"Sweet, merciful Lord," Kurt groaned as he sank into one of the lofts mismatched armchairs, "remind me never to trust Gunther again when he offers to let me work ‘another hour or so."

"Stop whining," Santana said, sliding the loft door closed behind her, "I know how much cash is in your pocket right now."

He, Rachel and Santana all worked at the diner that day, though Kurt spent significantly more time there. Originally he planned to work from 7am-11am; a reasonable timeframe that would allow him to spend the afternoon tackling a mountain of homework and possibly enjoying a nap. However when 11am arrived the joint was packed full of patrons and Gunther asked him to stay awhile longer. Not one to turn down a few extra hours added to his paycheck, Kurt agreed to keep on working. When Rachel and Santana came in at noon, scheduled to cover the afternoon hours, there was no sign of him being released any time soon. The afternoon passed and it seemed as though Gunther flat out forgot that Kurt was still there. Exhausted and so very ready to leave, Kurt still didnt want to pass up the additional hours, telling himself that putting in extra time today meant that maybe he could justify taking less shifts when finals arrived.

Still, 5pm hit and the girls were scheduled to leave when he decided to throw in the towel. Yes, hed gotten the necessary breaks, but it still felt like a long time since he left the loft that morning. Now that he was sitting he didnt know if he possessed the strength to get up and change out of his uniform, let alone shower or cook dinner. He closed his eyes and sank lower into the chair, content to stay in this position for the time being, or possibly forever.

He was jolted back to reality by a hard smack to his shoulder and his eyes flew open to find Santana smiling down at him.

"None of that, lady lips. Go change and get back out here. There are four bottles of wine in the kitchen waiting for us tonight."

Kurt gaped at her.

"Santana, I can barely keep my eyes open. I dont think alcohol is the solution."

"Dont feed me that sobriety-is-uplifting crap. Alcohol is always the solution."

Shaking his head in disbelief he began to ask,

"How did you even get your hands on that much wi- You know what, forget it, I dont want to know."

Rachel hovered nearby, watching the interaction uncertainly. Santana rounded on her next.

"Well, Berry? Are you going to be a wet blanket, too? Because you know Ill just get drunk without either of you, and then you have to deal with me without any intoxicated buffers of your own. I know how much you love that."

Kurt sighed and exchanged looks with his other roommate. With Santana, they always came down to two choices- fight or give in.

"Fine, Santana, you win," he announced.

She smiled triumphantly.

"I always do. Now lets get out of these godawful uniforms so we can order takeout and get our drink on."

*****

At the first sip of wine, Kurt knew this was a bad idea. He was exhausted and missing Blaine, who was 12 hours in to a self-imposed three day exile, claiming that if he didnt just sit down and focus on homework for a few days then it would never be finished. Kurt knew this wasnt necessarily true, but part of what he loved about Blaine was his boyfriends dedication. The work always got done, but Blaine didnt half-ass anything and would beat himself up if he thought he produced anything less than his best. Even though Kurt admired this, he was currently faced with a Saturday night in the company of his [soon to be trashed] roommates. Having a little back-up once the girls inevitably began taunting him wouldnt exactly hurt.

But here he was; Blaine-less and glass in hand. He knew that if he tried to get away with sneaking off to bed after dinner that Santana would follow and physically extricate him from the sheets. One episode of this action was plenty for his lifetime and he didnt much care to repeat the experience.

By 8pm all three of them were well past "tipsy" and plunging full speed into "plastered." Through his haze Kurt wondered why they didnt do this more often. They were easily laughing and gossiping, a long forgotten movie playing in the background. Given their shared history they knew each other well enough to keep a conversation flowing. Plus, with enough alcohol in his system Kurt could even tolerate Santanas exceptionally inappropriate comments and questions about his sex life. At 9pm, he officially lost track of time and ceased to truly register what was going on around him. It wouldnt be until another solid 12 hours passed that hed actually regain awareness.

*****

The first thing he noticed were the crashing waves of a beach that had clearly taken up residence in his stomach. Next was the crunch of his spine as he moved slightly on top of a very hard surface. Opening his eyes was not a pleasant concept; both for the physical agony that he knew would accompany light, and the knowledge that he was likely about to find himself in undignified circumstances.

He cracked open one eye, instantly relieved to recognize his living room in the loft. Thank god he was at least in his own home. However, he was also lying sprawled out on the floor, inexplicable with one shoe off with a towel spread out over him. Unable to stand the thought of making himself vertical just yet, he continued to survey the room from his horizontal viewpoint. Santana was draped across the couch, one leg flung over the side and hands stuffed under her head. The coffee table was littered with bottles and takeout boxes. Clearly no one had the wherewithal to clean up last night, which was unusual because normally Kurt would be first to become aggravated by the mess and wind up clearing it himself.

Kurt wracked his brain in a struggle to remember something, anything, about how he came to be in this position. His last memory of the evening was listening to Santana sing the praises of Danis tits while he polished off one of the bottles. Everything after that was wiped from his memory.

Gathering up his strength and willing himself not to vomit, Kurt sat up. As soon as his abdomen moved he felt a sharp pain in his bellybutton. It felt like something was stuck in there and, on top of that, it itched as well. He finally got to his feet and staggered toward the bathroom, his first missions being to find the Tylenol and figure out the source of this mystery pain. Standing in front of the mirror he blinked blearily at his reflection and lifted his shirt. Suddenly the headache and nausea fled into the background of his senses, panic setting in as he eyed the silver barbell marring his otherwise unblemished skin.

"SANTANA LOPEZ I WILL FUCKING MURDER YOU!" he bellowed, stumbling slightly as he stormed back in to the living room. He didnt know where Rachel was, nor did he care at the moment if he just woke her up. Questions needed to be answered, and it needed to happen immediately.

He approached the couch and grabbed a throw pillow, beginning to beat his still unconscious friend with it. Santana jerked awake, nearly toppling off the couch.

"Ow, ow, Jesus, Hummel! Dont you know how to treat a hungover lady?"

He glared at her, rage radiating from every pore as he yanked up the hem of shirt to expose his navel.

"I know this is your fault. Explain. Now."

She sagged back into the couch, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"Its your body. How is this my fault?"

He smacked her again with the pillow.

"Dont play cute with me, Lopez. No amount of alcohol could cause this to be my idea, so I know your powers of suggestion are behind it."

She shrugged, looking bored.

"I may have suggested we check out a piercing parlor thats open late on weekends. I may have suggested that you are boring, and you quite possibly might have gotten defensive and decided to prove me wrong. I didnt tell you to do squat."

Though furious with the Latina, Kurts legs felt close to giving out and he collapsed onto the couch next to her, head in his hands.

"Oh god. How did you even find someone willing to pierce an intoxicated person? Isnt that illegal?"

She gave another half-hearted twitch of her shoulders.

"All I had to do was flash a little side boob and then he looked the other way while I forged your signature."

Kurts mouth dropped open. He knew full well that Santana maintained incredibly questionable views of right and wrong, but sometimes she still managed to catch him off guard with her decisions.

"I cant believe you! Seriously, you have pulled some sincerely messed up stunts before, but this..." he couldnt even find an end to the sentence.

"Oh, lighten up. You had the cash on you from that extra shift yesterday and its not like its permanent. Just take it out if youre really that upset."

He was still not nearly awake enough to fully process everything, too shocked and angry to put together rational thoughts. Kurt rose and moved into the kitchen, unable to handle close proximity to Santana any longer. After pouring a large glass of water he leaned against the counter, debating his next move for the day. Santana wandered in behind him with a small bag in her hands, which she thrust in his direction.

"Here, these are your cleaning supplies and care instructions. You might want to go through them."

Kurt accepted the bag, genuinely surprised by Santanas consideration. She might be a manipulative bitch with a twisted sense of humor, but at least she wasnt going to let his bellybutton rot away. Ultimately deciding that cooking was definitely not going to happen that morning, he set down his glass and headed for the bathroom. Santana had resumed her place on the couch and he paused, realizing that, aside from the obvious, something wasnt quite right.

"Satan, wheres Rachel?"

She waved noncommittally without even opening her eyes.

"Oh, she went home with some guy from the bar that we visited after you got punctured."

Kurt stood rooted to spot, horrified and livid.

"You let her leave with some stranger? Just how fucked up were you?"

"Ay dios mio, chill out. They obviously knew each other and she already texted me this morning. The she-hobbit is fine."

Instead of responding he continued to the bathroom, incapable of dealing with Santana just now. He planned to shower, make himself presentable, and then bolt from the loft as quickly as possible in search of food, coffee and a little peace.

In the solitude of the bathroom he opened the bag Santana handed him. As he read through the care instructions he grew increasingly dismayed. The actual cleaning processes were simple enough, but the side effects and healing directions did not sit well with him. Avoid tight clothing? Prepare for oozing and crusting? Beware strenuous physical activity? He had an image of trying to make it through his next dance class without being paralyzed by paranoia of ripping the stupid thing out of his naval. Not to mention it was going to make having sex with Blaine a hell of a lot more-

Oh god. Blaine.