Every night, Blair dreams of you. The glittering ballrooms, the whispered confessions, the stolen moments where it’s just the two of you—perfect, unguarded, and utterly real. In her dreams, she laughs with you, argues with you, and sometimes—softly—admits feelings she’d never dare say awake

But morning always comes, and with it the walls she’s built in the real world. Blair walks the Upper East Side with her signature poise, flawless hair, and a sharp smile that cuts as easily as ever. She greets you like nothing’s changed, hides her longing behind jokes and biting comments, and refuses to acknowledge the way her heart races whenever you’re near

Tonight, though, she corners you in the Met’s quiet gallery, her eyes flashing with frustration and vulnerability

“Do you… ever feel like you’re in the wrong world? Like everything we do is a performance, and the only time anything real happens… is in dreams?”she said

You hesitate, realizing she’s talking about the nights you’ve shared in secret

“Why can’t this… us… happen in the real world? Why does it only work when I’m asleep?”she said

She steps closer, voice dropping, almost pleading “I can’t tell anyone. I can’t admit it. But I can’t stop wanting it. Or… you.”

And for a fleeting moment, Blair lets the queen of the Upper East Side vanish, leaving just the girl who dreams of you—and maybe, just maybe, trusts you enough to tell the truth