VAN DER WOODSEN

She looked at the pile of books, than back to the taller blonde haired man, “no,” she answered. “Really, it’s alright. I’ll be okay, thank you though..” she recognized him, but she was unable to think of the name. It was easy to tell he had been a few years older than herself, but that wasn’t an excuse as her mother would tell her. ‘You age is no excuse for misplacing someone’s name.’ As batty as the woman was, she had been right. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your day.. sorry again for everything.”

As she declined his offer, Eric simply nodded and then looked at the stack of papers that she was holding. “All right, well - good luck,” he said, motioning towards it. Then, glancing at the street to see when the light would turn green before looking back at her, he smiled once more and nodded. “Yes, you too - and don’t worry, accidents happen,” he said as he looked at the stain on his coat. It was too cold to take it off, but luckily he’d be in a car in less than two minutes. Once he saw the light turn green, he dipped his head slightly as a way to say goodbye and left the woman in the street, making his way towards the car.

JOIN ME - I will write a drabble about my character giving your character an offer.

Leaning back into the cozy armchair, Eric gave Vanessa an expectant look once he’d finished talking but waited patiently for her to think about what he’d just asked her. He knew it wasn’t something that people just asked every day, that it would take a while for her to realize that yes, he was serious, and yes, it meant changing your life completely. He really wasn’t sure what her response would be. He’d debated asking her in the first place, but in the end it just felt right. No matter what her answer would be, he could at least offer her the chance.

“So -” she said after a moment’s silence, drawing out the ‘o’ because she was clearly trying to wrap her head around it. “You’re really going then,” she continued, a statement that just hinted at being a question. “And you want me to come along.” Then, after another nod from Eric, she sighed and sat forward a little more on the couch. “I don’t know, Eric.” 

He knew that he didn’t have to expect an excited yes, he was prepared for that. She’d always been an outsider in the city, but she had reasons to be here. He did too - Serena, his mom, Nate, … Chuck’s memory. People who were his family or as good as, and who he’d never imagined leaving behind. But this city brought out the worst in both Eric and Vanessa, and it was precisely for that reason that he’d asked. He knew she didn’t like who she was when she was here. He didn’t like how low he could fall when he was here. 

“It’s no Hollywood. And it’s certainly no New York. But it has Cannes, and not a single soul who knows us.” He wasn’t trying to convince her - not really. He wanted the choice to be hers. But he’d made his decision, and he was standing behind it. He wanted her to see that. “It’s up to you. And you obviously don’t have to say yes just for me. But I’m moving next month.” 

When Eric called, Nate answered. He unapologetically dropped everything and came running. He was in the middle of a date, actually, when he got Eric’s call. He apologized profusely and explained very minimally why he needed to leave so quickly. 

It wasn’t his place to tell others stories. Always having Gossip Girl lurking over their shoulders was enough without fearing that the people you were closest to would spill your secrets. He’d never sent a tip into Gossip Girl, and he never would.

He shot Eric a text as he hailed a cab. “Be there in 10.” He gave the driver the address and asked him to book it. The ride ended up only being 7-8 minutes, but it felt like an hour. Nate sat in the back, his leg bouncing as he anxiously stared at his phone, begging Eric silently to just hold on. 

When he got to the bar, he overpaid the cab because there was no time to wait for change and barged through the door. There he was. Sitting at the bar, staring down at his glass. A bottle was sitting in front of him too, and as Nate walked closer, he noted the sobriety chip. 

He slid silently into the seat next to him. “Hey,” he said quietly. He wasn’t going to force Eric out of the bar. He wasn’t going to call in back-up or demand the bartender take away the drink. He wasn’t here to save him, to be his hero. He was just here. Here for him. 

Drinking the whiskey would be his choice, but he wasn’t going to do it alone. 

Nate nodded to the glass, and then quietly, as if only expressing a gentle curiosity asked, “Have you had any?”

Eric hadn’t even seen the text, sliding the phone back in his pocket as soon as he’d ended the call with Nate. But he didn’t need to see the text to know that it wouldn’t take his friend long to get to where he was. He knew that for sure. 

Still, even in that short amount of time he had to spend waiting, he kept thinking - just a sip. Maybe just one glass. That would make things better. Before .. everything .. he’d had to drink a lot in order to feel the effects. But ten years could do a lot to someone’s tolerance, and he was sure that even just the taste would make him feel better. If he could just ....

He’d barely even noticed Nate taking a seat next to him, and even when he spoke Eric just kept looking at was in front of him. He was about to throw away ten years of sobriety. He didn’t want to - of course he didn’t. But he definitely didn’t know if he was strong enough to resist.

But at least, Nate was here. Whatever he’d end up doing. “I just .. I just need to take the edge off,” he said, thereby also answering Nate’s question that no - he hadn’t had anything. Yet. Holding up the chip to Nate, he still didn’t look at him, just at the round little object he’d pinched between his thumb and index finger. 

“All of this,” he said, not even sure he could say just what exactly this was, “over something as small as this.” His eyes shifting from the chip to the glass and back again, he finally glanced sideways, his face riddled with shame. “This city, Nate - I don’t know if I can do it.”

His name alone didn’t spark any specific recognition, but when he mentioned his sister, Sabrina figured it was unlikely he was just coicidentally a guy named Eric with a sister named Serena. Most likely she’d stumbled into a conversation with one of the Van der Woodsen clan. It was odd, she’d gone years living in New York without ever crossing paths with any of Gossip Girl’s “circle of targets” yet in the wake of Chuck Bass’s passing they seemed to be cropping up everywhere she went. 

Sabrina hesitated a moment as he opened the door but the warmth was intoxicating and like a moth to a flame, she found herself drawn in almost inexplicably. “I guess if I’m already here…”

“After you,” he replied once she seemed to have convinced herself. True, Eric would have to share one of his favorite coffee shops with yet another person - but it was too good to not do that, anyway.

“So, Sabrina, let me help you navigate this menu - because you really should order the right thing,” he said, his tone playful, keeping the conversation light. “You should definitely choose the hot chocolate, but as you can see you can pretty much customize it to your needs. The one with chocolate and Oreo crunches is really good, but that is the least healthy option on there. Of course, if you’re going to get a hot chocolate, I personally believe you should just commit to the choice you made and go full out - but that’s up to you.”

It was only after he’d said it that Nate realized the way it could have come off. Judgmental, maybe. He wasn’t, and though he was sure Eric knew that, he found himself wanting to be absolutely sure. He swiveled in the bar seat to face him, eyes widening slightly at his own realization and embarrassment. “I’m sorry, man. That came out wrong.” He sighed, shaking his head and turning back forward. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he admitted. “Saying the wrong thing. It’s like I’ve got no filter.”

He nodded his head, “I know. I remember.” He’d been there for Eric countless times. when he was sober and hating it, when he was sober and loving it. When he was balancing on a tightrope. Nate assured him, and Eric always knew, that no matter if he took the drink or washed it down the drain, that he would be there for him. To catch him, and to pick him back up. “I should take notes,” he admitted, pushing the whiskey in front of him away with his pointer finger. “This shit doesn’t help. Just gives me a headache and hurts people.”

Maybe he was over-compensating, trying to make Eric feel better, but it was the truth. But this was also the truth: he didn’t know how to cope. He didn’t know how to handle being in a world without Chuck in it. Everything he was doing, day to day, was just Nate trying to learn how to be Nate Without Chuck. He didn’t feel like he was any closer to figuring it out.

Eric could hardly blame Nate for saying the wrong thing, as he put it. If anyone was allowed to do that these days, it was Chuck’s best friend. While Eric had always been close to him as well, he’d mostly come to see him as a brother only once his mother had started caring for him like  a son. Before that, they’d often played together as children, but Chuck had always been part of Serena’s group of friends, who Eric played with, rather than Eric’s friend. For Nate, that was different. The two had basically been joined at the hip for as long as he could remember. For Nate, only child, it must really feel like losing a brother.

And so, a simple shrug as if to say ‘it’s fine’ was all Eric did in reply, instead looking down at the glass that Nate was holding. Then, once he pushed it aside, he looked at his friend and smiled softly. True - alcohol had many detrimental effects. Eric was the living, breathing example of that. But it had also been one of the only solaces during his teen years. Despite now being sober for nearly thirteen years, he still didn’t think of alcohol as a bad thing. Eric just hadn’t been strong enough to deal with it.

“You know,” he said, happy to divert the attention to a somewhat different topic.”I haven’t been able to go see the grave yet since the funeral.” It sounded weird, calling it the grave, but it was easier than saying that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye yet. That sounded too final. “You don’t have to - really, you don’t. But if you want... Now, or - whenever, really. We could go together.” 

Sabrina blanched slightly as the stranger turned and replied. She hadn’t been expecting him to respond. Her intention had been…well, she wasn’t sure what her intention had been but it definitely wasn’t to start a conversation. And yet here they were. The blonde stayed silent for a moment, trying to figure out an approach. Small talk wasn’t her thing, she’d never enjoyed the activity regardless of its value. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a Grinch or anything, just sometimes I say what I’m thinking even when I shouldn’t” She admitted with a small shrug. “No, I can’t say I have, but I’ll take your word for it. I’m Sabrina by the way.” The last part came out haphazardly as did the hand she offered up to shake. Clearly she was killing the social game today.

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” Eric joked as he once again looked at the line inside and was happy to see it moving. Then, extending his hand to shake hers, he nodded when she introduced herself and replied in kind with his name.

“Instead, rather than taking my word, you should get inside and get a cup yourself. Serena -my sister- and I used to stop by this place at least once a week on our way home from school.” He held open the door as he stepped inside but then waited for her, not sure she’d actually come in, but the mere warmth that was radiating from the cozy room was enough to make him want to stay inside all day.

Vanessa was grateful for the forgiveness. She meant what she said too, about making it up – even if she kept messing up. First the bar, now the caffeine… but those were both mistakes. A lot of mistakes with the van der Woodsen family. 

“God, I couldn’t fuck this up worse if I was trying, right?” she forced out with an equally forced laugh. She took up her place in the line with Eric at her side. “One rose hip tea. With honey.  That sounds… really delicious, actually. Maybe two of those.”

As an afterthought, she added one final thought: “Are there any other things I should, just, like, avoid? It doesn’t seem like it, based on all of today’s behavior, but I really want to do better.”

“Hmm.. I’ve seen worse,” he added with a shrug and what he hoped came off as a playful smile to alleviate some of the awkwardness. It never used to be like this with Vanessa, precisely because unlike nearly all of his other friends, she spoke her mind, but it’d been a long time since they’d seen each other. 

Eric didn’t know if Vanessa was just ordering tea because she wanted to show ‘solidarity’ or if she actually wanted to, but it wasn’t worth dwelling over. It was a nice gesture, regardless. “Well, I’ve been told to stay away from bath salts and paint thinner, but unless you texted me for an impromptu trip to Beth, Bath & Beyond or The Home Depot, you should be good,” he joked. 

Then, once they’d found a table and had sat down, Eric spoke up once more, his hands folded as he raised his eyebrow. “So - did you text me just to get a drink, or?”

“Yeah, California doesn’t really get this cold, does it? This really isn’t something I missed about New York,” she said, pulling her coat tighter around herself. As much as she loved Eric, being with him was also a reminder of all the things she hated about the Upper East Side and a reminder of Serena and her mother. Two people who’d actively worked to ruin her life. She liked Eric the best out of all of them by far, but there was always that line she wouldn’t cross with him and topics she didn’t feel comfortable bringing up. She never wanted to put him in a position where he’d have to choose between his two sisters. Mostly because he knew who he would choose and it wasn’t her.

“Oh, that sounds really cool actually,” she said with a grin. New York definitely had a great food scene, something she felt LA lacked most of the time. Or maybe there were just as many good places in LA, but she couldn’t go anywhere without the paparazzi hounding her, so… “Yeah, I am. Getting used to the city again and everything. No hotel, I’m renting this place in the Upper West Side. Such a nice neighborhood. Where are you staying now?”

Once they’d made it out of the park, Eric raised his hand to hail a cab and then nodded as she spoke. “Oh, that’s nice,” he said, glad she’d found a stay in a good neighborhood. As nice as he was, he was still a bit of a snob. “I’m bought a condo on 89th, a few years back,” he continued once a yellow car pulled up beside him and the two of them got in. He told the driver the address, then sat back in his seat and looked over to Lola once more. “It’s nice having my own place, but I like that it’s still close by to Serena and mom,” he explained, meaning what he said. The whole reason he’d moved back to New York was because he wanted to be closer to his family.

After a few seconds of silence, he finally asked what he’d wanted to as soon as he’d found out she was back in the city. “So, Lola... What brings you back here?” After it had been revealed that she was actually three-fourth (?) sister, things had been a little awkward in the family when she’d left. He hadn’t thought she’d be eager to get back to that, even though it had been years. “I mean, I’d love to believe it’s for some sibling bonding, but that does seem unlikely, given...” given the nature of our ‘sibling relationship, was what he left hanging in the air. “Given everything.”

“You know me, Eric. I would never be okay with things going that far,” Vanessa countered, doing her best to match his pace. “And yes, I should have said all of this seven years ago, and, yes, I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Juliet in the first place, but…” Vanessa exhaled into a deep sigh, eyes fixed forward. “She was right. I mean, she was wrong about Serena, but Juliet was right about me. I’m an outsider here, I always will be, and I just… I had to get out.”

And then, one of the reason’s she’d reached out to Eric to apologize first. “I think you, out of everyone I know, can understand that.” Hadn’t he needed to get out of the city too? For different reasons, sure, but wasn’t the impulse the same? 

As they reached the cafe, Vanessa took a step ahead and pushed the door open, holding it open for them both. “I was serious about that coffee, by the way,” she said, her tone a little lighter once they were both inside. “It’s been a while, but let me guess… Non-fat latte with a caramel drizzle? Or wait, quad no-whip mocha with soy milk. A few extra shots to keep you Upper East Siders awake as you buzz all over town?”

Eric wanted to counter her words, saying she didn’t need to be an outsider, she could become fully integrated into his world - but he knew he’d only be playing polite and he’d be lying at the same time. Outsiders were outsiders. Always. Instead, he looked out into traffic and then nodded softly. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly, realizing very well that his time in Hawaii, while great, had mostly been about escaping the city. What’s that quote again? Running from something, not towards something? He may have pretended it was the latter, but he knew that wasn’t all true. 

“Well,” he then said while they reached the cafe. “I suppose I can give you another chance,” he said, bringing his reply back to what she’d said earlier. In all fairness, as much as he’d been angry with her, it had been years, and he’d always thought it sad that his friendship with Vanessa had ended so abruptly.

Stepping in dutifully as she held open the door, he smiled while she tried to guess his order and took off his scarf in the meantime. “Actually,” he replied while he also took off his gloves, “rose hip tea with a spoon of honey, if they have it.” Then, continuing with an explanation, “I can’t have caffeine anymore. Best not to tempt fate.” He said it very casually with a shrug off his shoulders, but he knew exactly what kind of response it would bring from her. Everyone always replied the same way. Oh... Right, they’d say, their tone always laced with guilt. As if it was their fault. Eric had learned that being casual about it relieved at least some of the tension. 

Thomas had been talking to Lily for about an hour before she got a call and left the room to take it. No matter how many times he’d been at the van der Woodsen’s, he still wasn’t used to it —- maybe it was because most of the time he actually stepped foot inside, it was for business. Still, it was a nice place to hang around for a bit. 

He remained sat down, pulling out his cellphone to write an e-mail (one he should have written befoe even coming to Lily’s). Just as he hit send and looked at the papers again, a familiar ping echoed through the hall and stole his attention. 

“Eric,” Thomas began, eyebrows slightly furrowed at the other’s reaction, but blaming it all on how unexpected his presence was, “hey, man.” Thomas stood up, shaking Eric’s hand. “Oh, just here to talk over some legal stuff with your mom. She had to take a call but she should be back soon. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, right,” he replied dryly, though he managed to squeeze out a smile that should be convincing enough. Eric actually did like Thomas, but he liked him when he was being his friend - not when he was helping his mom and thereby reassuring just how great of a guy he really was. He knew Lily would never mean it like that, but in a way Thomas stood for everything that Eric couldn’t be.

Like Eric, there had been a certain pressure on him from a very young age, and like Eric he’d been expected to carry on the legacy name. Unlike Eric, he was actually strong enough to do that, and it seemed that he managed to do it without even the slightest bit of stress. But again, they were friends. They’d grown up together, been in each other’s lives for as long as Eric could remember. It was just moments like these that made Eric feel extremely self-conscious and ever so petty with envy.

“I’m good, thanks. You? I’m guessing that’s all got to do with Chuck?” He then said, motioning towards the stack of papers on the couch.

About once a week, Eric tried to stop by the penthouse for breakfast or dinner, first of all because he was a firm believer that family was the most important in someone’s life, and also because if he didn’t, his mom had a tendency to call basically every day to check up on him. Even now.

As the elevator ended on the top floor and the doors opened with a familiar ping, Eric stepped out and walked towards the living room where he could hear the ruffling of papers. “Hey mom, it’s--” he said, ending his sentence abruptly when he was who was sitting on the couch. 

“Oh,” he said, his tone betraying his disappointment. “It’s you.” Then, as soon as he’d said it, he recovered from the initial disappointment and walked over to Thomas to shake his hand. “Hey, man. I didn’t know you were here.” Then, as he looked around and found Lily nowhere to be seen, he ran a hand through his hair before speaking. “Why are you? here, I mean. And where’s mom?” 

January 3rd, 2008

*ERIC AND A WAITER, SITTING IN A TREE HIDING IN A CLOSET, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.*

You all know how the rest of the song goes, right? But yes, girls, let’s all heave a collective sigh of disappointment on three. Boys who like boys, heave a sigh of bliss. It seems dear E is batting for the other team. Thank you, G, for that generous tip. As a result, I’ll keep your secret to myself a little while longer.

You see, I’m a reasonable person. Quid pro quo. I’d been sitting on this one for a while. But E, you shouldn’t have been snooping around in my secrets with those friends of yours. J & V? Watch out. This is the price you pay for messing with me. Remember this for next time, loverboy.

“Honestly, I don’t know what else to talk about,” Nate admitted. “He’s dead and everything is still about him,” he chuckled, obviously lacking humor. What happened, it took up every part of his brain space. It was all he could think about, all he could talk about. Not talking about it, and not thinking about it, almost felt like a betrayal. He knew that that was how the world worked, of course. Someone dies, and you grieve, and then you keep on living because the world keeps on spinning and you can’t just stop. 

He finished off his scotch and flagged down the bartender for another. He couldn’t look at Eric fully, so he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “How often do you go to bars to drink tea, Eric?” He was worried. Of course he was worried. Anything could trigger an alcoholic. Something so simple as moving houses, or changing jobs. Not to mention something big. 

At Nate’s question, he furrowed his brow and looked from the cup of tea in front of him back to Nate, somehow feeling exposed. Nate and Eric had always been good friends, but especially since he’d left the Ostroff had he felt particularly close. Aside from Serena, he was probably the only person who really knew how Eric had felt before, during and after his addiction and the subsequent attempt on his own life. It was that knowledge that reassured Eric that despite his tone, he’d asked out of worry and not mockery. 

“Rarely,” Eric said, although that maybe wasn’t entirely true. Occasionally, he revisited his former hang out spots, almost like revisiting his old life. The pre-fragile Eric. The Eric that he was before people always looked guilty when drinking in front of him, or were worried because he didn’t answer a text for a few hours, or felt like they needed to visit him - you know, just because. 

Of course, he couldn’t blame them. If it was reversed, he’d be the same. But even though he’d hated his life pre-attempt, there were parts of it he missed, parts that he’d never get back. And so, occasionally, once every two month or so, he revisited it, though he was always careful to be in the right state of mind to do so. But he doubted Nate would understand that, would see past the fact that he was just tempting himself, making it more difficult for him than it needs to be. “I can’t have mocktails, remember?” It was too similar to the real deal. The next step would be too small.

Talia’s thick eyebrows pulled together as she watched Eric.  It was as if her mind could only focus on one thing at a time, and now that her attention had shifted over to him, he was all she zoned in on.  She watched his every movement—how he kept his eyes trained straight ahead, trained on nothing, almost as if he weren’t even really in the room.  

Listen, she understood that; she wanted to get the fuck out of this elevator too, but Eric was acting different.  He had been more receptive earlier, but now it was as if he were just an ornament in the elevator—a statue, of sorts.  His body was stiff, even after he slid down to sit on the floor with her, and for a while he said absolutely nothing.  He didn’t even really look like he was thinking about anything either; his face stoic and unrelenting in the slightest, a mask of sorts.

Right when Talia was going to ask if he was okay, the filing cabinet in the depths of her mind opened to reveal a file titled ‘van der Woodsens.’  She could practically hear her step-father’s voice in her head, debriefing her on the family as he did with all of her new peers when she first came to New York.  He had told her the ins and outs of everyone that she’d be in contact with, and it all felt very Devil Wears Prada-y when Andy and Emily had to study the book with all the guests names for Miranda.

van der Woodsen… Talia’s mind instantly fell on Serena, the adored It Girl of the Upper East Side.  She had heard plenty about the blonde bombshell, but hadn’t said more than three words to her in passing, so Talia tucked the thought away.  Eric, on the other hand, Talia didn’t know too much about.  She knew that he was a little more ‘under the radar’ than his sister—and didn’t he…

Talia was close to forming a coherent, possibly even correct thought when his words pulled her out of her head.  No, I really don’t, he had said, and Talia parted her lips to say something in response when the phone rang.  She was taken aback by the sudden springiness in his step when he answered it—where was this energy for the past ten minutes?  It didn’t matter; they were getting out of here soon and Talia would be able to go home and attempt to hand in her assignment on time.

When he spoke again and suggest that she turn out her joint, Talia followed his gaze down to the clip that was in her hand.  It was about half-way through; the product of a perfect roll, and all the time she had spent in her head caused the flame to go out on its own.  Her interest was his steady gaze on her joint, and suddenly her train of thought began chugging again.

Oh. How oblivious could she be?  “Right, of course,” She mumbled as she slipped the half-a-joint into the container she pulled it out from.  She wanted to blame the weed for making her into such an idiot, but it was her own fault.  Talia was always too lazy to learn about everyone she’d be in regular contact with in New York—it wasn’t fun to scour Gossip Girl’s old posts and read her crude comments about the elite’s lives.  She also just didn’t like to learn about peoples’ lives without their permission; if they wanted to tell her, they would.  And if Eric wanted to tell her, he would’ve—and yet, he didn’t exactly tell her to put the joint out.  Perhaps this was just more complicated.

“I’m sorry,” she said after some time.  She didn’t want to pry into his private life, but she figured she should say something. “I should’ve realized you were uncomfortable.”  Talia kept her blanket statement as simple as that; there was no need to make his struggles the highlight of their conversation.  “Here,” she said, pulling out a tiny water bottle from her bag and rolling it over to him, “It’s water.”  Talia figured it’d be safer to clarify the contents of the bottle at risk of sounding like an idiot.  It wasn’t like it was uncommon for the younger members of the elite to sneak alcohol in water bottles, though.

“I’m not,” Eric quipped defiantly, though his tone surprised even him. He was uncomfortable, and that was a good thing - it was good that drugs didn’t feel like second nature to him anymore. They had, for a long time, and it hadn’t exactly helped him. So why had he been annoyed when she’d apologized for it? 

He hadn’t sat back down after the phone call, and now he stood with his back against the wall of the elevator in the far left corner, his arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t get more defensive if he tried. It was strange. He didn’t usually act like this when it came to his addictions. Of course, usually he talked about it with people he knew better and in less dangerous situations, but that still didn’t explain why he was feeling as upset as he was. 

Although, and he didn’t want to admit this to himself, but maybe it was the fact that back when he was in high school, weed was the drug that made him feel as happy as he could, with a crushing depression hanging over him. Through all of his worries, all of the pain and emptiness, weed had numbed things, covered everything with a soft layer of fog that took his mind off things for a little while. 

It was the first time he’d been in touch with that particular drug again, but rather than feeling the familiar feeling of relief he’d learned to associate with it, he’d been presented with a whole new spectrum of emotions. Perhaps it was that quiet realization that made this extra difficult.

Whatever it was, his expression softened a little bit when the bottle of water hit his feet. He looked at her, suspicious of the contents even after she’d assured him it was water, but then eventually sat back down and picked up the bottle before taking a sip (although he first brought the bottle close to his mouth without actually drinking to see if he could smell any potential alcohol). “Thanks.” And then, when he put the bottle back down, “sorry.” He’d nearly bit her head off earlier, and that wasn’t usually him.

“It’s just - a thing, drugs and I.” That ought to be sufficient. It told her there was something, but for all she knew he was just a very principled man. He could just tell her, that he really couldn't be around drugs because of his past, of who he was, but he didn’t think that would make this more comfortable for either of them. Over the years, he’d learned to wait to talk about it until someone specifically asked him. If he didn’t, it made for the perfect conversation stopper. Nothing had been more awkward than when he’d told his roommate in college, who responded solely with, ‘shit - mate, I’ve got like three bags of cocaine hidden in our bathroom.’

“Are you high? Right now?” he then asked, his sick curiosity winning from his rational thinking skills. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to achieve with that question, or with her answer for that matter, but he just knew he wanted to know.

He hadn’t even been back for a month, but he had already attended four charity gala’s, two brunches and six different dinner parties. Thanks, mom. He’d forgotten how much responsibility came with being in the city, and how much it could take its toll on him. 

He’d first thought of it when he was at the Coates’ for a dinner party, and he’d figured that just one sip wouldn’t hurt. Even that thought alone scared him, though, so he’d excused himself early and gone home to go to bed. He’d felt better in the morning.

The second time had been more troublesome, because he’d been over to his sister’s and had wondered if she kept any alcohol in the house - and if so, where that could be. That, in itself, isn’t terrible, but then telling her he was going to the bathroom but instead checking out the different rooms in the house that might hold liquor, was. After he’d left, he’d gone straight to the gym to take his mind off it. He just needed to adjust to city life, is all.

A little less than a week later, as he spent yet another twenty minutes in the bathroom of a five-star hotel to escape the tedious row of speeches given after dinner, he looked at himself in the mirror and thought that if he could just have a single glass of whiskey, he’d feel better and he wouldn’t be tempted anymore. Unlike the previous two times, that thought didn’t scare him, and it was only when Chuck came to look for him that he dismissed the thought and went back inside.

And then, that Sunday during brunch, where unlike what his mom had promised, the closest person of Eric’s age was eleven, and the next one was 48, he’d suffered through two and a half hours of ‘who’s who’ and ‘who’s doing who’ before he’d had enough and gone out to the balcony to get some fresh air when a well-meaning server had offered him the last flute of champagne on the tray. Instinctively, he’d thanked her and picked it up before she went back inside, then stared at the glass for a solid ten minutes before he poured it out over the plants. The problem with that was that he didn’t pour it out because he knew he shouldn’t drink it, but because champagne would just not cut it.

And so, by the time he’d entered his previous favorite watering hole (and had, shamefully, been greeted like an old acquaintance), it was a little after two PM, although the blacked out windows had always given the bar a very ‘night clubby’ vibe. Surprisingly, the worst part wasn’t that he’d ordered whiskey. No, the worst part was that the barman had set down a glass and bottle in front of him after he’d ordered. Just like when he was seventeen. And just like when he was seventeen, he was glad he was all the way up in Harlem, where no other Upper East Sider would come if they didn’t absolutely have to.

And then, he looked at what was in front of him and his chest tightened. He reached for the sobriety chip in his wallet and put it down right next to the glass, as if to torture himself even more. Nine years, the chip said. Even more, he thought, because he’d had that chip since February. He was coming up on ten years. He’d lasted for ten years. And yet, he thought, if he could just have that one glass. Just the taste. It’d be enough, he thought, lying to himself. 

At that point, his phone pinged and he took it out to see that Serena had texted him to confirm dinner plans. And then all he could think of was Serena. He’d promised her that he’d never make her go through it again, that she wouldn’t ever have to worry because he’d tell her if things were difficult. But if he had to call her now, she’d be disappointed. She’d try to hide it, but she was his sister. He’d know. And that was a thought that Eric couldn’t bear to even think about.

Instead, before he could change his mind, he searched for another number and called it, not sure if he was hoping that Nate would or wouldn’t answer. And then, right after the guy on the other side of the line had greeted him, he simply said “can you come get me? I’m at the bar on East 116th,” before ending the call, lacking the mental strength to explain more over the phone.

She watched Eric scroll through his phone, opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to be doing this, she could tell, but he was because that’s the kind of person he was. She’d asked, he’d complied. And that had gotten them both in trouble before, but the consequences fell harder on Eric. She’d never be able to properly apologize for that, either. 

If they were still friends, she could have joked about them moving further east – further into her territory, further from his. But they weren’t friends. Not anymore. 

“Sounds great,” she replied with a smile, not naive enough to think it would be somehow contagious. Maybe she was hoping it would make her feel better, too. They walked in silence for a few paces, waiting to see if he had anything to say, but he didn’t. She couldn’t be surprised by that. Might as well start strong.

“I know I’m never going to be able to apologize to Serena or to you.” It was matter-of-fact. “It’s the worst thing… The worst series of things I’ve ever done. I never meant for things to get so out of control, but they did, and I am sorry. But I know that doesn’t mean a lot until I can back it up. I just need a chance to try.”

When Vanessa spoke, Eric continued walking and looked out at the street, though he was listening intently to what she was saying. When it had come out that Vanessa had been involved in, among other things, getting Serena admitted to rehab, Eric had taken it hard. He’d always considered her a friend. They’d always been friends. He’d even come out to her before Gossip Girl had outed him for the rest of the city. 

And it wasn’t just the fact that she’d been involved in a big scheme that involved his sister. Of course, he’d been angry about that, but he’d have gotten over that in a few months, probably. But it was Vanessa who had schemed - someone who he’d always seen as immune from the influences of his social circles. And if Vanessa could fall into that trap, anyone could. Which meant that no one he’d ever meet would really be safe from getting sucked in. That had been a hard pill to swallow.

Though they kept walking, their pace slowed down to a kind of stroll while she talked, and eventually, Eric sighed. It had been years. Would he hold this over her for the rest of her life? Or, at least, the rest of her life she spent in New York? He wasn’t sure just how much their paths would cross now that they were no longer in high school, but there was still a big chance they ran in the same circles. Eric hated feeling bitter.

“You could’ve apologized. Back then,” he said, cocking his head to the side as if to indicate the past. Then, stopping in his tracks to turn towards her, he waited for her to look at him as well and then shrugged. “You weren’t supposed to do things like that. To be like that.” He’d spent countless times defending the very people she’d turned into, always trying to tell her there was good in Blair, in Penelope, in Chuck, ... in Serena. “But, I guess better late than never,” he said as he picked up the pace again, not sure he fully believed his own words. He didn’t want to stay bitter forever, but it wasn’t easy to forget seeing Serena the way she’d looked after she’d been admitted.