(no subject)
It was morning, and Chuck was sober. It was the first time he'd seen either of those states in a few days, but everyone, even Chuck Bass, had their breaking points, and it seemed he'd finally reached his. He'd gotten up and out of bed before noon, showered, dressed, even combed his hair. And now it was barely lunchtime, and he had no idea what to do with himself. Seeking out anyone from home was out of the question - they'd still be full of questions about what had happened, and just because he could pass a breathalyzer didn't mean he was up to talking about it. Serena would understand the need to let the issue lie, but they were both still too much in their own heads about the whole thing to really be of any use to each other.
All other options exhausted - all other indoor options, that was; the weather looked foul and Chuck had no intention of making a bad day worse - he'd found himself in the rec room, looking for something to do. The bookshelf held absolutely nothing of interest, almost offensively so - all old phonebooks and what looked like 30 years of someone's tax returns - and the jukebox stayed stubbornly silent. He, for lack of any other option, turned to the piano. He'd taken lessons, of course, as all the children of his acquaintance had, but even in his most dedicated days it had never been much more than an idle habit. There were some things that never left you, though, and as he sat down on the bench he found himself remembering old melodies he'd have sworn he had forgotten. After a few minutes, he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't notice when the door opened.
All other options exhausted - all other indoor options, that was; the weather looked foul and Chuck had no intention of making a bad day worse - he'd found himself in the rec room, looking for something to do. The bookshelf held absolutely nothing of interest, almost offensively so - all old phonebooks and what looked like 30 years of someone's tax returns - and the jukebox stayed stubbornly silent. He, for lack of any other option, turned to the piano. He'd taken lessons, of course, as all the children of his acquaintance had, but even in his most dedicated days it had never been much more than an idle habit. There were some things that never left you, though, and as he sat down on the bench he found himself remembering old melodies he'd have sworn he had forgotten. After a few minutes, he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't notice when the door opened.