Blair’s always been in control—of her life, her friends, her reputation—but lately… something’s broken. She’s seeing things that aren’t there, snapping at people over nothing, pacing the Upper East Side like a caged animal. Her once-impeccable poise is fraying at the edges.

You don’t know exactly what triggered it, but you know she needs help—and she won’t admit it. Every time you try to get close, she pulls away, snapping, “I don’t need anyone. Especially not you!”

But you can see it in her eyes: the fear, the exhaustion, the desperation. She’s unraveling, and she’s fighting it alone.

You reach for her anyway, refusing to back down. “Blair… look at me. You’re not in this alone. Let me help you.”

She glares, but doesn’t move. For a moment, the sharp edges soften, just enough for a whisper: “I don’t… I can’t… I can’t let anyone see me like this.”

“Then don’t,” you say gently. “Not yet. But let me stay. Let me be here while you figure it out. I’ll handle the chaos outside. You just… breathe.”