AN: Thank you to bethaboo, my kickass beta. Title adapted from Switchfoot's song "Let That Be Enough".

"Chuck Bass is a romantic. Who knew?"

"Now you do. That's all that matters."

-1.18 "Much I Do About Nothing"

"Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company."

-Lord Byron

He can tell her he never changed her; he can even endeavor to make her believe it. But underneath it all, Blair Waldorf changed Chuck Bass in a way Eva never could.

Blair Waldorf had changed Chuck Bass into a romantic—not in the puppy-love manner he had deluded himself into with Eva—and Blair Waldorf was still the only one who knew.

…

Blair is still the only girl he wrote letters to. And he's still the only one who'll ever read them.

His first one was crayon on pink and red construction paper, crumpled into a ball and thrown into the trashcan when Blair presented Nate with her very own Valentine and a kiss on the cheek.

I'm sorry for pulling your hair yesterday. Because you do have pretty hair. Happy Valentine's Day Blair.

Love,

Chuck

…

When his best friend's arms are around her waist, pulling her into that suite, it's all he can do not to post the letter.

Instead, his pen moves furiously across the sheet of paper, his words bleeding into one another and beginning to make less and less sense as the scotch winds its way through his veins.

When he wakes up the next morning, a warm body next to his and in a foreign country, he crumples the letter into a ball and writes another on hotel stationary.

I'm sorry I was never enough.

Love,

Chuck

…

He's hurt her, too many times to count, each betrayal hidden under layers of smiles and proclamations, grand romantic gestures and pretty jewels.

But underneath it all, he's still sorry.

He always is.

…

I'm never going to change—I'll always be Chuck Bass. And for that, I'm sorry. Enjoy Tuscany.

Love,

Chuck

…

A Lord? Have you deluded yourself that far into your Princess fantasy? He'll never love you like I do. I suppose he won't hurt you either.

Love,

Chuck

…

I'm sorry I can't be strong enough. I wanted to stay this time, I really did. Don't miss me.

Love,

Chuck

…

I should be telling you that I just want you to be happy. That it doesn't matter if you choose Nate, because all that matters is you're happy. But the truth is, you'd be happiest with me.

Love,

Chuck

…

I shouldn't be apologizing because I have nothing to apologize for. I don't know why I'm sorry, but I am. I trusted you, and you used me.

Now I know what that feels like. And I'm sorry for imparting the same hurt to you.

Love,

Chuck

…

Sometimes, the letters are harder to write. Because saying sorry has never come easy to him, even if it's only on paper.

Yet he's written it dozens of times, said it only a few, and only ever truly meant it when it was directed at Blair.

I was scared. Of losing my hotel. I was never afraid of losing you, and that became my greatest mistake. I made a mistake. It's only human, right? I should be allowed to make mistakes.

I still love you. And I won't—I can't—stop fighting.

Love,

Chuck

…

He writes her letters because he knows she'll never see them. Even if her address is printed neatly on cream envelopes and the Empire's address is on the upper left corner, he knows the letter will never see the light of day.

Chuck Bass doesn't do feelings. He doesn't do explanations or rationalizations. He just does. And sometimes, he is heartless. Sometimes, he knows he will hurt her—and he wonders if he can still pretend that he still doesn't love her.

…

In the dead of the night, as Eva sleeps quietly on threadbare sheets, Chuck limps over to the desk, turns on the lamp, and writes.

I was shot, and my last thought on those filthy cobblestones was that you didn't love me and I suddenly didn't care if I lived or died. And as far as I'm concerned, Chuck Bass died on those cobblestones.

Love,

Chuck

It's strange, missing you. Everything here is different. A breath of fresh air. I don't think I can ever really forget you. I can try, but I'll always love you.

Love,

Chuck

I hate you, for making me miss you. Even while here, with Eva, in a different country, I still miss you. I hate you sometimes, you know that?

Love,

Chuck

He writes her dozens of letters in the span of a few days. Because there's so much to say and no way to say it, and he thinks, just maybe, she's sipping champagne poolside somewhere and forgetting all about him.

He could never attempt at erasing himself from her memory. But after all he's done to her, he can't help but wonder if she'd be better off without him.

When it comes down to it, his letter only needs two words, seven letters. And an extra four words, just in case. Because they've worked too hard for three words, eight letters for them to be thrown to the wind as carelessly as they were.

I'm sorry. I still love you.

Chuck

…

When she finds him at the train station, in a sweeping red dress and diamonds at her throat, his mind travels to the suitcase at Eva's feet, and the carefully folded letters inside, their edges worn.

I missed you. He wants to say, but the words don't find him, and he can't help but wonder if she's lying.

But the resolve in her eyes is clear, and it could be the pain medication, but Chuck can't help but believe her.

And that was when he lost the one person he had ever loved.

If you really don't love me, I'll try to forget us. But we both know that's impossible. And if you really don't love me anymore…well, I hate you too.

Love,

Chuck

…

He's a caricature of himself, that much he knows. But he doesn't know any other way to atone for the sins he's amassed.

As twisted as it is, Chuck doesn't know any other way to win her forgiveness.

Eva never changed me as much as you already have.

Love,

Chuck.

…

He can spin cruelty out of nowhere; throw the harshest words at her with no regret. But underneath it all, his feelings are spelled out in a run-on sentence on a sheet of Empire stationery she'll never see.

Even if you did this because you hate me, because you don't want to see me happy, I'll still love you. But this is war. You against me. If you don't love me anymore, what do I have to lose?

Thing is, I could always tell when your eyes didn't match your mouth.

Good luck,

Chuck