“No, Blaine, come on,” Kurt pressed, clamping his hands around the edges of the book. “Tell me.”

Blaine fidgeted in his seat, cupping a hand to the back of his neck and exhaling sharply. “I will. When we get to that picture, I'll tell you why it took me so long. But first, you have to promise me one thing.”

Kurt met his eyes questioningly.

“Promise me you won't skip over the next page,” Blaine said, casting him a knowing look. “I know you've always hated that picture of you but I put it in there for a reason, and you know that.”

Kurt sighed almost theatrically. “Fine, I promise,” he agreed, half-smiling as he rolled his eyes.

“Mmm... More, need more,” Blaine moaned, stretching his arms above his head .

Kurt chuckled lightly, fingertips dancing further and further north of Blaine's knees. “You sure you haven't had enough already?”

Blaine shook his head vehemently and Kurt smiled to himself, turning to pick up the glass. He held it to to Blaine's mouth and tilted it up ever so slightly, watching the champagne disappear between his full lips. Blaine's eyes met his and he sat forward, hand snaking around to cup the nape of Kurt's neck. Eyes fluttering shut and lips parted, Kurt leaned in to meet Blaine halfway. The kiss was almost chaste to begin with, Blaine's eyelashes brushing softly against the apple of Kurt's cheek, and he let his tongue slowly run along Blaine's lower lip, flavors that were a combination of champagne and the wonderful, indescribable taste that was simply and inherently Blaine.

“You're drunk,” Kurt giggled, stifling a gasp as Blaine's focus shifted onto his jaw, nipping and sucking his way down Kurt's neck. Okay, so maybe—maybe—he was a little drunk, too. It was New Year's, after all. After a few luxurious moments, he set the glass down and took Blaine's hand in his own. “We should get back to the party.”

Blaine simply responded by letting his arms curl around Kurt's slim waist and pulling him close. “Home,” he breathed, and Kurt shivered. “I want to be fucking you when the clock strikes twelve.”

“But... it's New Years', Blaine. It wouldn't be...” Kurt trailed off, struggling for the right word in his lust- and alcohol-clouded haze, “proper for us to leave the party now.”

“There's a party in my pants and you're invited,” Blaine countered, absolutely deadpan and completely serious. The urges to roll his eyes and grimace at the cheesy line were almost overpowering but as Blaine looked up at him, wide-eyed underneath those impossibly thick eyelashes, Kurt's resolve crumbled.

“Do I get a VIP pass?” he asked, deciding to play along and trailing the fingers of one hand just underneath the waistband of Blaine's jeans.

“Access all areas, baby,” Blaine replied flirtatiously, and Kurt laughed at how ridiculous it all was before nodding his agreement.

“All right,” he murmured as he stood, pulling Blaine up with him. “All right, let's go.”

Blaine threw an arm around Kurt's waist, grinning and pulling him close as they left the bedroom to make their excuses to Kristy.

“Done making out in my room?” her voice came from somewhere to their right. Kurt turned to Kristy, who was standing with her hands on her hips, and felt momentarily guilty before Kristy burst out laughing. “I'm kidding, it's cool. As long as you put a towel down. You put a towel down, right?”

“We didn't get that far, don't worry,” Kurt reassured her. “But...”

“No. No, no, no, you guys are not leaving my party to go home and have sex after spending the past half hour making out in my room like a pair of teenagers,” Kristy chided them, and if Kurt didn't know her so well, he might have felt intimidated enough to stay.

He glanced at Blaine, whose attention was focused on the other couples dancing and chatting in the living room, before taking a half-step closer to Kristy and whispering, “consider it a favor?”

“What will I get in return?” she said, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from her shoulder and shooting him a meaningful look. For the second time in the past five minutes, Kurt stifled the urge to roll his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I'll design you something. And when I start working at Chanel or Gucci or Prada, you get one—and I mean one—use of my discount,” he bargained, concentrating on staying upright as Blaine's hand found its way underneath the hem of Kurt's shirt.

Kristy considered Kurt's proposal for a long moment before nodding. “Deal. Let's go, then; I'll show you guys out.”

“Kristy's awesome. Like, really awesome,” Blaine slurred, the alcohol seeming to affect him more the longer he was standing.

“She certainly seems to think so,” Kurt agreed as they strode purposefully down the hallway, grabbing their coats on the way. Kurt paused for a moment to help Blaine with the buttons on his chocolate brown pea-coat before shrugging into his thick, fitted leather jacket and zipping it up to his chin as he turned to Kristy. “Thanks for having us.”

“You guys would so be on my list if you weren't so freakin' adorable,” she said as she opened the door, causing both boys to shiver at the sudden blast of cold air. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

Blaine smiled widely before pulling Kristy in for a hug. “I love you, you're the best ever,” he said, making her laugh before he pulled away.

As he turned to the door, everything seemed to slow down for Kurt. He caught something out of the corner of his eye and his heart almost stopped. Kristy's town house (well, Kristy's parents' town house) was a tall, brick building with steps leading down to the sidewalk.

And Blaine's shoelaces were untied.

It was already too late; Blaine had taken a step over the threshold. With his next step, his foot came down on one of the loose laces, and he stumbled forwards. Kurt lunged to grab his hand, the back of his jacket, anything, but he was already falling. With a stomach-churning symphony of dull thuds, Blaine tumbled down the steps and spilled over onto the sidewalk, landing sprawled on his front, a sickening crunch painfully audible as his cheekbone connected with the cement.

Blaine wasn't moving. For a moment that seemed to stretch infinitely, Kurt stood rooted to the spot and the only thing he could hear was the deafening roar of his own racing heartbeat. Then he was practically flying down the steps two at a time as the adrenaline coursing through him swept away the effects of the alcohol in his system. He dropped heavily to the ground beside Blaine, ignoring the hot flare of pain in his knees at the impact.

“Blaine?” he tried, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out with trembling hands. “Blaine, baby, wake up.”

Nothing. Kurt pressed two fingers just underneath Blaine's jaw, trying to locate a pulse, feeling sick as he struggled to find any sign of life.

There. Finally, Kurt let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he shifted his fingers and finally found it, that tiny vital sign that suddenly returned all the color to the world.

Blaine groaned low in his throat, and it was the most beautiful sound Kurt had ever heard. “Ugh... Kurt?”

“I'm here, baby, I'm here,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into Blaine's hair as Blaine shifted on the ground, pushing himself up onto his arms. Kurt stood carefully, supporting Blaine as he slowly got back to his feet. Kristy was steadying his other arm, having followed Kurt down onto the street. Kurt gasped as he took in the sight of Blaine's right cheek; swollen and grazed, with bruises already blossoming under the skin.

“What the fuck happened?” Blaine asked groggily, wincing and putting a hand up to his head.

“You got into a fight with the sidewalk and lost,” Kristy supplied, injecting a little much-needed humor into the tension that clamored at the air around them. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

Blaine blinked slowly, swaying slightly on the spot. “Yeah. Yeah, nothing's broken. Head just feels like it's about to split open,” he answered, smiling shakily at Kurt, who looked like he was about to burst into tears. “Hey, I'm okay. I've lived through worse.”

“I thought that you were—that I'd—“ Kurt stopped himself, choking back a sob and clearing his throat almost gruffly. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine, babe, I promise,” Blaine soothed. Kurt nodded, swiping harshly at his eyes and inhaling deeply.

“Then let's go home and get you an ice pack, otherwise that's gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning,” he said, straightening the front of Blaine's coat.

“Are you okay to walk or should I call a cab?” Kristy asked, wringing her hands as if she didn't know what else to do with them. Blaine chuckled slightly, wincing again at the pain in his cheek.

“We'll be fine, it's only two blocks.”

“Right, of course. Okay, well... Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“We will. Thanks, Kristy,” Kurt said distractedly, never taking his eyes off Blaine. “Come on, baby.”

Back at the apartment, they sat at the small wooden dinner table as Kurt gently cleaned up Blaine's cheek, which had begun to turn a deep wine color. He tried not to flinch at Blaine's low hiss as he applied the ice pack, taking Blaine's hand and placing it on top.

“Better?” he asked, collapsing back into his seat, knees still flush against Blaine's.

“Do I look hot? I look hot, don't I? All bruised and bloodied up. You have to tell people I got into a fight defending your honor or something,” Blaine joked. Kurt shook his head, trying not to smile. “You should take a picture.”

“I'm not taking a picture,” Kurt replied, suppressing a yawn.

“I'm not gonna look this good again for a while, if ever,” Blaine countered with a dopey grin.

“To be fair, I haven't agreed that you look hot,” Kurt said, lacing his fingers through Blaine's. “I was so worried for a second, there. I thought that you were dead. It was one of the worst moments of my life.”

After a pause, Blaine leaned forward and pulled Kurt into a tight embrace. “I'm sorry I scared you,” he murmured, his breath hot against Kurt's skin. “You don't get rid of me that easily, though. Now, tell me the truth.”

Kurt sat back, casting an appraising eye over Blaine's face as he lowered the ice pack. “Okay, fine. You look hot. Really hot, actually,” he admitted, unable to deny that the bruises and scrapes did give Blaine a slightly rougher, bad-boy edge; a complete contrast to his usual, clean-cut appearance. Blaine wiggled his eyebrows at Kurt, who sighed and pulled their camera from his jacket pocket, snapping two photos in quick succession; one of Blaine holding the ice pack to his swollen cheek, the other of Blaine's lopsided, half-drunk grin. “This isn't exactly what you had in mind, is it?”

“Not really,” Blaine said, pulling Kurt to sit in his lap. “I was meant to be watching you fall apart beneath me right now, and instead you're putting me back together.”

Fireworks began to explode somewhere in the distance, and if Kurt listened hard enough, he thought that maybe—just maybe—he could hear the cheers of the crowd in Times Square.

“That's okay, though,” Kurt murmured, turning his face into Blaine's neck and breathing him in. “You're mine to put back together.”

“Always,” Blaine agreed. “Happy new year, Kurt. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt replied, pressing a kiss to Blaine's uninjured cheek. “Happy new year, Blaine.”