"I can't believe I let you talk me in to going to this thing," Kurt grumbled, gripping the steering wheel of the Navigator so tightly that his knuckles visibly whitened in the faint glow cast off from the car's clock.

Blaine chuckled in the passenger seat, smirking cheekily.

"C'mon, Kurt, you can't tell me that a Santana party could turn out to be anything less than a kick-ass shindig?"

"Yeah, that's kinda what I'm afraid of," came Kurt's muttered reply.

The smile quickly disappeared from Blaine's face and the playful tone dropped, replaced by a furrowed brow and genuine concern,

"Ok, what's going on in that head of yours? You know I would never try forcing you to do anything."

Kurt sighed before responding,

"I know. It's just... I really don't want a repeat of the infamous Rachel Berry Extravaganza."

The grin returned to Blaine's features.

"Babe, we've been over this. There aren't enough mind altering substances in the world to induce another make-out session between me and Rachel. I would overdose before it ever reached that point."

"And I believe that," Kurt began in a somewhat unconvincing voice, "but really, I just don't like seeing you drunk; you're not you."

Blaine's eyes went immediately to his lap, an ashamed blush creeping in to his cheeks as silence grew between the boys. Finally he managed to stammer,

"I'm sorry. I never thought about what it must be like for you to watch me when I'm... that way. I promise I'll try to stay in control tonight. The last thing I want to do is upset you."

He lifted his head to look at Kurt, who turned to his boyfriend with the first genuine smile he sported all evening.

"Thank you, honey. That means a lot."

Returning the affectionate gaze, Blaine happily said,

"Anything for you."

By now they were turning on to Santana's street, various cars sitting outside her house causing them to circle around the block before finding a place to park. After a battle between Kurt and a parallel parking spot, the two walked hand in hand up to the front door, hoping someone could hear the bell over music booming loudly enough to shake the house's frame. A clearly well-on-his-way-to-intoxicated Puck flung open the door a few seconds later, exclaiming,

"Dudes! You're, like, twenty minutes late. You got some serious time to make up for."

Both boys snorted as they crossed the threshold, Kurt remarking on this statement with a single, sarcastic word,

"Clearly."

*****

Two hours after the pair's arrival found a scowling Kurt perched on an armchair in the corner of Santana's living room, legs crossed at the knee and arms tightly folded. A red plastic cup filled with Diet Coke sat on the table next to him, and absolutely no alcohol coursed through his veins. The stark sobriety fueled his annoyance over the displays before him. Tina and Mercedes parked themselves on the couch, laughing hysterically about something that, more than likely, wasn't actually funny. Finn and Rachel twined together in another stuffed chair, making out furiously. Santana and Brittany were "dancing" in the middle of the room, though really they only ground shamelessly against one another, more or less in time to the music. Dimly he realized that Artie proved MIA this evening, but honestly that just meant one less drunken spectacle.

The sight inciting sparks of fury in Kurt took place on the rightmost side of the space. Mike and Blaine stood at one end of a plastic covered table across from Quinn and Puck, engaged in a rousing round of beer pong. In the brief hours since showing up, Blaine managed to ingest more liquor than ever before, not to mention a considerable amount of beer considering how badly he and Mike were losing. He swayed with every movement, stumbled through the short sentences he managed to string together, and generally looked like he would topple over at any given moment. Puck tossed the small white ball in to the one remaining cup on the opposing team's side, leaving Mike and Blaine with four cups to split between them. As Quinn and her teammate slapped high fives and crowed in victorious celebration, Kurt rolled his eyes while the other two downed their beers in defeat.

Suddenly Santana drew away from Brittany and yelled,

"Alright, time for a new game!"

Even Finn and Rachel stopped sucking face long enough to stare interestedly.

"In the great tradition of New Directions parties," Santana began, "I think it's time for spin-the-bottle!"

Blaine nodded eagerly and moved with everyone else towards the center of the room. Upon seeing this Kurt's eyes widened and he jumped off Santana's couch.

"Actually, I think we have to be going now."

The party hostess shot him an incredulous look,

"It's barely 11pm yet, lady lips. Are you honestly telling me your curfew is before midnight on a Friday?"

Kurt glared at her, thankful that Blaine seemed utterly oblivious to their interaction.

"Honestly, I just want to take my boyfriend home instead of taking him to the hospital because of alcohol poisoning, thank you very much."

Without giving her a chance to respond, Kurt moved to Blaine's seated form and grabbed his elbow, pulling him up and beginning to drag his drunken form towards the door. The shorter teen stumbled along, and once outside Kurt wrapped an arm around him in an effort to stabilize Blaine long enough to make it to the car. They said nothing during the short journey, the only noises being a mixture of steady and fumbling footsteps slapping against concrete. Kurt was fuming, but aware that chastising or yelling would do absolutely no good right now. The best he could do was get Blaine back to the Hummel-Hudson house and tucked in on the couch. Tomorrow he could deal with his dad's inevitable awkward questions and a lengthy, necessary conversation with his boyfriend once the hangover subsided.

Not until Kurt half-lifted Blaine into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt did the inebriated boy seem to register his change in location. When Kurt hopped behind the wheel, Blaine looked over with glazed eyes and slurred,

"Wherrre we... why leave?"

Willing himself to speak in an even tone, Kurt said,

"I'm taking you to my house. You need to sleep."

"Mmmmm," Blaine all but moaned, "sleep is good."

Kurt couldn't decide whether to laugh at this ridiculousness or cry in disappointment. Choosing to do neither, he remained silent and stone-faced for the 20 minute drive back home. After five minutes of ringing silence, he finally put on some music, unable to bear the sound of Blaine's uneven breathing and unintelligible mumbles. Once they finally arrived, Kurt wrapped his arms once more around his nearly passed out partner, fumbling with they key to the door before finally leading them inside. Quietly as possible he helped Blaine to the couch, dropping him on top of the cushions.

"Wait here," Kurt whispered, "I'll be right back."

He hurried downstairs to his room, praying that Blaine would still be conscious when he returned. After grabbing two pairs of pajamas and ripping a spare pillow and blanket from his bed, he ran softly back up the steps, grateful to see Blaine upright with open eyes. Tossing the bedding on the couch, he took the younger boy's hand and guided him to the bathroom down the hall, furthest from the bedroom where Burt and Carole lay, hopefully asleep.