Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Blair/Dan friendship
Spoilers: 3x18, The Unblairable Lightness of Being
Summary: She and Humphrey aren't friends.
I am so extremely nervous just because I have written for Grey's for so long that dipping my toe into any new fandom makes me want to vomit. I kept it short and just wanted to give it a shot. This is what I hopes happens with these two on the show in the next few episodes.
It’s been two weeks and Chuck hasn’t called. Not that she is noticing things like that. She’s too busy not fitting in at NYU and trying not to think about Columbia because she started here and she is going to finish here, no matter how few friends she has. Last time she checked, the grand total still sits at zero.
She goes to class and studies constantly and sequesters herself in her dorm room, not checking her cell phone every twenty minutes to make sure she hasn’t missed a call. She’s almost tempted to seek out Humphrey but she stops, reminding herself that no matter what happens to her, she will never reach such a deep level of desperation. Besides, he’s probably with Vanessa anyway, partaking in ill-planned threesomes, and while it was nice of him to dance with her at Dorota’s wedding and keep her from thinking about Chuck with some random slut upstairs by making sure there was always a vodka shot in her hand, it hadn’t meant anything.
She and Humphrey aren’t friends.
Still though, he’s really the only person she knows on campus and when she emails him, asking him if he knows anything about Plato for her ancient philosophy class, she tells herself that it’s simply human nature to not want to be completely alone all of the time.
When there’s a knock on her door less than an hour later and she opens it to find that it’s him, holding several worn paperback books and cliff-notes in his hands from the philosophy class he took last semester, she realizes that she is smiling.
She quickly makes it disappear and lifts one perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Nice plaid shirt,” she says with as much disdain as she can muster. To her ears, she realizes that it’s not as dripping as it usually is.
Dan smirks. “Nice headband,” he quips back and her hand instantly flies to the black headband in her hair, her eyes narrowed at him but he merely grins now.
She expects him to drop off the books and leave again but instead, he lets himself into her room and plops down on the foot of her bed, the mattress springs squeaking under the sudden weight. She hesitates but closes the door again and sits down in the chair at her desk.
“What do you need help with?” He asks her then, looking at her, and as she looks back at him, she wonders why she gets the feeling that he’s talking about more than her philosophy curriculum.
She takes a deep breath and reminds herself that this is Dan Humphrey. But before she can stop herself, she is saying, “Everything.”
And he’s nodding as if he understands; understands her and she has no idea what to make of any of this because she and Humphrey aren’t friends.
He knocks on her door again two days later.
Chuck still hasn’t called and she is debating whether or not to erase him entirely from her phone. She has just gotten out of the shower, purple towel wrapped securely around her body, water droplets still clinging to her skin, but he doesn’t noticed any of this. Instead, he stands there, his hands fidgeting in front of him and he’s wearing plaid again. Ever since he became a college student, plaid seems to be all he wears and it makes her wince nearly every single time she sees the offending pattern.
She opens her mouth to say something – biting and spiteful because this is still Humphrey and there are just certain acts of decorum that must be followed when dealing with him. But she looks at him and no words come to her. No insults or quips or even a stab at his Brooklyn roots. She looks at him and he looks right back.
He then shakes his head and there is almost anger in his eyes. “Why is it that you are the only person in my life to ever be completely straight with me?” He asks suddenly.
She doesn’t know what to say to that because in some strange world, it almost as if he is paying her some sort of compliment. For once, she has no idea how to handle something like this because something like this has never happened.
So she doesn’t say anything.
Instead, she takes a step back and opens the door a little wider. “Vanessa?” She asks.
And he nods, walking past her, entering the room. “Vanessa,” he confirms.
She shuts the door behind him and turning to face him, she tightens the towel around her body as he sits down on the foot of the bed, sweaty palms rubbing on his jean-clad thighs.
She looks at him for a moment and then, taking a deep breath, asks, “What do you need help with?”