Nate, Nate: the magic name, Blair has never really understood the vast power of wanting until one day she realizes she wants Nate. Tall and handsome, endowed with the kind of broad shoulders, high cheekbones and glittering slanted eyes that make girls melt when they fall under their gaze Blair wants Nate in a way she's never wanted anything (or anyone) before. Like everything else, she approaches it clinically but finds no matter how many alluring outfits she wears, no matter how many romantic scenes she and Nate “accidentally” fall into he is oblivious to her charms. Or rather he is every bit as charmed and smitten with her as he is with her so-called best friend and one thing Blair never learnt no matter how hard she learnt to work, is to share. She perseveres and perseveres until she exhausted with this particular chase and finds her position unchanged in Nate's eyes. When the realization of this dawns, Blair does the only thing she can do: she returns to an empty house one day after school, wolfs down her dinner and then leaning next to the rim of the toilet she sticks one delicate manicured finger down her throat until she finds her stomach as empty and hollow as she feels. 

 

On and on this goes and of course, Nate does not notice. Nate never notices anything and after all, how could he when he basks so warmly in the light of Serena's glow? He spends Blair's darkest winter making snow angels with her best friend and accompanying her on her many rounds of Christmas shopping. Someone else notices however: a dark haired boy (equally devastating in his effect on girls) they know as Chuck. But then again Chuck always notices (notices everything: the way Nate's eyes flicker to Serena's in a look that's alight with desire and the way Blair holds herself, arms wrapped around her waist, as if to stop herself unravelling). At first, he tries to help as much as he can, tries to limit the time Blair spends alone and makes her laugh (he always could make her laugh). He takes her to see movies (her favourite retreat) and compares her beauty to that of the goddesses of the screen: Rampling and Denevue and Loren and even Hepburn who, in his eyes and words, can't hold a light to her. When that fails, he manages to find her at the depth of her desperation and while she shakes and vomits, he rubs her back and holds her hair away from her face and at home, he balls his fists to his eyes and curses Nate. 

 

Finally (after nights consumed not with sleep but with anxiety) he does the one thing Blair can't because that would mean relinquishing power, he goes to Nate and tells him how she feels. He watches as his best friend's eyes widen and his mouth slackens with disbelief (you moron, you idiot). As snowflakes fall against their faces, Nate raises a hand in shock: “So you're saying...she wants me?”

 

Through gritted teeth Chuck replies, “Yes. Exactly. She wants you,” and thinks for now and hopes not forever. 

 

The first time that Blair sleeps with Nate (her boyfriend, she remembers with a note of glee) it is (almost) as perfect as she had hoped. She lies down underneath him, like they do in the movies, stirring only to make the purring noises she associates with delicate feminine desire. It is only once (a dark, dark thought) that her fantasy is interrupted, when she cannot even recognize Nate's face amidst the shadows and his hand is all the way up her thigh and she suddenly thinks of another time and another boy and another hand and her cry (not delicate or feminine at all) of oh fuck oh yes. 

 

 

It doesn't matter that he's almost drunk off his ass on his fourth (or fifth?) glass of scotch and the girls at Victrola have started to blur around the edges like the loose and smoky figures in a Toulouse Lautrec painting. Once Blair clambers onto the stage, the pleats of her skirt brushing against the slick curves of her legs, he can feel the fog of alcohol rise off him like her cool hands wiping condensation form a window pane. He's loved her from the first moment he set eyes on her (and he can't remember whether that was fifteen years or fifteen minutes ago) and he thinks for the first time in forever he may just have a shot. The dress falls off her, revealing gleaming thighs of alabaster and the creamy flesh of her cleavage where the neckline of her slip ends. She turns around the wink (at who? At him?) and he rises to his feet awkwardly so he can raise his glass to her while the speakers pound deafening music into his ears. She smiles alluring and coy and he smiles back, the taste of victory sweet in his mouth.

 

In the limo, he can smell her, the scent of perspiration reminds him of freshly cut lemons. “You were amazing,” falls out of his mouth as if three simple words can even articulate the breadth and depth of his feelings for her. Her lips twitch upwards as she leans back against the leather seat and then turns to him. Later, when he recalls the memory he won't be able to remember who kissed who but he will remember that after a second's hesitation, the idea of drawing back was lost forever. Arms locked so tightly around her taut, hot form he hopes she has space to breathe only to find her pressing back even harder. He smiles against her open mouth and finds the taste of victory is almost as sweet as she is.