not like I faint every time we touch
Nelly Yuki/Dan. 961 words.
Summary: He calls and his voice is very sheepish, very sweet, all charm.
Note: Originally posted here, for the ficathon everyone should be writing for.
It's pitch black late by the time Dan calls. Nelly had very much not been expecting him and is therefore already done for the day, her hair bound up and her face moisturized, snuggled up in her favorite pajamas decorated with the little Warhol heels. He calls and his voice is very sheepish, very sweet, all charm.
"Nelly," he says, "Can I stay with you tonight?"
Her heart clatters like a stack of dropped plates. She is sixteen and he's dating Serena van der Woodsen and he doesn't even know he's beautiful, which is so ridiculous that it makes Nelly sincerely doubt his intelligence.
"Nelly?"
No. No, Nelly is an adult and she graduated early from Yale and people work for her now. "Sure," she says, voice even as anything. "I'll text you the address."
"You're a lifesaver, Nell," he says, voice all drunk and grinning. She wonders if he couldn't find a girl to stay the night with – unlikely – or if now that the sex is over he doesn't want to stay and doesn't know where else to go. It doesn't matter. It's not like Nelly is going to turn him away.
He shows up in worse shape than she thought he'd be in: not at all sobered by the cab ride, eyes glossy, bruises like fingerprints on his arm, a streak of either lipstick or blood on his neck. He gives her an embarrassed smile and leans a little too heavily on the doorframe.
"You're such a sweet girl," he says, sounding like he's complimenting a four year old. "You're so nice."
Something inside her twists, long-buried feelings of inadequacy. Yes, she's such a nice girl, she's certainly never heard that one before.
She steers him towards the made-up couch and ignores the amused look he's giving her, deposits him amongst the down comforters and pillows. Dan tilts his head up, studying her, and looks very small suddenly.
"You like me, don't you," he says.
Nelly's gaze slides to the side and her teeth find her bottom lip, the nervous gestures of another girl. She shakes it off, looks directly at him. "I like to think we're friends," she says.
Dan reaches up to curl his fingers around her wrist. He smiles slightly, a small and secretive sort of smile, and says, "You know that's not what I meant."
Nelly doesn't like that look on him. It's too far removed from the boy she remembers who always had a dodgy haircut and ugly shoes, who was honest and forthright and funny. "You should sleep," she says, sounding flat even to herself. "You're drunk."
She pulls her hand away, Dan looking somewhat surprised, and retreats to her room, heart hammering. But she knows what would have happened if she'd stayed and she knows she would have regretted it too, because she never wanted Dan Humphrey trashed and heartbroken, she just wanted him.
Still, she can't sleep. The clock ticks ever onwards and Nelly cannot sleep because Dan Humphrey is on her couch and too many fantasies lately have started that way. Around four she peeks around her door to see him sitting up, his back to her, hands rubbing over his face. A half-empty glass of water sits on the table in front of him, very politely, on its coaster.
Nelly moves a few steps into the room, suddenly less self-conscious about her high bun and no mascara. "Dan?"
He turns a little, looks over his shoulder with a weary half-smile. "Hey, Nelly."
He always says her name when he's talking to her and it makes her tremble just a little, embarrassingly. No one else ever made her name sound quite that nice. "Are you feeling better?"
He gives her a shrug, expression all doubt. "I'm sorry I stumbled in here like an idiot," he says. "You don't deserve that."
"It's okay," she says softly, even if it's not, and takes a seat next to him.
"You are sweet," he says. "Really genuinely. And you probably think that's a half-assed kind of compliment, but I mean it. You're sweet, and most people aren't."
She ducks her head. "Thanks," she says. "It is a little half-assed, though."
Dan laughs quietly. "Maybe if you let me take you for breakfast, I can work up a better one."
Nelly nods, looking at him, and thinks that there is something very profoundly sad in this boy these days. She'd brushed the him and Blair thing off as just another way the Upper East Side screws everything up so royally, just another thing for her to bitch about to her friends – all these girls who got him when Nelly didn't, even though she was right there, even though she would've been better for him than them. But it's more than that; it's Dan's sharp and particular loneliness, which she's not sure she ever saw and very well could have been there the whole time. She only thought he was cute, suited to her. A name and key characteristics that she could plug into the rom-com of her life.
"I'm sorry too," she says, and means it. "I'm sorry that things aren't going how you want them to go lately."
Another shrug, another smile; he's getting very good at them. Lightly, he says, "Let's save the heavy stuff for after sunrise, okay, Nelly?"
"Okay," she says. "You know, I'm a very good cook. We could have pancakes right now if you want. They are at our fingertips."
He laughs again, soft and unrehearsed. "Well, Miss Yuki, is there anything you can't do these days?"
She thinks he's making fun of her until she looks at him, sees the simple offhand way he meant it, like he actually meant it. "Yes," she says solemnly. "I can't fly."
Nelly Yuki/Dan. 961 words.
Summary: He calls and his voice is very sheepish, very sweet, all charm.
Note: Originally posted here, for the ficathon everyone should be writing for.
It's pitch black late by the time Dan calls. Nelly had very much not been expecting him and is therefore already done for the day, her hair bound up and her face moisturized, snuggled up in her favorite pajamas decorated with the little Warhol heels. He calls and his voice is very sheepish, very sweet, all charm.
"Nelly," he says, "Can I stay with you tonight?"
Her heart clatters like a stack of dropped plates. She is sixteen and he's dating Serena van der Woodsen and he doesn't even know he's beautiful, which is so ridiculous that it makes Nelly sincerely doubt his intelligence.
"Nelly?"
No. No, Nelly is an adult and she graduated early from Yale and people work for her now. "Sure," she says, voice even as anything. "I'll text you the address."
"You're a lifesaver, Nell," he says, voice all drunk and grinning. She wonders if he couldn't find a girl to stay the night with – unlikely – or if now that the sex is over he doesn't want to stay and doesn't know where else to go. It doesn't matter. It's not like Nelly is going to turn him away.
He shows up in worse shape than she thought he'd be in: not at all sobered by the cab ride, eyes glossy, bruises like fingerprints on his arm, a streak of either lipstick or blood on his neck. He gives her an embarrassed smile and leans a little too heavily on the doorframe.
"You're such a sweet girl," he says, sounding like he's complimenting a four year old. "You're so nice."
Something inside her twists, long-buried feelings of inadequacy. Yes, she's such a nice girl, she's certainly never heard that one before.
She steers him towards the made-up couch and ignores the amused look he's giving her, deposits him amongst the down comforters and pillows. Dan tilts his head up, studying her, and looks very small suddenly.
"You like me, don't you," he says.
Nelly's gaze slides to the side and her teeth find her bottom lip, the nervous gestures of another girl. She shakes it off, looks directly at him. "I like to think we're friends," she says.
Dan reaches up to curl his fingers around her wrist. He smiles slightly, a small and secretive sort of smile, and says, "You know that's not what I meant."
Nelly doesn't like that look on him. It's too far removed from the boy she remembers who always had a dodgy haircut and ugly shoes, who was honest and forthright and funny. "You should sleep," she says, sounding flat even to herself. "You're drunk."
She pulls her hand away, Dan looking somewhat surprised, and retreats to her room, heart hammering. But she knows what would have happened if she'd stayed and she knows she would have regretted it too, because she never wanted Dan Humphrey trashed and heartbroken, she just wanted him.
Still, she can't sleep. The clock ticks ever onwards and Nelly cannot sleep because Dan Humphrey is on her couch and too many fantasies lately have started that way. Around four she peeks around her door to see him sitting up, his back to her, hands rubbing over his face. A half-empty glass of water sits on the table in front of him, very politely, on its coaster.
Nelly moves a few steps into the room, suddenly less self-conscious about her high bun and no mascara. "Dan?"
He turns a little, looks over his shoulder with a weary half-smile. "Hey, Nelly."
He always says her name when he's talking to her and it makes her tremble just a little, embarrassingly. No one else ever made her name sound quite that nice. "Are you feeling better?"
He gives her a shrug, expression all doubt. "I'm sorry I stumbled in here like an idiot," he says. "You don't deserve that."
"It's okay," she says softly, even if it's not, and takes a seat next to him.
"You are sweet," he says. "Really genuinely. And you probably think that's a half-assed kind of compliment, but I mean it. You're sweet, and most people aren't."
She ducks her head. "Thanks," she says. "It is a little half-assed, though."
Dan laughs quietly. "Maybe if you let me take you for breakfast, I can work up a better one."
Nelly nods, looking at him, and thinks that there is something very profoundly sad in this boy these days. She'd brushed the him and Blair thing off as just another way the Upper East Side screws everything up so royally, just another thing for her to bitch about to her friends – all these girls who got him when Nelly didn't, even though she was right there, even though she would've been better for him than them. But it's more than that; it's Dan's sharp and particular loneliness, which she's not sure she ever saw and very well could have been there the whole time. She only thought he was cute, suited to her. A name and key characteristics that she could plug into the rom-com of her life.
"I'm sorry too," she says, and means it. "I'm sorry that things aren't going how you want them to go lately."
Another shrug, another smile; he's getting very good at them. Lightly, he says, "Let's save the heavy stuff for after sunrise, okay, Nelly?"
"Okay," she says. "You know, I'm a very good cook. We could have pancakes right now if you want. They are at our fingertips."
He laughs again, soft and unrehearsed. "Well, Miss Yuki, is there anything you can't do these days?"
She thinks he's making fun of her until she looks at him, sees the simple offhand way he meant it, like he actually meant it. "Yes," she says solemnly. "I can't fly."