Archive of Our Own

Twenty minutes into Introduction to Narrative, Blair knows she's not taking it. God, she'd rather replace her entire wardrobe with clothes from Target. At least she can cross lit major off her list now. One semester under her belt and Blair already has a "no effing way" list a mile long. At this rate she'll be lucky if there's anything left for her to study come sophomore year.

While the professor lists all the different narrative forms Blair won't be reading this semester, she pulls out her planner and carefully exes the class out of her schedule. Everybody else in the room is taking notes on whatever's being said -- probably when papers are due, or office hours, whatever -- and Blair could pretend to be interested and write it down, but the syllabus is already crumpled somewhere in the bottom of her bag and also she couldn't care less. She stares out the window and hopes the snow holds off at least until this class is over. Maybe she could just get up and leave; it's not like she's ever going to see this prof again.

Some asshole raises his hand and asks about the required books and seriously, Blair can feel herself aging, one second at a time. Someone else stammers a question about the grading rubric and the familiarity of his voice makes Blair's head snap up. She hasn't seen him, not even in passing, since orientation in August. Even though she can only see the back of his head and a hideous sweater, she totally knows it's Humphrey. God, he would ask about the grading system.

Like she needed another reason to drop this class.

"It was pretty hilarious. But it's good that we're all in class together again, because otherwise it'd be a disaster, you know?" Dan trails off.

"Well this is certainly a change from the 'I hate my life, maybe I'll just drop out and become the next Salinger' from five months ago," Rufus says.

Dan rolls his eyes. Odds are his dad's never going to let him live that down, even thought it was a perfectly legit plan. "What can I say, things change."

"As long as I only have to deal with one child's existential crisis at a time, it's fine. Have you talked to your sister lately? Because --"

There's a knock at his door. Dan stops trying to balance his desk chair on its back legs and presses the phone to his shoulder so he can say, "Come in," without his dad hearing. When Nick sees Dan's on the phone, he starts an elaborate interpretive dance to signify that everyone's starving so they're going to dinner and they'll meet Dan there if he doesn't hurry his ass up. Dan nods and Nick leaves. When Dan puts the phone back to his ear, his dad's still talking.

"Dad, I gotta go, we're gonna get dinner. I'll talk to you later." He hangs up and grabs his coat and rushes out the door, crossing his fingers that it'll be chicken tenders night.

It basically takes an act of God to get Blair to her 8:20 calculus class on time, especially in the bitter cold. Last semester she'd had a class at the same time and she'd get up early to shower and get dressed and put on make-up. This semester it's come down to looking nice or sleeping an extra forty minutes and God help her she's picking the sleep. Whatever, it's not like anyone else cares that Blair's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans right now. Everybody that's awake is too busy being pissed off that they have to get up at 8 am and walk to class when it's twenty fucking degrees out. Blair could be wearing sweatpants and no one would bat an eye. It's the complete opposite of how high school was, and weirdly enough, she kind of loves it.

The only thing making calc bearable this semester is that she and her roommate have worked out a deal: if they both get up and go to their first class, they'll meet and get coffee before their 9:25 starts. All too often it turns into them skipping class, but whatever, it's macroeconomics. Blair got a 5 on the AP and a 93 on their first exam; she's pretty sure she'll be okay.

This morning it'd started sleeting during calc and she'd known even before she saw Leigh that they weren't going to econ. Also, it's Friday. Econ had the odds stacked against it even before the weather got gross.

Leigh waits until Blair's had most of her coffee and half her toast before she says, "So, tonight."

Blair groans. It's the only thing Leigh's talked about since they both got the Facebook invitation almost a week ago.

"Blair," she whines, "This is only going to be, like, the biggest party of the year and I told you, Anthro Andy's going to be there and if I don't go he'll never fall in love with me. The last time I saw him I was wearing orange sweatpants and a ski jacket. Orange, Blair. That cannot be his mental image of me. Please please please please please go."

Blair rolls her eyes, but she says, "Fine, I'll go."

Leigh squeals and runs around the table to hug Blair. "Yay," she says, rocking Blair back and forth before returning to her seat. "Okay. Now, what are you going to wear and do you want to borrow my sparkly top hat?"

Blair groans and drops her face into her hands. Leigh tosses a napkin at her, laughing.

"Shut up, you know you're excited."

And the thing is, Blair's totally excited.

Dan usually hates gimmicky things, but he will be the first to admit that this party Nick and his suitemates are throwing is pretty kickass. The forty of High Life he had earlier may have something to do with his opinion, but that's neither here nor there.

The guys had spent pretty much every day since they got back from break planning this thing, and so far it's payed off. Everything's all done up in Christmas lights and streamers. There's a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and they have Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve from like 1993 playing on a continuous loop on their TV, and the ball drops ever hour on the hour. It's like 2013 by now or something -- he's not sure, he lost count right after a girl wearing a light-up tiara made out with him against his will. Okay, not completely against his will, but he wasn't expecting it and she was pretty sloppy-drunk and he definitely does not want it to happen again any time soon, which is why he's hiding behind this traffic cone they stole during study days last semester, double-fisting Dixie cups of champagne and hoping she doesn't find him before the next midnight.

As soon as Blair and Leigh walk in the door, someone hands them champagne and noisemakers and kisses them each on the cheek. It's packed, loud and hot and everyone's wearing party hats or those glasses that say 2010. There's something about the ridiculousness of it all that makes it hysterical and kind of amazing. Blair turns to laugh about it with Leigh, but she's disappeared. She spins around, looking for her -- it's not a big room, she can't have gone far -- and stops when someone taps her on the shoulder. Leigh grins at her and holds up a Dixie cup, motioning for Blair to hold out her champagne. She does, and Leigh pours whatever's in her cup into Blair's.

"Raspberry vodka," Leigh yells over the music. "It's good." She leans closer to say something more, but the music's too loud and all Blair hears is "seminar" and "girlfriend." She vaguely remembers Leigh talking about knowing someone who knew the guys throwing this party, and how that's how they got invited. Whatever. If it gets Blair free vodka, it's awesome, but she doesn't really care who it comes from, so long as it's not roofied. She smiles widely at Leigh, who laughs and throws her arms around Blair in return.

It'd taken Blair a while to settle in last fall. She had to adjust to being alone, to not being the center of attention, to not being a big fish in a little pond or whatever cliche her adviser had used. No one here followed Blair around or catered to her every whim or took pictures every time she talked to a boy in public. And if someone was taking pictures of her, they certainly weren't posting them to the internet for everyone to see. It was weird, at first, but she got used to it and she made friends and she started enjoying the anonymity in a way she had never thought would be possible. And now it's easy to get lost in the blur of bad music and twinkle lights and too many bodies crammed into a too-tiny room, waiting for the next midnight to strike.

They're dancing, spinning in circles and laughing, dizzy with champagne, when she sees Dan. He's like two foot away from them, standing on the other side of a giant orange cone, and from the way he's staring, she knows he recognized her well before she noticed him.

"He's kind of cute," Leigh says in Blair's ear.

Blair knows whatever face she makes, it isn't attractive. Horrified isn't a good look for her. Leigh laughs and pushes her in his direction as soon as the countdown starts. She stumbles into his chest and he puts one hand on her bicep to steady her. He looks kind of amused by the whole situation -- he's doing that stupid half-smirk thing he does where his face gets all twisted; it's not his best look. "Aren't you in my calc class?" he says and she's drunk enough that instead of responding, she kisses him -- just once, closed mouth, completely chaste -- when the new year strikes. Hey, everybody else is doing it.

Surprisingly, Dan doesn't seemed phased by it at all.

"No, seriously, aren't you in my calc class?" he asks.

Blair finishes her champagne in one gulp and starts looking around for more. "Um, I don't know?" she says distractedly. Suddenly, she's not drunk enough at all.

"120, with Borisov?"

"Wait, you're in that class?"

"I thought it was you."

Blair wants to say something, but Leigh hugs her from behind, shrieking in Blair's ear and talking excitedly about Anthro Andy and pulling Blair across the room.

"Are we really in the same calc class?" she asks, almost an hour later, when she finds Dan in the exact same spot as before, behind the stupid cone. He's still as lame and antisocial as ever, apparently. Except here she is, talking to him in a room full of people, so maybe he's not that lame. Or maybe she's the lame one. What's the thing she learned in physics last year? Water rises to its own level? So is Dan rising or is she falling? She should probably stop drinking, is the answer.

She looks at him expectantly. He still hasn't answered her question.

"Yeah, we are," he says, nodding.

She leans against the windowsill; someone opened the window to get the air circulating. The cold feels nice.

"You should have said hi," she says. It surprises them both -- Dan never expected her to say it, and she definitely never expected to mean it. God, she really never expected to mean it, but she does. It'd be nice to talk to someone who understands where she's coming from. To have an ally, sort of. Even if that ally is Dan Humphrey.

He nods slightly and sort of smiles at her. She picks at her empty cup, methodically unrolling the waxy lip and pinching it flat between her thumb and forefinger.

"It's been a long time," he says finally, shrugging. It really has. She pretty much stopped talking to him after he and Serena broke up. Blair'd had too many of her own problems to deal with then. And it's not like they were ever really friends in the first place. She could probably count the number of civil conversations they've had on one hand.

The cold air goes from refreshing to freezing and she moves a few inches away from the window, turning so her back's not taking the brunt of it. When she looks up, Dan's watching her with that amused look again. She arches an eyebrow and he grins.

"Nice hat." He reaches out and flicks the brim and comes away with gold sparkles on his fingertips. He frowns and wipes them on his shirt, leaving a faint trail of glitter across his chest.

"It's my roommate's." She takes it off and holds it out, laughing.

"Oh, so your roommate was the Grand Marshall at Mardis Gras last year."

"Funny, Humphrey. She was actually the star of Fosse."

"Wait, really?"

"No," Blair scoffs. He looks mildly confused by the whole conversation and she laughs at him, at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Shut up." He takes the hat from her and tries it on. It only makes her laugh harder.

"Did you just snort?"

"No," she says, trying to look offended that he would even suggest it. She can't keep a straight face for very long, though.

"Oh my God, yes you did." They're both laughing now, Blair every time she looks at him in that stupid sparkly hat and Dan at how she keeps collapsing in hysterical giggles, stumbling into his personal space because she's laughing too hard and had too much spiked champagne to maintain any balance.

"Did not."

"Did too times infinity."

She's vaguely aware of the countdown when it starts up again. It sounds both loud and far away, like it's happening at the other end of a tunnel or something. Everyone cheers. Someone throws their hands up in the air, knocking Dan's hat askew. When he kisses her this time he tastes like cheap beer and jello shots. She can't stop laughing against his mouth.

He doesn't know what to say or do in this situation, because how do you normally deal with hooking up with your ex-girlfriend's best friend who also happens to be one of your sworn enemies? There's no Awkward Relationships For Dummies. Dan knows because he checked.

He'd planned on talking to Blair, really he had, but all of a sudden it went from being two days after the party to, like, two months after and he still hasn't said so much as hi when he sees her in class, and after this long it's just easier to pretend nothing ever happened. But this means that now he sees her everywhere -- in calculus, sitting in the back, taking notes; at Sunday brunch, wearing pajama pants and laughing at something one of her friends said; checking her mailbox; everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere -- he doesn't see her at parties anymore, and what's weirdest is how he's actually kind of sad about it. Sometimes he catches himself thumbing through the B's of his cell phone contacts until he gets to her number and he'll think about texting her. He could ask her for calc help and not seem too pathetic, maybe. But he never does it. Right now he thinks of her as the happy drunk girl he made out with on fake New Year's Eve, and he can't bring himself to ruin the memory.

"God, it's so nice out." Leigh stretches her arms above her head and points her toes. "I want to marry spring."

Blair nods and, without looking up from her psych book, shifts to avoid Leigh's flailing limbs.

"Ugh, are you seriously studying right now? Finals aren't for two weeks."

Blair "mm-hmms" and keeps reading. She's highlighting a sentence about the Stanford Prison Experiment when Leigh grabs the book from Blair's lap and tosses it to the side.

"Leigh," Blair whines. "Now there's a line across the whole page."

Leigh tugs her wrist so they're laying parallel on the blanket.

"Two weeks, Blair. Two weeks. Until then, stop being such a spaz."

Blair sighs dramatically and starts to protest, but it is gorgeous outside, and she is pretty tired and in three weeks she's going to be home and if she wants to lie on the grass there she's going to have to fight at least three homeless people in the park for a spot so she might as well take advantage of this before it's gone, right?

"So, are you going to see Dan at all this summer?" Leigh asks, once they're both settled. So much for Blair's nap.

She told Leigh half of Dan's story -- the he's-a-social-pariah-from-Brooklyn-whose-sister-is-an-ungrateful-bitch, non-Serena-involving half -- and ever since Leigh will randomly bring him up. Probably because he's the only boy Blair's shown any interest in this year, but whatever. It wasn't really interest, it was New Year's. And she was drunk. And bringing him up only reminds Blair that she hasn't heard from him since the party, which he obviously wants to forget ever happened. And Blair's fine with that. Really.

"Maybe," she says. It's the summer. A lot of things could happen.

Being home is nice for about a month. Dan spends all his free time hanging out with Vanessa, reading for fun, and sleeping in a bed that's not six feet in the air. God, having his own room is a blessing in and of itself. He doesn't even mind that ninety percent of Jenny's crap has somehow migrated into his closet. It's just nice to have his own space. No, nice isn't a strong enough word; it's glorious. Magnificent. Stupendous. It's a whole thesaurus of adjectives.

So it's great at first, but by the end of July Dan's ready to be back at school. He's sick of having his dad asking him what he's doing, sick of Jenny always whining about how everyone she knows is a bitch and everyone hates her and her life is the hardest life anyone's ever lived, sick of having to eat whatever everyone else is having for dinner. And on top of all that, he starts to miss stupid shit -- not real things, like being able to wander into Nick's room at 2 am and watch Entourage reruns or parties where everyone wore jeans and no one drank out of crystal stemware -- but really stupid shit, like the stale doughnuts they serve at weekend brunch or the one-legged duck that always hung around outside the Pierson dining hall.

It's just that once the novelty of being home wore off, he started to realize how weird being home actually is, like being in New York highlights the differences between who he was in high school and who he is now. And back here, doing all the things that used to be so routine, he feels off. Like there's a piece of the puzzle that just doesn't quite fit. It's disconcerting.

Serena picks the hottest day of the summer to drag Blair all over the city, crossing things off her list of Things To Buy Before Orientation. She's talking about how exciting it'll be to be in school again, making new friends and living on her own, and all Blair can think about is that time Summer from The OC went to Brown and stopped showering and how Serena's going to be a giant, disgusting hippie by Thanksgiving.

"I'm just saying, it's going to change you, Serena, and then I'm never going to be able to be in a twenty foot radius of you ever again," she says.

"Oh, and Yale didn't change you?"

"That's different," Blair says.

And that's when they run into Dan and Vanessa coming out of Pax. It's every bit as awkward as Blair imagined it would be.

Vanessa's the first to recover from the shock. She starts chattering away, all what-are-the-odds and can-you-believe-how-hot-it-is while Serena gapes at Dan and Dan stares at the ground and there's a brief moment where Blair closes her eyes and prays for a natural disaster, any natural disaster. But then she snaps to life, because she's Blair Cornelia Waldorf and she's not going to let stupid Dan Humphrey unsettle her.

"Hi, Vanessa," she says. "Dan."

That's apparently all it takes for Dan's ridiculous rambling tic to kick in.

"Hi. It's weird to see you here. Well, not that weird, since it's a small island and you live here and I live here too, but weird because it's been like forever. We were just running errands and then Vanessa said she was going to die from heat exhaustion if she didn't get something to drink. I wanted to wait for a Red Mango because really, this is perfect weather for that sort-- "

"God, I would kill for some fro-yo right now," Blair mutters without thinking.

"I didn't even know you liked that stuff, B." Serena's looking at her like she said she'd eat dead puppies and not, you know, soft-serve frozen yogurt.

"Oh, no, this stuff is amazing," Dan says, "I don't even know why it's so delicious, but it is. It's one of the top five things I miss most about school." He says that last part directly to Blair, and weirdly enough, she knows what he means. She really misses that fro-yo and the third floor of the library and a lot of tiny things that don't seem like much but when you lump them together they form a giant pile of things she misses desperately.

God, she has more in common with Humphrey than with anyone else right now. How is this her life?

"It's just really good, S," she says, shrugging. Dan nods.

"Hey," he says, touching her arm. "Have you looked through the Blue Book yet?"

"Oh, God." She rolls her eyes. She's spent every day for the past week looking through that effer; she might as well memorize it at this point. "There are three classes I want to shop that are all Tuesday-Thursday at one o'clock."

Dan makes a sympathetic face starts telling her about how half the classes he wants either have outrageous prereqs or require instructor permission. Out of the corner of her eye, Blair can see Serena and Vanessa standing there awkwardly, making faces like they're shocked Dan and Blair are even capable a civil conversation.

They're in the middle of bitching about distributional requirements when Serena tugs on the hem of Blair's shirt and says they need to get uptown before stores start to close.

As they're leaving, Blair hears Vanessa say, "Dude, what the hell was that?" and she wants to turn around to hear what Dan says, but Serena's watching her like a hawk, so she just keeps walking straight ahead.

Dan's pretty sure that the stress of shopping period is one of those repressed memories, where every semester he signs up for eight classes and by the end of day two he wants to kill himself and swears he's never doing it again but the next semester rolls around and he put eight classes on his temporary schedule and by the end of the first week he hates his life.

"That's because you're a dumbass," Nick yells, loudly enough that Dan has to move the phone away from his ear.

"Yeah, thanks, dude," Dan says. "Okay, I'm going to buy these books and then I'll be back. Bye."

He's trying to stuff his phone into his pocket without dropping any of the books he's carrying when someone taps his shoulder. He jumps, sending most of his book crashing to the floor. Cursing under his breath, he stoops to pick them up.

"Humphrey?" He doesn't know how she does it, but Dan swears he can hear Blair rolling her eyes. It's like his Waldorf Sense is tingling. Oh God, ew. He did not mean that in a gross way.

"Hi, Blair," he says, sighing. She bends down to pass him some of the farther-flung books.

"Oh, you're in this?" she asks, tapping his copy of Human Populations, Genetic Variation and Evolution. "Me too."

"Really? That's great, we should -- " He's interrupted by a grouchy cashier screaming "Next." He sighs and Blair shoos him toward the counter.

"Definitely," Blair says, when he's finished paying. She's leaning against the wall by the doors, holding a plastic bag of textbooks. She falls into step beside him as he exits the building. He furrows his brow and she says, "Study together. For genetics. That is what you were going to say, right?"

Dan's still stuck on the fact that Blair waited for him to finish buying his books, but he says, "Oh, right, of course. Yes."

They walk quietly while Dan tries to readjust the straps on his messenger bag so he doesn't pull a muscle from carrying two hundred dollars worth of books.

Eventually Blair speaks up. "So, what college are you in?"

"Pierson," he says, and when she makes a face he knows, just knows, that she's in Davenport. "You?" he asks anyway.

"Davenport."

He chuckles. "Neighbors and sworn enemies."

"Story of our lives," she says dryly, before cracking a smile.

He bumps her shoulder with his and says, "I know you don't leave Manhattan much, Waldorf, but Brooklyn is not next door to the Upper East Side."

She elbows him in the ribs, hard enough to hurt. Her elbows are really pointy; he'll probably have a bruise in the morning.

"Ow," he says belatedly.

Blair rolls her eyes and points to her building. "See you in class, loser."

"Thursday, 2:30, I can't wait."

They both roll their eyes at that. Dan waves awkwardly and keeps walking. He doesn't think about this bizzaro, nice version of Blair, and he definitely doesn't think about last February. Not even a little bit.

"Fix it," Blair whines. She shoves her notebook at Dan and drops her forehead onto the table.

They've been studying together every Thursday afternoon since Dr. Kidd had announced weekly in-class quizzes and then started talking about Punnet squares and identifying sex-linked mutations in genetic trees and she and Dan had looked at each other with mirror "oh shit" faces. After class Blair had suggested these weekly study sessions; when Dan balked she'd said, "I am not fucking up my GPA for some pathetic-ass science requirement, Humphrey," and he'd caved just like she knew he would.

He might not be a total social reject these days, but he's still Dan Humphrey.

"Here." He pokes the top of her head with one finger, gently scratching her scalp until she looks up. He slides her notebook across the table and taps at her mistake. He wrote the correct answer in the margin while she wasn't paying attention. She smiles gratefully and redoes the problem while he goes back to his own. She finishes correcting her work and starts reading the next problem, something about the expected genotype of F2 generation crosses and no. Just, no. She's done.

"Okay, I'm sick of this," she says, closing her book. "Let's go get dinner."

Dan makes a big show of checking his watch and sighing, but what-effing-ever, he checked out way before she did today. She totally saw him texting someone under the table. She just didn't call him on it because history's shown that if she fights with him, he won't check her answers or give her the answers on the quizzes. And Dan? Is like a genetics savant. A savant who isn't a complete asshole when she doesn't understand things. So really this whole thing's been working out well for her, even if he is as big a drama queen as they come.

"Shut up," she says. Then she grabs her bag and leaves for the dining hall; he'll catch up. He always does.

Like most things in his life, this friendship with Blair just kind of blindsides him. One day he's enjoying his life, the next he's making out with Blair, and then six months later he's making a point to ask her if she wants to go to a party with him.

He probably should have seen this coming, but no one's ever called Dan intuitive. Hell, no one's ever called him socially competent. Most days he's lucky he has even one friend let alone, you know, a group of them. A group of them that apparently Blair is part of? He doesn't even know anymore. At first they were strictly class-and-library acquaintances, but then class-and-library turned into class-and-library-and-dinner acquaintances who ran into each other at the same parties and somewhere along the way they lost the middleman and started flat out making plans to hang out and oh God, he's seriously friends with Blair Waldorf.

"Wait, like a date?"

Based on the violence of both their reactions, it's hard to tell who's more averse to the idea.

"No, God. What? No. I mean like friends," Dan says. "Maybe I should have phrased it better -- with me and my friends. You know, bring your roommate."

She looks at him warily, like maybe she's trying to decide if he has an ulterior motive. He tries not to flinch under her gaze. It's pretty impossible, because if anyone's glare is intimidating it's Blair's. He must pass inspection, though, because she shrugs and goes back to reading the paper and eating her salad. It's kind of a relief, except for the part where he's really worried he may have ruined this thing they've got going just by asking.

A week later it turns out all his worrying was for naught. Blair shows up with her roommate and a bunch of other friends in tow, and when Dan sees her he almost falls over. She's wearing her Constance uniform, or at least part of it, and his first thought is that with the short skirt and half-unbuttoned shirt and the necktie she reminds him of Serena.

"Nice costume," he says. He tries not to stare down her shirt.

"Thanks," she says, sitting next to him. Her skirt rides even farther up and okay, Dan's not looking at her legs, either. "Minimal effort, you know. What're you supposed to be?"

He reaches for the cowboy hat on the bed next to him. Before he can say howdy and brandish his pistol, Blair's rolling her eyes.

"That's lame, even for you, Humphrey."

"'Even for me' -- what's that supposed to mean?"

"That your costume sucks, that's what."

"Hey! My costume does not suck."

Blair smirks. "Oh, please," she says, hopping off the bed to stand in front of him. "I mean, really?" She flicks his plastic sheriff's badge. "Even your dad could come up with a better costume."

He grabs her tie and wraps it loosely around his fist, tugging her down to meet his eye level. She puts her hands on his knees so she doesn't tip over, and Dan forgets what he was going to say. Blair, still smirking, arches an eyebrow expectantly. When she licks her lips he involuntarily tightens his grip on her tie. Oh God, seriously, what was he going to say?

He clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he's interrupted by someone yelling about shots or shotgunning or shot put, Dan doesn't care what it is so long as it gets him drunk because otherwise it's going to be a painfully long night. He lets go of her tie and she straightens up, smoothing the wrinkles out of the silk. She's still got that same damn smirk on her face and as he watches her walk away he worries that tonight there won't be enough alcohol in the world.

It turns out there isn't -- enough alcohol, that is. And at 3 am, when he and Blair are making out behind a stack of glow-in-the-dark pumpkins one of the RAs bought at Target, he can't say he's surprised.

"Hey, that's me," Dan says, pointing at the collage above Blair's desk. Tucked in amongst photos of Blair and her roommates and Blair and Serena and Blair in France is a picture of Blair and Dan from the Inferno on Halloween. He leans closer to get a better look and says, "I look horrible."

"You look drunk," Blair corrects, even though there's not really a difference between 'drunk' and 'horrible.' She looks great in it, though, which is ninety percent of the reason it's hanging up. The other ten percent is how it's actually a really cute picture, once you get past Dan's half-lidded eyes and disheveled everything. They haven't actually talked about what happened that night but whatever, not talking about things has worked out for them so far. Maybe if things get really weird she'll bring it up, but not until then. Not until she has to.

"You look good, though," he says.

"I know."

He makes a face at her and then falls sideways onto her bed.

"Did you get it?" he asks.

"Right here," she says, waving the DVD they have to watch for class over her shoulder. "I just need to finish this paragraph and then we can start. We have to watch it in here though, because my suitemates are watching TV."

"Okay." Dan's voice is muffled. When she turns around to look at him she sees that it's because he's sprawled out half-asleep, his face is mashed into her pillow. Of course. She turns back to her computer and tries to remember what she'd wanted to say about the half-federal system of the UK.

It takes her almost forty-five minutes to work everything she wants into her essay and by the time she's finished Dan's snoring softly. She puts the movie in and queues everything up before taking a running leap at Dan.

He groans underneath her weight and tries to roll over without knocking her off the bed. They elbow each other for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable on Blair's tiny bed; she snags one of the pillows he hasn't drooled on and pulls a blanket up over her legs and elbows him once more for good measure before pressing play.

Dan yawns. "How 'bout you watch the movie and tell me what happens?"

"Hell no, Humphrey. If I have to stay awake, you have to stay awake."

"Fine," he sighs, and you'd think she told him he had to watch fifteen hours of paint drying and not some ninety minute movie with Jude Law and the girl from Kill Bill.

"Wake up." She smacks him in the hip, hard.

"I'm awake, God," he says, but he pushes himself into more of a sitting position that she knows is a last ditch effort to keep from falling back asleep. Blair inches closer so she can use him as a pillow and he shifts to accommodate her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and bending his knees just-so.

"I'm cold," he whines.

"There's a blanket by my desk," she says, without looking away from the TV.

"But that's far." He goes to tug at the blanket she's using, but Blair's too fast and she clamps her arms down, trapping the blanket against the mattress.

"This one's mine. Watch the movie," she says. He sighs and leaves her alone, thank God, because she really isn't in the mood to deal with his pain-in-the-assitude right now.

She's watching the movie quietly, trying to decide if she should be taking notes or if this is going to be one of those papers she can BS her way through, when Dan shoves his cold hands under the hem of her shirt and starts tickling her. Blair shrieks, kicking wildly and trying to twist away from him while simultaneously threatening to dismember him if he doesn't stop it this instant. They must be spending too much time together, because he doesn't even blink at her threats. He doesn't give up until she agrees to share her blanket.

Blair ends up missing a lot of the exposition because of Dan's outburst, but whatever, that's what Wikipedia's for.

He gets 14 texts and 3 harassing voicemails reminding him what time he needs to be ready by if he wants to have a ride home. And yet he's the one sitting on his duffel outside Davenport waiting for Blair to be ready to leave. When she finally does show up, she kicks him in the ankle and says, "Let's go." He follows her, trying not to trip over the giant rolling suitcase she's dragging behind her.

"Uh, you do know we're only going home for a week, right?"

She ignores him and points to the limo waiting by the curb. It kind of takes Dan by surprise, which is dumb because what did he expect, Eleanor Waldorf driving a Lexus hybrid? He doubts Eleanor has a valid license, if she even knows how to drive at all.

"Don't think I won't leave you here, Humphrey," Blair calls from the backseat.

Dan snaps back to reality and climbs in next to her. He sinks into the warm seat and it's like he can feel all the muscles in his body unclench -- midterms behind him, Thanksgiving ahead. It'll be nice to relax, to get away for a week. Next to him, Blair's asleep, or at least not in the mood for conversation. It's fine by Dan. He closes his eyes and drifts off to the steady hum of the engine.

When he wakes up they're stuck in traffic on the Triborough and Blair's using his shoulder as a pillow. Dan's careful not to wake her when he leans over to look out the window. Everything's a sea of red brake lights and amber city lights, everything twinkling against the night sky, like the city's welcoming him home. It makes his chest hurt a little.

Blair wakes up briefly when the car drops him off, long enough to press a sleepy kiss to his cheek. He stammers goodbye and mumbles his thanks to the driver and hurries through the frigid air into his building. His dad wraps him in a big bear hug the second he walks in the door, Jenny's yelling from her bedroom, the whole apartment smells like pancakes, and Dan's so happy to be home that for a second he feels like he can't breathe.

"Humphrey, I'm bored."

"O-okay?"

"Seriously, Dan, I've already refurbished my winter wardrobe and made sure Dorota has everything under control for Thanksgiving dinner and none of my friends are home yet and there's nothing to do."

"None of your friends are home?" Dan sounds annoyed. Really annoyed. Possibly a little insulted.

"My other friends, God, don't be such a girl."

"Did you need something, Blair, or did you just call to --"

"Dan," she interrupts, whining. "No one else is on break yet, you know that."

He's quiet. She straightens the jewelry box on her dresser and let's him think. Sometimes he just needs a minute to be all weird and Humphrey about things before he calms down and can act normal again.

"So you're bored and what me to entertain you is what you're saying?"

"Yes, please, Dan, I am dying here."

He sighs and she knows she's won.

Two hours later, when she's stuck helping Dan and Jenny make cookies shaped like pumpkins for some bake sale, she has to remind herself that it's her own fault. But when they're done with that Dan makes hot chocolate and let's Blair control the TV remote, and that mostly makes up for the baking.

"Oh, come on, Sex and the City? That's abusing your power."

Jenny laughs from her spot on the floor. "You know you love it, Dan," she says. Blair has to duck when a throw pillow flies through the air, headed straight for Jenny's face.

They fight while Blair flicks through the channels. When she passes a Home Improvement marathon on Nick at Nite, Dan smacks her thigh and tells her to stop.

"Really?" she says. "Alright."

He grins, more at the TV than at Blair, already entranced, and Blair drops the remote onto the cushion between them. Jenny hurls one last pillow at Dan's face and then everything calms down. Blair snags one of the pillows and drops it in Dan's lap before laying down.

"Oh, so I'm your personal cushion now?" he says. Jenny giggles. Blair doesn't say anything, she just nods and turns the volume up on the TV. She falls asleep like that, listening to Tim Allen accidentally set things on fire while Dan absentmindedly plays with her hair.

Dan keeps telling himself not to panic, that he's done this before and it's always worked out, and yet. And yet.

Every day it's the same emotional meltdown, the progression from relaxed and confident to panicked, then annoyed, tired, punch-drunk, then panicked again until finally he's too exhausted to see straight and he stumbles home, only to wake up and do it all again the next day. The only light at the end of the tunnel is Christmas break, if he can survive that long.

They've been in this room for -- well, it feels like forever, but it's really been five days. Maybe six. He's not really sure what day it is anymore, only that he has three fifteen-page papers due Friday at five and he has two actual exams before that and the only thing he's eaten in the past eight hours is the popcorn Nick smuggled into the library. Popcorn and Mountain Dew. Ugh. If it weren't for the panic and adrenaline, he's pretty sure he'd be nauseated right now. This week is the worst.

God, even Blair's about to have a nervous breakdown. She'd walked into the library this morning in sweatpants, honest-to-God navy blue Yale sweatpants with the elastic cut out of the ankles and Dan had almost fallen out of his chair. Blair Waldorf. In sweatpants. Thirty dollar sweatpants. Granted she's wearing a cashmere sweater that probably costs more than Dan's entire wardrobe, but still. Blair Waldorf. Sweatpants. He's pretty sure it's one of the signs of the apocalypse.

He looks over at her, asleep in her chair, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head pillowed on her arms. Dan's supposed to wake her up at 5:45 so they can review the genetics study guide, but he kind of wants to let her sleep. Then again, if he doesn't wake her up, she'll kill him. Probably use one of her eight thousand comparative politics note cards to paper cut him to death. Which on one hand is an unbearably painful way to die, but on the other hand he'd be dead and dead people don't have to take finals.

With a sigh Dan restarts his finals suck playlist and tries to concentrate on whatever paper he was working on before he got distracted. Is it bad that he doesn't know what he was doing five minutes ago? Probably, but oh well. Three more days and they're done. He can do that.

She's not even sure what, exactly, is going on at the Bass-van der Woodsen New Year's Eve party, but Blair knows it has something do with this: Dan's dad is there and he brought some slut of a date, which apparently is freaking Serena's mom out. And Serena brought some guy she knows from school, some senior theater major with a beard and a pipe and a fake accent, and that's freaking her mom out, too, and all in all it's not shaping up too be a good night for Mrs. van der Woodsen. van der Woodsen-Bass. Lily. Whatever. All Blair knows is that this really isn't a good time to mention that Eric's currently in the kitchen, making out with one of the servers.

She's standing on the edge of the party, watching the drama unfold before her, when someone comes up behind her and grabs her hip. She wills herself not to flinch.

"Hello, Chuck," she says.

He leans in close, pressing his chest against her back, his breath ghosting the nape of her neck, giving her goosebumps. She shudders.

"Everyone needs to get laid on New Year's," he says. "What do you say?"

She pulls away, grimacing. "I say hell no. What, you couldn't fly a date in on short notice?"

"She's waiting in my bedroom. But I could get rid of her. Or you could join us."

Blair rolls her eyes and takes the drink out of his hand. The scotch burns her throat; her eyes water but she doesn't cough. Chuck smirks.

"I hear you're slumming it now; is he your new pet project? Are you planning on working your way through the whole family?"

She follows his gaze and there's Dan, leaning awkwardly against the bar, alone.

"What?" Chuck says, studying Blair's face. "Don't tell me you two are friends now."

Blair doesn't say anything at all, just smiles and finishes Chuck's drink and hands him the empty glass. She leaves him standing there and winds through the crowd of guests talk to Dan.

"What, no date?" is the first thing he says when she sidles up to the bar and orders a martini.

Blair glares at him. He knows perfectly well she isn't dating anyone -- who was she going to bring, Nate? Well, okay, she'd asked Nate but he was escorting his mom, which, fine, is a completely chivalrous thing to do, but it totally left Blair in the cold and now she's here, alone, getting invited to threesomes with Chuck and some sleaze from Belize or wherever.

She finishes half her drink and then groans. "Augh, this is the worst. I am the biggest reject at this party. I don't even know how you stood it all those years. Even Chuck has a date tonight."

To his credit, Dan completely ignores the insult. "If you want, I could go down to the corner where he met her and bring someone back for you," he offers.

"Oh, Dan," she says, laughing. She doesn't know what to say after that, though, so she hugs him, squeezing her arms as tight as possible around his waist. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and hugs her back, resting his chin on the top of her head. Her nose is pressed against the collar of his shirt; he smells different tonight -- like a dry cleaners, all starched and chemicals-y. It's weird.

"So where's your date?" she asks, letting go to pick up her drink.

"Vanessa? Oh, she disappeared with Nate five? Yeah, five seconds after we got here."

Blair makes a face involuntarily. Vanessa and Nate having sex in some linen closet is not something she wants to think about. Ever. But at least Dan doesn't have a real date, either.

There's a crash and some cursing and everyone behind Blair gasps. Dan's jaw drops. "Holy --"

"What?" she says, turning to look over her shoulder. She can't see anything through the crowd of people gathering.

"Um, nothing, it's just Eric. And one of the waiters. Hey, why don't we go outside?"

She nods and follows to the terrace. There aren't many people there, just a handful hurriedly smoking, arms wrapped around themselves for warmth. It's freezing out; she hasn't had nearly enough alcohol to withstand this weather. They won't be able to stay here long, even if Dan gives her his jacket -- which he will, because Dan is maybe the most chivalrous person she knows who isn't named Nate Archibald.

They walk to the edge of the roof, away from everybody else. The ball's dropping less than ten blocks away and Blair can hear the excitement of crowd in the distance, but right below them Madison is eerily quiet. Everyone must be inside, avoiding the cold, waiting for midnight. Blair shivers and Dan, without a word, passes her his jacket. She smiles as she slips it on, her hands disappearing inside the too-long sleeves. The silk lining is so warm Blair might never take it off.

Dan tucks his hands into his pants pockets and leans over the guard wall. "The darkness rings," he says softly. Blair doesn't even know if she was meant to hear it.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just -- it's from a poem. That we read, well, that I read, for one of my lit classes. It's about New Year's Eve." He keeps talking, but Blair stops paying attention; it's not dark out here -- it never is -- and there's nothing ringing, just the noise from the party inside and the streets below. She kind of hates this holiday. She used to love it, back when she and Serena would try to stay awake long enough to watch the ball drop, and her dad would come into her room at midnight and let them have a sip or two of his champagne. But that was a long time ago and it's already 2011 in France; her dad called earlier, him and Roman laughing as they shouted bonne année into the phone. Blair could hear fireworks in the background, and people laughing. Next year she's going there instead.

"Hey, you there?" Dan asks, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Yeah, of course, ringing dark."

"You think I don't know when you're not listening to me? It happens, like, eight times a day. Come on, Waldorf, give me a little credit."

"Well maybe if you'd stop talking about horrifically boring things I'd start listening to you."

"Highly unlikely," he says, smiling, and she chuckles because okay, fine, he's right.

Dan laughs and slings an arm around her shoulders. Blair wraps an arm around his waist and feels like she should say something -- she wants to say something, something like, "I'm glad you're at Yale," or, "I'm glad we're friends," or, "Kiss me," she doesn't know. It's that kind of moment, with it's ringing darkness and icy breeze. She closes her eyes and breathes it in.

"I think almost midnight," he says. "We should go in." He's right; even the smokers are gone. It's just the two of them out here now, slowly losing feeling in their fingertips.

Downstairs it's electric, whatever chaos from earlier forgotten as everyone gets excited for the countdown. Blair accepts a champagne flute from a server and looks around for the people she knows. The only one she can see is Dan.

She tenses up ever-so-slightly when the countdown begins, and Dan's face freezes in this oh shit expression for like half-a-second before it relaxes back into a smile. Blair smiles back and counts along with the crowd. At two Dan half-smiles at her and, his voice low, says, "Third time's a charm."

It's like déjà vu, a little, when he kisses her. His free hand cups her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. His hand, his shirt, every part of him that is pressed against her is still cold from outside. When he pulls away she wishes he hadn't. She leans in, uses her free hand to pull him back down, her fingers sliding through his hair.

"Happy New Year," she says, when they finally break apart. Dan laughs, a little breathless, and shakes his head like he's confused, or he can't believe what just happened. He starts to say something but then everyone they know starts swooping in, drunk and giddy.

Nate kisses her quickly, laughing against her lips before he wrapping her up in a bear hug. Over his shoulder Blair can see Dan swinging Vanessa in a circle, her feet inches above the floor. Serena comes flying into her line of vision and leaps at Nate and Blair, almost knocking them both to the ground as she yells "Happy New Year!" into their ears, and they're all laughing and happy and Blair feels twelve again, like everyone who she loves is in the same ten foot radius and nothing else matters.

Later, after she's stolen all the champagne-soaked raspberries from Nate's and Dan's flutes and everyone's disappeared with their dates or whomever, she and Dan are left sitting on the floor in a comfortable silence. Blair's feet hurt but she's too lazy to take her shoes off. She's still wearing Dan's jacket. She can't stop thinking about kissing him. Wow. She's also pretty drunk. Awesome.

"Do you want to get out of here?" she says, twirling her champagne flute by it's stem.

He looks surprised, but it's probably more because they've been quiet for twenty minutes than anything else. He stands, brushing his pants off and then he offers her a hand.

"It's so cold," Blair whines while they wait to cross the street. They're three-quarters of the way there, but right now that's not close enough.

"It's so cold. My feet hurt. I'm drunk. I'm tired," Dan mimics.

"Shut up," she says, smacking his arm with her clutch. "You at least get to wear pants. I can't even feel my knees anymore."

Dan looks at her bare legs and then at her and shrugs. She smacks him again.

"What do you want me to do about it? Give you my pants?"

"It would be nice of you to at least offer."

"Blair," he says, very seriously, drunkenly leaning farther and farther into her personal space with each word, "You're my friend and I love you very much, but I am never giving you my pants."

And with that he sprints across the street, laughing wildly.

"I am going to kill you, Humphrey!" Blair chases after him, dodging a taxi and other pedestrians, shouting his name the whole time.

He doesn't make it very far, because drunk or not Blair is still miles more athletic than any Humphrey, and when Blair catches up to him she leaps onto his back.

"Get off."

"No." She wraps her arms around his neck and digs her legs into his waist so he can't shake her off. After a minute he gives up trying. He sighs and curls his hands around her thighs so he can hitch her into a better piggyback ride position. Some people stare at them as they go past, but for the most part everyone is as-drunk or drunker.

"Ow," Dan says when Blair smacks him in the chest.

"Let's go, Humphrey." She points ahead. "Vamanos."

"Do I look like a mule to me? I mean to you?" Blair laughs and smacks his chest again and he starts walking. Every so often his hands deliberately brush the backs of her knees and she laughs and squirms away, her nose bumping into his ear or neck or the back of his head. She fights the urge to bite his earlobe in retaliation.

When they get to her building, he lets go of her legs and she slides down his back slowly, trying to make sure her dress doesn't ride too far up.

"Come up?" she offers, before he can turn around. He nods stiffly and she slides past him, grabbing his hand to lead him inside, smiling at the doorman as they pass.

It's an awkward elevator ride elevator ride for exactly one floor, and then Dan's pressing her against the wall, one leg sliding between hers, and God, she'd never wanted to admit it, even to herself, but she's been thinking about this since that stupid Inferno three months ago.

The doors open, surprising them both, and Blair just hopes they don't run into Dorota between here and her bedroom.

It takes Dan a long time to figure out a lot of things: where he is, why he can't breathe, where this brutal headache came from, whose hair is in his mouth, why it's so freaking bright in here. He shifts, trying to put everything together. Damn, that sun is really bright.

"Humphrey, if you don't stop moving I'm going to have you killed."

Dan freezes.

Oh. Right. Well that answers pretty much all of his questions.

Dan lets his head fall back onto the pillow and concentrates on not moving. After a minute, Blair rolls over and blearily smiles at him before pulling the covers up to her chin and falling back asleep. Which is actually a good idea, because otherwise Dan is never going to get rid of this hangover. He closes his eyes and tries to relax again; this has been enough excitement for one morning.

Okay, so he doesn't really know what's going to happen when they get back to school. God, he doesn't know what's going to happen today at noon. Odds are they'll do their normal thing and watch a movie and eat lunch and pretend like Dan didn't wake up without pants on this morning. But maybe not.

You know, they say whatever happens on New Year's Day sets the trend for the whole year. So far, Dan's pretty okay with that.