris When It Sizzles," she smiled, expertly naming the movie when she saw Audrey poking at a typewriter in a green suit. "Givenchy was divine wasn't he?" she mused.

"Is this the one with the paintings?" he asked. Blair had made him watch all of Audrey Hepburn's films one weekend, and by Two for the Road he'd gotten everything confused.

"No, it's the one with," Blair stopped herself, realizing the parallels. "Never mind, just keep watching."

After the credits rolled (and Audrey and William Holden had their happily ever after) Blair looked around. "You want some water?" Dan asked, ever considerate, as he got up and cleaned the mess of containers.

"Okay," Blair replied, reclining on the couch, feeling odd now that Dan wasn't beside her. Dan handed her a cool glass which she readily accepted, and he took his place beside her and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

"You can't keep me here forever, you know," Blair observed, positioning herself against him, her head on the crook of his neck and her body comfortably aligned against his.

"I can surely try," he chuckled, as he draped one arm above her stomach.

"And how would you manage that?" Blair sat up and asked him, her tone a challenge, her face betraying it.

"Well," Dan started, "I've got my charms, my wit, my impeccable taste in books and movies—"

"—only because we share the same tastes—"

"—my cooking, my conversation, and when all else fails, I have this." And he leaned in and kissed her, and, smiling against his kiss and pulling him down with her on the sofa, she found that she couldn't object any further.