a girl who was a city
Dan/Blair. 1053 words. Post-s5.
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ms_mmelissa!!
Summary: Everything Blair left behind when she left him.
Here is a list of the things Blair leaves behind in Dan's apartment:
Bobby pins. Endless fucking bobby pins. He finds them in dusty corners and under couch cushions, beneath books on his shelves. He steps on them when crossing the living room barefoot. He even finds one in his bed when he sticks his hand under the pillow. A seemingly eternal supply of dark brown bobby pins haunting him persistently.
An entire line of skincare and hair products. He gives the lot to Georgina, who deems it "the good shit" with reluctant admiration. It's all meaningless to Dan, not just because the bottles are labeled half in French but because he does not understand the need for so many things, does not remember seeing Blair use any of it, does not even know what toner is.
Her "emergency makeup." Just in case there was a nuclear apocalypse or something. It seemed remarkably similar to her non-emergency makeup to Dan, except there was a lot less of it: one mascara, a tinted moisturizer, a slim compact of pressed powder, a dark-toned pencil, and a lipstick. He gives all that to Georgina too. He keeps the lipstick. He doesn't know why. He puts it back where he found it, in the unobtrusive black makeup case Blair had tucked into his top drawer, next to his t-shirts and a heap of
Emergency lingerie. Blair had a lot of fashion emergencies. The lingerie consists of four sets of matching bras and panties that she never touched since she always brought things like that with her in her overnight bag. They still have the tags on them. Each is a different color but the exact same style - one set black, another white, and then two in different shades of green. She knew green was his favorite. Dan gives them to a thrift store and is moderately soothed by the thought of how much that would annoy Blair, her expensive pretty things in a heap with old slips and deadstock bras, some Brooklyn hipster coming in to buy them and then wearing Blair's lingerie beneath an Urban Outfitters crop top.
One dress, still hanging on the back of his door. A shirtdress patterned with warm autumnal leaves, orange and gold, and a delicate leather belt buckled around it waiting to be filled. He will not get rid of the dress. Eventually he will put it in a box, but he will not get rid of it.
Three books. A romance novel he made fun of her for that has something to do with the Scottish highlands if the cover is to be believed. A biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine. A copy of Gone with the Wind. He only keeps the romance novel.
One record, which she bought from a stall at a flea market in Brooklyn (honest to God truth) with the intention of keeping at the loft. It's Edith Piaf. Dan doesn't have any interest in Edith Piaf so he puts it amongst Rufus' leftovers, on the very highest shelf in the corner.
A bottle of clear nail polish on the coffee table. She used to do a coat whenever she was bored, or taking a break from her book, or while they were watching a movie.
Perfume. Her perfume. He was going to hide it somewhere under the sink in the bathroom like an alcoholic stashing booze but he fumbled and dropped it instead, shattering the bottle. It gave the room an intense scent for a few days that was overpowering in a few different ways. He practically bleached the floorboards to get rid of it.
Then there are things that are not hers that he can no longer touch. He gets rid of sheets she made him buy. He breaks her favorite mug accidentally-on-purpose. He is forced to do away with half his movie collection, then changes his mind, then changes it again, then again, then can only get five minutes into The Apartment before he feels nauseous and shoves the DVDs to the back of his closet to deal with another day. He gets rid of clothes she liked. He buys more flannel. He cleans out the fridge of all the things he kept stocked for her, her highly specific choices and overpriced treats. He does away with her preferred box of tea. He throws out the menus to the restaurants she liked.
But no matter how much power-cleaning or re-arranging or cathartic trashing he does, he sees Blair everywhere. She's infested his home in a way he never could have foreseen in a thousand years and now it feels like everything is hers, anyway, even the things she never touched.
He should really just abandon the entire place (maybe the entire city) and move on, but he won't. Dan's not the person who runs away.
One day Blair comes a-calling for her things and he feels immense, empty satisfaction when he tells her he got rid of all of it. It's like the satisfaction of quelling deep hunger with fast food. It means nothing fifteen minutes later but in the moment it's everything.
And she shoves a box at him – a nice box, cardboard but nice, patterned with fleur-de-lis colored green and white. Inside the box is everything he left behind in her life.
He swallows hard, heart feeling melodramatically bruised. But all he says is thanks, adding, "You might want to check the Salvation Army on Atlantic Avenue for your shit."
Maybe six months later on an entirely unrelated day, Dan is looking for a specific shirt he's had since high school. He's painting his apartment as though that'll do away with Blair's imprint and the shirt is old enough that he won't mind it getting splattered. But he realizes he hasn’t seen it in forever, the last time, in fact –
The last time had been at Blair's. She was so appalled by it that she bought him a new shirt and made him change, and he'd left it behind there by accident. It was not in the box of things she had returned to him.
He quickly corrects himself, lest he feel something. Who really knows? Maybe she threw it in the fireplace. Anything's possible.
Dan/Blair. 1053 words. Post-s5.
For
ms_mmelissa!!Summary: Everything Blair left behind when she left him.
Here is a list of the things Blair leaves behind in Dan's apartment:
Bobby pins. Endless fucking bobby pins. He finds them in dusty corners and under couch cushions, beneath books on his shelves. He steps on them when crossing the living room barefoot. He even finds one in his bed when he sticks his hand under the pillow. A seemingly eternal supply of dark brown bobby pins haunting him persistently.
An entire line of skincare and hair products. He gives the lot to Georgina, who deems it "the good shit" with reluctant admiration. It's all meaningless to Dan, not just because the bottles are labeled half in French but because he does not understand the need for so many things, does not remember seeing Blair use any of it, does not even know what toner is.
Her "emergency makeup." Just in case there was a nuclear apocalypse or something. It seemed remarkably similar to her non-emergency makeup to Dan, except there was a lot less of it: one mascara, a tinted moisturizer, a slim compact of pressed powder, a dark-toned pencil, and a lipstick. He gives all that to Georgina too. He keeps the lipstick. He doesn't know why. He puts it back where he found it, in the unobtrusive black makeup case Blair had tucked into his top drawer, next to his t-shirts and a heap of
Emergency lingerie. Blair had a lot of fashion emergencies. The lingerie consists of four sets of matching bras and panties that she never touched since she always brought things like that with her in her overnight bag. They still have the tags on them. Each is a different color but the exact same style - one set black, another white, and then two in different shades of green. She knew green was his favorite. Dan gives them to a thrift store and is moderately soothed by the thought of how much that would annoy Blair, her expensive pretty things in a heap with old slips and deadstock bras, some Brooklyn hipster coming in to buy them and then wearing Blair's lingerie beneath an Urban Outfitters crop top.
One dress, still hanging on the back of his door. A shirtdress patterned with warm autumnal leaves, orange and gold, and a delicate leather belt buckled around it waiting to be filled. He will not get rid of the dress. Eventually he will put it in a box, but he will not get rid of it.
Three books. A romance novel he made fun of her for that has something to do with the Scottish highlands if the cover is to be believed. A biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine. A copy of Gone with the Wind. He only keeps the romance novel.
One record, which she bought from a stall at a flea market in Brooklyn (honest to God truth) with the intention of keeping at the loft. It's Edith Piaf. Dan doesn't have any interest in Edith Piaf so he puts it amongst Rufus' leftovers, on the very highest shelf in the corner.
A bottle of clear nail polish on the coffee table. She used to do a coat whenever she was bored, or taking a break from her book, or while they were watching a movie.
Perfume. Her perfume. He was going to hide it somewhere under the sink in the bathroom like an alcoholic stashing booze but he fumbled and dropped it instead, shattering the bottle. It gave the room an intense scent for a few days that was overpowering in a few different ways. He practically bleached the floorboards to get rid of it.
Then there are things that are not hers that he can no longer touch. He gets rid of sheets she made him buy. He breaks her favorite mug accidentally-on-purpose. He is forced to do away with half his movie collection, then changes his mind, then changes it again, then again, then can only get five minutes into The Apartment before he feels nauseous and shoves the DVDs to the back of his closet to deal with another day. He gets rid of clothes she liked. He buys more flannel. He cleans out the fridge of all the things he kept stocked for her, her highly specific choices and overpriced treats. He does away with her preferred box of tea. He throws out the menus to the restaurants she liked.
But no matter how much power-cleaning or re-arranging or cathartic trashing he does, he sees Blair everywhere. She's infested his home in a way he never could have foreseen in a thousand years and now it feels like everything is hers, anyway, even the things she never touched.
He should really just abandon the entire place (maybe the entire city) and move on, but he won't. Dan's not the person who runs away.
One day Blair comes a-calling for her things and he feels immense, empty satisfaction when he tells her he got rid of all of it. It's like the satisfaction of quelling deep hunger with fast food. It means nothing fifteen minutes later but in the moment it's everything.
And she shoves a box at him – a nice box, cardboard but nice, patterned with fleur-de-lis colored green and white. Inside the box is everything he left behind in her life.
He swallows hard, heart feeling melodramatically bruised. But all he says is thanks, adding, "You might want to check the Salvation Army on Atlantic Avenue for your shit."
Maybe six months later on an entirely unrelated day, Dan is looking for a specific shirt he's had since high school. He's painting his apartment as though that'll do away with Blair's imprint and the shirt is old enough that he won't mind it getting splattered. But he realizes he hasn’t seen it in forever, the last time, in fact –
The last time had been at Blair's. She was so appalled by it that she bought him a new shirt and made him change, and he'd left it behind there by accident. It was not in the box of things she had returned to him.
He quickly corrects himself, lest he feel something. Who really knows? Maybe she threw it in the fireplace. Anything's possible.