Dan and Nate
"Look, you've got to believe me," Dan repeated, running a frustrated hand through his already wild hair. "I know Serena van der Woodsen... she's expecting me in there. Really!"
If he hadn't just witnessed unspeakable acts of horror, Dan might have found a grim sort of humor in the situation. It was the end of days and he still wasn't on the guest list. He had hoped Serena's name would be shibboleth enough, but the guards at the doors to the Palace weren't budging. His heart was still pounding in his chest, he had jogged the last few blocks here, having finally given up ever getting to Brooklyn. In his stolen car he had spent hours in traffic, inching downtown past car crashes, jammed streets, and panicked people on foot. And now, it seemed that it had been for nothing. The guard closest to him regarded him coldly, his hand resting on his assault rifle.
Frantic, Dan peered over the guard's head, looking helplessly through the tall glass windows for Serena. His eyes widened as he spotted someone familiar-- not the It Girl of the Upper East Side but its Golden Boy.
"NATE!" he cried, wildly waiving his hands in the air in hopes of getting the boy's attention. The two were hardly friends, and Dan still felt a stab of jealousy when he considered Blair's revelation about him and Serena. But surely Nate would recognize him now?