How dare he? Who does he think he is? Icy cold loathing grips at her heart, but surprisingly it's not directed at him. Rather, her hatred is towards herself for not seeming to be enough for him. Channeling this unhealthy energy, Blair stalks around the corner to confront him, her heels clicking purposefully against the tiled floor.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Seconds after the words leave her mouth her legs freeze suddenly as her eyes take in the frightening sight before her. Strength turned to weakness, confidence melted to self-doubt. The sight is also admittedly heart-warming as she realizes that Chuck Bass has come to her to… to do what? To apologize? To seek comfort?

His face comes into view slowly as he turns his head towards her, and her heart stops as she catches a glimpse of the glittering tracks of liquid pain that streak across his face. The agony that is drowning his very being is evident in the way he slouches dejectedly upon her bed, the way his eyes are puffy and red, the way his hair is messed, the way that his clothing is wrinkled. His pain is so tangible that she can feel it cutting into her as if it were her own, and she wishes fervently that it is so. That she could suddenly find the strength to take the self-loathing and overpowering sadness that he was so obviously suffering from and take it all, and sacrifice her own well being for him.

An unnamed force is pulling at her body, urging her to run to the broken man before her, to take him in her arms and hold him close. So she does just that without the slightest hesitation.

An indescribable warmth floods through her entire body as her arms wrap around his shoulders in an intimate embrace. She can feel him breathing against her, can smell the familiar scent of scotch wafting from his parted lips. His usual aura of cologne is noticeably lighter, suggesting that he hasn't showered or reapplied since his father's death a week ago.

Blair finds her hand traveling down his arm, dragging at the material of his jacket as if to drag out his sorrows. She gripped his arm tightly, then allowed her hand to travel up his arm once again to embrace his shoulder. Her chin rested upon his neck tenderly, and she found herself fighting back tears as he pushed himself backwards as if he was trying to gain more contact with her skin.

Her heart seemed to constrict the moment she felt his large, warm hand rest on her arm shakily. His fingers constrict almost painfully around her arm, but the intense contact is strangely comforting.

Chuck began pushing against her again, but she did little to stop him. She choked on a silent sob when his head leaned back to rest upon her shoulder more firmly. In a way, it was as if he was comforting her as well by holding her. He was her only anchor to this world, just as she was his. Her grip tightened a bit as if to keep him there in her arms forever.

No matter how much either of them wanted to stay this way, so emotionally vulnerable with each other, they both knew it couldn't last. Whatever cruel twist of fate had torn them apart time and time again would once again rip them apart as it always did.

For now, as Blair gently lowered their bodies to the bed, situating them so she was looking at his back, they could believe that they would always be like this. As she watched his ribs expand with his life's breath, Blair could fantasize about how in the morning she could help him by getting him cleaned up. She could fantasize about making him better if only by staying with him in the morning. They both knew though, that he would be the one who wouldn't stay.

By the time she awoke he would be gone, the only sign that he'd lain there at all being the faint waft of his unique scent and a note. A note that would leave her heart in such a state a disarray, that she would wonder if it were possible for her to recover. Deep down, she would know of only one way.

With Chuck, she would be alright. He had left, though, and fate had won once again.

Fate always had it's way.