He always knew she'd be his undoing; how it had come to this, however, he wasn't entirely sure.

Even as he stood, face hard, chest heaving, he still couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when it had all gone so wrong.

An accumulation of moments, he supposed, of rash judgement and even more impulsive actions.

Yes, that was what it was. That was exactly it.

In essence, he had killed their relationship.

And he had no idea how in all Hell he was ever going to get it back.

...

"What do you want from me, Waldorf?" he demanded; his eyes narrowed, and jaw set.

"You want me to hurt? I'm hurting, ok? You want me to feel ashamed? I've got that covered too," he said.

"How many times are you going to use me and then throw me away? Humiliate me and stamp on my feelings as if they mean nothing and I don't even exist to you; because I'm Chuck Bass?" he questioned angrily then.

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out before him; his face softened, eyes became heavy and dropped with his dip of the head to look at the carpet beneath his feet.

His gaze lifted and his voice dropped an octave, "Look, I'm sorry, ok? I don't know how many times I can say it. I don't know how else you want me to show it."

"I know I never should have abandoned you, and I know how that must've made you feel," he continued. "But don't you think you've punished me enough?"

He straightened up, but his palm turned further towards the ceiling as he offered his hand even more clearly than before.

"You've publicly humiliated me over and over, and I've taken it. You've used me, countless times – I mean, if it's not Nate, it's British Royalty. I get it; I'm not good enough for you. I'll never be your Prince Charming, and I'll never fit into the perfect little world you've got created for yourself."

"But why couldn't we just make our own world?" he questioned angrily. "We could have been so good together, we – "

And with a score of absolute rage, he threw the glass he was holding straight at the mirror glaring back at him. It shattered; pieces of his reflected self scattered.

"I just – " he stopped himself, took a shaky breath, hand dropped to this side, he took a step backwards. "I can't do this anymore."

"I can't go through it all again," he said, and spun around before dropping himself to the carpet; back leaning heavily against the wall and hands spreading across his face. "I just – can't."

...

"I want you to want me," came a small voice from by the doorway.

He looked up from his place on the floor to see her standing before him. He was no longer envisioning her presence in front of him; demanding answers from a poor reflection of himself and a mere figment of her own embodiment.

"I think it's fairly obvious I want you, Waldorf," he replied, his head dipping as he released a brief, mirthless chuckle.

And suddenly she was in front of him, kneeling before him, and if nothing else; he could see the tracks of her tears.

"I want you to love me," her voice cracked, and she stared at him with those big, expectant eyes of hers.

He'd never been one to deny her anything, not really.

He smirked lightly, shaking his head at her, as he released a small sigh.

"I do," he told her simply.

"I need you to say it, I need to hear you say those words," she said, her eyes all but pleading with him to comply.

"I love you, Blair Waldorf," he told her, smirking at her the whole time. "And how the Hell you didn't know that is beyond me."

With that; one of his hands tangled itself in her hair, while the other rested on the base of her spine, pulling her into him; his lips finding hers in an instant.

She pulled away after a few heated moments, fingers entwined around his neck, as one of his thumbs caressed her tears into submission.

"Make history with me, Bass?" she asked of him.

He smirked at her in response; raising an eyebrow, and murmuring against her lips, "You really need to ask, Waldorf?"

And he could only hope the passion with which he kissed her then could tell her all she wanted to hear.

I love you.

Be mine.

Stay with me.

The End.