tampered | (no subject)

When; July 1, noon
Rating; PG
Characters; Blair

theoldreliable
Summary; it all feels like reading from a script, the second time.
Log;

Blair hated this part. It might have been easier if there were a fight, and then all she would have to do was stomp away and leave. But that's not really true. She loved Nate, as a friend, she would hate to lose him a second time around. A third time around, more like. It had always been complicated between them.

He told her this was what happened back home, that they got back together then figured out that it was not meant to be anymore, so he must have expected it. But why did he play along anyway? He said he was willing to give it another try. She hoped it would not hurt him.

She claimed the couch of his living room, arranging her skirt and her hair. It was a habit. She fiddled with her fingers nervously. He would understand, she told herself. No, in fact, he would be glad. He would never be the one to confront her, she knew him that much, so he was probably waiting for her to take the move. He was probably waiting for her to bounce back from the latest ordeal, to be strong enough to confront him and break it off. That made it slightly easier. She was not leaving him, she was setting him free.

"Nate," she called, loving the sound of his name on her tongue. She would never get over him, it seems, but she could live with that. "Can we talk?"

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Hold her? Was it that chance, to bumble awkwardly while he tried to prove as if something was different? When he was around her, things seemed right, but he admitted it was because of a routine. Nate never knew what was right; it didn't matter the girl, the time, or what he was doing—he only felt okay if he was there for someone, even if the direct results of each encounter didn't seem to always make sense. He was a little lost that way, ready to answer to every beck and call. Had she cried like this on prom night? No, not exactly—but it was well before her time, and Nate wanted to tell her that.

He would be there until she no longer needed him. He would be.

Somehow, the words caught in his throat, so permanently lodged there with other persuasive cries, because he wasn't good at this. He didn't know the answer, didn't know the right way to go about things. Didn't even know if those words mattered or if he could say them right. He knew how to be sweet, to be kind, to protect, and sometimes he could flirt and laugh it up, but beyond that? Feeling lost was familiar.

So he nodded. No words, no confirmation that he was all right with this. Nate shifted closer to her on the couch and slid one arm around her back, and then he turned, wrapping another arm around her from the other time. He bent his head forward as if he was ready to kiss her head, but waited. That wasn't what she asked for, that may not be what she needed. Did this feel right? He never knew for sure. Maybe that was why it couldn't be.

There were some things that leaves permanent marks on you. Things like parents, best friends, first loves. She had always compared every guy with Nate, her fairytale boyfriend, and one way or another they had always fallen short. They were not beautiful enough, not gentle enough, not sweet enough. She could not love them enough. And she found that sometimes she would blame him for not trying hard enough. If he had kept faithful, if he would just try and love her, they would have worked out. Surely she wasn't so impossible to love?

But playing the blame game would never amount to anything. The fact was that now she was the one ending it, because they were just not meant to be anymore, if they ever were. Still, it all felt like cutting through a mountain, the roots run too deep.

So she just held him tight, grasping at his shirt as if to keep from drowning, because she really was, gasping and choking at her tears and crying ungracefully. And after this she would have to let go.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

The words echoed in his mind a few times before he realized that he needed to say something. This time, he felt a little assured that he couldn't say the wrong thing, because they were possibly nearing an end. Nate loosened his hold, just a little, so his head could be a little further from her face while he looked down at her. "Blair ... no, I'm sorry." For what? He wasn't sure, but his own apology seemed necessary. She mentioned the time before, and seemed convinced he was only doing this for a reason. For her. Not for him.

But when did Nate ever truly do something for himself?

He leaned a little closer after struggling for a follow-up, simply tightening his arms a bit more.

No, she's sorry.

But she could not say it, because it would be childish and they were grown up now. She could not say it because if she did then it would have to come with an explanation, and she really had none. They were not meant to be anymore, she told herself. That was it, they were not meant to be. But somewhere in the equation was Chuck, and she was still not big enough to admit it.

The boyfriend's best friend. How classic. How tragic. She would not admit it because she had already told him she loved him and he didn't say it back.

It seemed like their relationship, the four of them, was built on a pile of apologies. I'm sorry I stole your boyfriend. I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I could not help but rush down the road to self-destruction. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That's what love means for all of us imperfect people, right?

"You're my best friend."