A/N: Thanks to Spiros.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or any of its characters.
It's the way he makes his cocoa.
He's not like the rest of them. You know. The ones who use the the disgusting powder that contain ingredients that cause heart attacks and the amount of chocolate that equals a Hershey Kiss' tip. And who mix said powder into…water.
No. Dan uses the real deal.
The pure-all natural-sweet-ground-chocolate real deal.
Ghirardelli ground chocolate. Mixed into milk warmed from the stove.
It usually ends with him cutting her off after three mugs because she's on a chocolate high.
::
It's the way she reads library books.
She's not like the rest of the them. You know. The ones who fold the triangle tips down after finishing the chapter or page or sentence or whatever they were reading before they were interrupted.
The ones who leave every page with a crease in it's corner.
No. Blair reads with courtesy.
She uses a bookmark, because she cares as much about how the book is made as what the book's about. She's the only person who returns the book in better condition than it was five lenders ago.
And he loves that about her, but he loves teasing her more.
It usually ends with him snatching the book out of her hands before she can place the bookmark or—god forbid—fold the corner, but she's laughing too hard to be mad at him.
::
It's the way he sleeps with his pillow.
Or, lack of pillow.
He's the only person she knows that refuses to use a pillow. It boggles her mind, because how can he just sleep on a flat mattress? She gets a neck ache just thinking about it. They both have a bed full of pillows, but he doesn't use them.
Not one morning has he complained of a sore neck.
(She's pretty sure it's because of her expensive, luxurious Tempur-Pedic mattress that supports his pillow-less head.)
But she bites her tongue about forcing him to use one.
Because it usually ends with her waking up to him using her stomach as a pillow, pressing his lips to her skin. Or her thighs. Or her…oh.
::
It's the way she plays the piano.
And no, Blair Waldorf does not play the piano. She "plays" it.
Meaning, she sits on the bench and twiddles the keys and tries to play something that sounds somewhat harmonious.
(Her mouth is trying not to smile while doing it.)
A quarter of the time, Dan joins her and tries to make the song sound a little better by adding his two hands.
But most of the time, it ends up with Dan begging her to stop. playing. now. And he'll kiss the pout off her face until she's begging him to take. me. now.
::
It's the way he does the crossword puzzle.
Always The New York Times.
And always with a ballpoint pen.
He argues that it's because he never writes his answer until he knows it's right, so what's the point of writing in pencil? It'll just smudge.
And so while he's completing it, and she's sitting beside him with her morning tea, she likes to look over his shoulder and watch.
It always ends with her saying 54 across is wrong. And his breath hitches and he freezes in panic until he hears her giggling in his ear.
(By the third time, he knows she's teasing, but he plays along and lets her think otherwise.)
::
It's the way she always wears her seatbelt.
On the nights they go out, he usually makes them take the subway.
But on the rare (recurrent) occasion he gives in and flags a cab, the first thing she does is put on her seatbelt.
Tourists, residents, visitors. No one uses a seatbelt in a taxicab but her.
It usually ends with them in a cab that doesn't have one, and he has to listen to Blair Waldorf lecture the driver on the safety and importance of seatbelts. (And a threat to call the company if the guy doesn't promise to install them.)
::
It's the way he doesn't wear a tie.
She's pretty sure he's the first person to even think about not wearing a tie to Blair Waldorf's wedding. (Well, it's his wedding too.)
But she just avoids the subject, hoping her silence translates as disapproval of the idea. She hopes he catches on.
He doesn't, of course. And this time, she's happy about it.
Because it ends with her walking down the aisle to a tie-less man. His lean torso and whispers of chest hair peeking through. And she realizes the whole thing is totally Dan, and it makes her even happier that she's about to make a vow to him.
::
It's the way she twists her rings.
Her engagement and wedding rings. The ones he placed upon her finger.
Whenever she's bored or anxious or watching a movie or whenever her hands aren't busy, she'll twist them. At night when they're in bed, he can sometimes hear the little murmurs of silver and diamonds clinking together as they're rotating around her finger.
And she always smiles. As if she's relieved they're still there, and this isn't all a dream or a figment of her imagination.
It always ends with her curling her body against his; her head tucked against his; her heart beating against his; and she'll whisper I love you.
::
It's the way he always says it back. Whether she's rushing out or he's running late, whenever she says it, he never fails to say it back.
I love you.
And it ends with—
Wait.
No.
They never end.
A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts. :)