Blaine stretched his legs out against the coffee table and groaned in noisy satisfaction. Kurt quirked an eyebrow. "A bit bored, are we?" he inquired, half-smiling.

"I know that you love the French language, but conjugations don't hold the same fascination for me," Blaine said.

"I can tell," Kurt said, glancing over Blaine's half-filled worksheet.

Blaine leaned back against the couch, draping an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "How about we take a little break?" he offered.

"I don't know, you tried to use 'venir' without even bothering to conjugate it to 'venez'," Kurt said, frowning at Blaine's homework. "Honestly. You're ridiculous."

"I'm just hungry," Blaine said cheerfully. "And my parents had a party last night for some of my dad's work associates, so our refrigerator is stocked with all sorts of amazing leftovers." He squeezed Kurt's shoulder playfully. "We have caviar."

Kurt perked up. "Really?" he said.

"The good stuff," Blaine said.

Kurt leaned back, lifting his chin. "Well, I suppose a very short break would be all right," he said.

Blaine grinned and kissed him on the temple as he got up from the couch. "Perfect," he said.

He padded into the kitchen and peeked into the fridge, humming to himself. A study date was not the ideal date he had in mind, but with exams coming up and the two of them at separate schools, it was better than nothing. And at least they were studying for the same classes, even if their material was slightly different.

"Hey, Kurt," he called as he poked around the party leftovers.

"Hm?"

"We've got some sparkling grape juice or something," he said, pulling out several half full bottles, their labels mostly peeled off. "Want some? It seems so festive."

Kurt sighed. "I don't like drinking my calories, but it seems inappropriate to enjoy caviar with tap water," he said.

Blaine pulled two cut glass tumblers out of the cabinet and walked back into the living room, plunking down a bottle and the two glasses on the coffee table. "Go ahead and get a drink," he said. "I'll put a plate together. We can share."

"Ooh, how Lady and the Tramp of you," Kurt teased.

Blaine bent and kissed the tip of his nose. "Come on, you know you like it when I try to be romantic," he said.

Kurt crooked his finger and Blaine bent obediently. "I don't know what's so romantic about double-dipping, but sure, let's go with that," Kurt said, kissing him lightly.

"At this point, I don't think it matters. Our germs are all probably the same at this point," Blaine said, raising his eyebrows. Kurt flushed bright red and hastily fumbled for the bottle. "Oho, I got you flustered."

"Just bring me my food, Anderson," Kurt said, pouring himself a generous glass of sparkling grape juice.

Blaine laughed and headed back to the kitchen. "This is delicious," Kurt called. "I've never had sparkling grape juice with fruit in it before. Your parents have amazing taste."

"Well, my mom does," Blaine called back. "If the party planning had been up to my dad, it would have been burgers and beer."

"Sounds like my dad."

Blaine smiled to himself as he heard the steady glug noise of juice pouring into Kurt's glass and went back to assembling his snack. He was just about to pull a clear plastic container of his mom's dill vegetable dip out of the fridge when his phone jangled.

He wrestled it carefully out of his pocket. "Hello?" he said.

"Blaine! Hi, Blaine, it's Jeff."

Blaine grinned. "Yeah, Jeff, I know it's you," he said. He wedged his phone between his cheek and his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"You know how we're going to sing for the end of the year assembly?" Jeff said eagerly. "Well, I really want the solo for the Owl City number."

Blaine sighed. "Jeff, you know that if Wes has his way, you'll never have any kind of solo," he said.

"Yeah, I know, but maybe David and Thad will outvote him if I do a really good job," Jeff said. "Could you give me some audition tips?"

"Jeff…"

"Please, Blaine? Please?"

Blaine sighed. It seemed like he coached Jeff at least once a year, but the poor guy never seemed to get past the first round of auditions. And he probably never would, not until Wes gave up on his silly vendetta, but Wes had been clinging to that since they were in middle school and singing in the Hatchlings.

Blaine's phone beeped in his ear; he pulled it back to see a low battery light and a call time of twenty-three minutes, fifteen seconds. "Jeff," he said. "Hey, Jeff, I've got to go. Kurt and I are studying for finals."

"Studying with Kurt?" Jeff said. "I bet you're studying. Studying his-"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jeff," Blaine said. He turned off his phone and stuck it in his back pocket, then went back to assembling a plate of snacks.

Humming lightly to himself, he picked up the plate and sashayed back to the living room. "Sorry that took so long," he said, setting the plate down on the coffee table and plunking down beside Kurt on the couch. "Jeff called. He's auditioning for another solo and he…Kurt?"

His boyfriend was curled up in a tight fetal position, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head pressed against a throw pillow. "I don't think I feel well," Kurt mumbled.

Blaine leaned over him. "You were fine just a little bit ago," he protested. He tugged on Kurt's shoulder until he was lying on his back and pressed his hand against his forehead. "You feel a little warm. Do you think you're running a fever?"

Kurt gazed blearily up at the ceiling. "I don't feel good," he repeated, his mouth slack and his words slurring.

Blaine drew him into a sitting position, making Kurt close his eyes tightly and cover his mouth with his hand. "Here, do you want something to drink?" he asked. He picked up the bottle and frowned. "It's empty."

"I had…three glasses," Kurt moaned. "I don't think…I can…ugh…"

"But you can't be sick," Blaine said. "You were just fine a second ago. Do you…do you want some water? Or some Tylenol?"

Kurt shook his head, then winced. His face took on a greenish tinge. "Oh, I don't think I feel good," he said, his voice still thick and slurred. He curled back into a little ball, pressing his forehead to his knees. "Imma jus' gonna…mm…spinning."

Blaine helplessly patted Kurt's back, trying desperately to think of what he could do. He was notoriously bad with sick people. A cough or a messy sneeze had him searching for vitamin C drops and tissues, and the faintest glimmer of a fever had him clutching a thermometer for the rest of the day. And just the thought of throwing up sent him running to the bathroom; his mother had referred to him as "my little sympathy puker" since he was a toddler.

"Should I…call your dad?" he ventured. Kurt mumbled something into his knees. Blaine bit his lip.

The doorbell rang, echoing in the house. Kurt moaned and covered his ears. Blaine glared in the direction of the foyer, but the bell continued to chime, merry and incessant. "I'll be right back," Blaine said, squeezing Kurt's shoulder.

He yanked the front door open to find his sister standing there, an enormous pair of white sunglasses perched on her nose and an even larger tote bag slung across her shoulder. "Hello! Would you like to change religions! I have a free book written by Jesus!" Francey said cheerfully. "Just kidding, it's me."

She breezed past him and dumped her tote bag on the floor. "My keys were in there somewhere, but I didn't want to go digging for them. Thanks for letting me in." She paused. "What's wrong?"

He squared his shoulders with the full intention of behaving like a grown up, but she tilted her sunglasses to the top of her head and frowned at him. "Kurt and I were studying and he got sick all of a sudden," he blurted out. "What am I supposed to do? Should we take him to the emergency room?"

Francey relaxed. "And this why I'm the Anderson in med school and not you," she said, pinching his cheek affectionately. "Where's your sick boyfriend?"

"Living room," Blaine said. He trailed behind Francey as she kicked her shoes off, scattering them in her wake.

Kurt was curled up even tighter at this point, his arms around his stomach. "Hey, Ducky," Francey said, sitting down beside him. "Blaine says you aren't feeling good. What's wrong?"

Kurt cracked one eye open. "Mmm…noooo," he mumbled. "Noooo, giant bug." He stretched out his hand, limp and uncoordinated, and batted at her sunglasses. "Big…bug…eyes…"

Francey arched an eyebrow. "Hm," she said.

Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "He's hallucinating," he said anxiously.

"Uh…sort of," Francey said. "He's drunk."

Blaine blinked. "He's what?"

"Smashed. Sloshed. Tanked. Inebriated."

"But…but how?" Blaine stammered.

"Well, obviously he drank something with alcohol in it," Francey said, rolling her eyes. "What's he had to drink lately?"

"Just some sparkling grape juice leftover from Mom and Dad's party," Blaine said. Kurt whimpered, burying his face in the couch, and Blaine rubbed his back. "But that can't get him drunk."

Francey picked up the empty bottle on the coffee table and peered inside. "Blaine, this isn't grape juice, this is sangria," she said.

His mouth dropped open. "What?"

She swiped at the top of the bottle with her fingertip and stuck it in her mouth. "Mm-hm, yep, definitely sangria," she said. "Blaine, didn't you think that the chopped up fruits bits were kinda, I don't know, fucking weird in a bottle of grape juice?"

"I just thought Mom made it fancy for the party," he said in a small voice.

Francey rolled her eyes. "Blaine, you are sorely lacking in your booze knowledge," she said. "Honestly, how are you related to me? You know, this is why you came home trashed at that public school party last spring."

"That was one time!" he protested, blushing.

Francey pinched him lightly; Blaine pinched her back. "Well, your poor knowledge of alcohol has gotten your sweet boyf drunk off his ass," she said. "Congratulations. Have fun explaining this to his dad."

Blaine paled. "Oh god," he said. "Oh…oh my god…his dad…oh my god…I'm going to…I'm going to be killed. I'll never be allowed to see him again. Oh god."

"Calm your tits," Francey said, reaching up to pat the top of his head. "Mr. Hummel won't kill you. Mom will kill you first for drinking all of her sangria."

Blaine moaned and covered his face in his hands. "What am I going to do?" he said.

Kurt rolled onto his side, arms draped over the side of the couch. "I thought…why is…ugh, the floor is moving," he mumbled.

Blaine rubbed his back gently. "It's okay, babe, the floor isn't moving," he soothed. "You're okay."

Kurt squinted at him, them smiled, his mouth slightly slack. "Ooh…sheep," he cooed, batting at Blaine's hair. "Baaa…baaa…" He laughed, soft and high-pitched. "Sheep…"

"At least he's an adorable drunk," Francey said. "But don't let that fool you. That sangria is moving right through him like a river in flood season. Soon he'll go from the cute cuddly drunk stage to defcon 1 hangover. And meanwhile, you'll have to figure out how to keep his dad from killing you with fire and Mom from sobbing over the loss of her sangria."

"I don't….how am I supposed to do that?" Blaine said, crouched over as Kurt continued to play with his hair.

Francey squished his cheeks between her hands and kissed him on the nose. "Let me handle it then, Babbie," she said. "After all, I am the criminal mastermind in this family."

Kurt latched onto Blaine's knee and tugged himself a little closer. "M'stomach hurts," he said.

"Step one: let's get him to the bathroom before he starts blowing chunks," Francey said. She slid an arm under Kurt's shoulders. "Come on, Ducky. Let's get you up."

Blaine took him by the hands and tugged him up. Kurt draped an arm around his shoulders and sagged against him, soft and pliant. Blaine tucked an arm around his waist and kissed him on the warm forehead. "You really don't hold your alcohol well, do you?" he said.

Kurt dropped his head against Blaine's shoulder. "Sometime…ask me about…Bambi," he said. "Ooh, I don't feel good. I think…I think I'm going to…"

"Oh, god, you're turning green," Blaine said. He dragged Kurt into the bathroom and flipped the toilet lid up. "Okay, okay, uh…"

He helped Kurt kneel down, his hands shaking a little as he rubbed Kurt's back. Kurt gripped the sides of the toilet and threw up violently. Blaine winced, closing his eyes as he tried to keep rubbing his back.

"Ah, and the hangover begins," Francey grinned, crossing her arms as she leaned in the doorway. "Ooh, and it's orange."

"Francey, can't you do something helpful?" Blaine snapped.

"I already did," she said. "I've fixed your missing sangria problem."

"What about Kurt's dad?" Blaine said. "And what about Kurt…oh god." He covered his mouth, lightly patting Kurt's back as he heaved. "Hggggn. Okay. Okay."

"All right, sympathy puker, the last thing I need is for you to start up too," Francey said. "Go get the couch set up. I'll put that pre-med degree to work and babysit your boyfriend."

Blaine dropped a hasty kiss on the back of Kurt's head and scrambled out of the bathroom, concentrating as hard as he could on not throwing up. He ran up to his room and got the pillow that Kurt usually borrowed when he spent the night and the plaid blanket from the foot of his bed, then set them up carefully on the couch. Then he took a deep breath and peeked into the bathroom.

"Kurt?" he ventured. "Are you all right?"

"He's been better," Francey said.

Kurt sprawled out on the floor, his head resting on Francey's knees. "I don't feel good," he drawled unhappily.

"Let's get you settled on the couch," Francey said, pushing him up. "Then I'll call your dad."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Not my dad," he whimpered. "Dad's…going to kill me…"

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's slender waist. "No, he'll kill me," he said, kissing Kurt's temple softly. "Come on, lie down."

He guided Kurt to the couch. "'m so dizzy," Kurt mumbled, tripping over his own feet.

Blaine knelt down and untied Kurt's shoes. "Just rest, you'll feel better soon," he said. He maneuvered Kurt's ankles so he was lying down, then draped the blanket over him and tucked him in securely. "Should we get a trash can for you? Just in case?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "Thass…a good idea," he slurred.

"Already on it," Francey said, plunking a trash can down beside the couch. "Give me your phone, baby."

"It's in his bag," Blaine said, sitting down beside Kurt and smoothing his hair away from his forehead. "Should we get him some Tylenol or something?"

"Not gonna help, not with a hangover, trust me," Francey said absently, scrolling through the contacts on Kurt's phone. "I'll get him something in a second. First, I've got to- ah, Mr. Hummel? No, sir, this isn't Kurt."

Blaine grinned. "She's using her doctor voice," he whispered. Kurt smiled faintly, his eyes closed.

"This is Frances Anderson, Blaine's older sister," Francey said in a smooth, authoritative voice. "Yes, the one in medical school. Oh, it's going splendidly, thank you. But actually, Mr. Hummel, I was calling about Kurt. I think he's come down with some sort of twenty-four hour stomach bug."

She plunked down on the arm of the couch, crossing her ankles. "Mm-hm. He's definitely warm, and he's been throwing up. No, I don't think he should be moved. He can stay the night here. In the guest room." She paused. "Yes, my mother and I will both be home. No boyish shenanigans will be allowed."

She smirked at Blaine, wiggling her eyebrows. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"He's right here if you want to…" Francey paused as Kurt shook his head, then closed his eyes as if it made him dizzy. "Actually, I think he's asleep right now. It's probably the best." She smiled. "Yes, Mr. Hummel, we'll keep him here until he's a hundred percent better. We'll keep you updated. What? Oh, well, thanks, Burt. Mm-hm. He's in very good hands. Talk to you soon."

She tossed the phone back onto Kurt's bag. "Well, you now have your father's permission to sleep off your hangover here," she said.

"He…he told you to call him Burt?" Blaine said. "He doesn't let me call him Burt."

"That's because I'm not dating his precious only angel baby," Francey teased, lightly ruffling Kurt's hair. "You spoiled only child, you."

Kurt screwed up his face in a frown. "Not," he said. "I have….a big brother." He raised his arms, hands far apart. "Big…big brother."

Blaine took his hands and gently lowered his arms. "You need to rest," he said gently.

"Gatorade first," Francey said. "Only way to cure a hangover. Replenish electrolytes and sleep. Just don't tell Mom." She slid off the arm of the couch. "I'll be right back."

Blaine scooted closer to Kurt. "How're you feeling?" he asked gently.

Kurt flung one arm over his eyes. "I feel…like I got…run over by…a semi," he mumbled. "This is so much worse…than the chablis."

Blaine frowned. "What about chablis?" he asked. Kurt groaned and leaned over the edge of the couch, fumbling for the trashcan. Blaine steeled himself, stroking Kurt's back as he retched and trying very, very hard not to listen.

The front door swung open. "Hey, Andersons," a cheerful voice called. "We're here."

"Babbie, can you get that?" Francey shouted. Blaine patted Kurt's shoulder and scooted for the front door.

His sister's boyfriend stood in the foyer with a small cocker spaniel in his arms. "Hey, Patrick Swayze," Blaine said.

He frowned. "My name's Brantley," he objected.

Blaine shrugged. "Francey goes through so many boyfriends, I just call them all Patrick Swayze," he said. "Who's the dog?"

Brantley grinned. "This is Elizabeth Cady Stanton," he said, holding up the cocker spaniel gleefully. Elizabeth Cady Stanton blinked. "Francey called and told me to come over with pizza money and my dog, so…here I am. What's up?"

"I don't even know anymore," Blaine sighed, trooping back towards the living room. "Francey, your boyfriend's here."

"Thanks, babe."

Blaine sat down beside Kurt, who was facedown in the couch cushions again. "Kurt?" he ventured. "Honey, how're you feeling?" Kurt groaned into the pillow. "That bad, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt mumbled.

Blaine stroked his fingertips lightly up and down Kurt's spine. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Kurt scooted closer, curling up until his head rested on Blaine's lap. "I know," he sighed. Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair and bent over to brush a kiss on the top of his head.

"All right, Ducky, sit up," Francey said. "Slow and careful. Don't make yourself hurl."

Blaine slid in between Kurt and the arm of the couch, resting Kurt's back against his chest. Francey handed him a large glass of orange liquid decked with a straw. "This'll help," she said, pressing the cup into Kurt's hands. "Drink all of this."

Kurt fumbled for the straw and frowned when it poked him in the cheek. Blaine smiled and set it against his lips.

"I'm still not entirely sure what's going on," Brantley hedged, adjusting his dog in his arms.

Francey kissed him on the cheek and patted the cocker spaniel on the head. "I'm going to tell my mom that you came over for pizza and your dog accidentally broke the sangria bottle," she said.

Brantley hugged the dog tightly. "Not Elizabeth Cady Stanton!" he protested. "She's a good dog!"

"Yes, but now my brother won't get in trouble for setting his boyfriend drunk," Francey said. "Now, to break the bottle so I can maintain the story…"

"No, wait, Francey, you've got to stop breaking things," Brantley said, following Francey into the kitchen.

Blaine kissed Kurt lightly on the temple as he sipped his Gatorade. "Is this a little better?" he asked.

Kurt nestled closer, tugging Blaine's arms tighter around him. "Mm-hm," he said. "Mm…I should…get drunk…m're often…if this is what happens," he mumbled.

"You don't have to get drunk to get attention," Blaine grinned. He sighed in relief into Kurt's soft hair. "And we'll get into a lot less trouble that way."

"An' less…puking," Kurt added.

Blaine laughed, nuzzling the crook of Kurt's neck. "Yeah, less puking is definitely good," he said. He kissed the soft skin at the nape of his neck. "I'm still sorry, though."

Kurt fumbled with the empty glass, finally dropping it clumsily on the floor, and flopped around until his head rested against Blaine's chest. "Think 'f this…payback," he slurred.

"Payback for what?" Blaine asked, toying with Kurt's hair.

Kurt poked Blaine in the chest and twisted his finger. "Rachel's party," he accused. "I took…care 'f you…now…you…take care…'f me." He twisted his fingertip in Blaine's solar plexus. "Ha."

Blaine grinned and hugged Kurt tightly. "Now that we're even, will you stop holding Rachel's party over my head?" he said.

Kurt burst out laughing. "Thass funny…'cause you're short," he chortled. Blaine rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry on Kurt's cheek, making him shriek. "That tickled."

"That's what you get for calling me short," Blaine teased. He paused and smiled, rubbing his thumb against the curve of Kurt's jawline. "I love you, you know."

Kurt relaxed against him, his lips turning up in a tip-tilted smile. "I know," he said. He huddled against Blaine's chest and pressed a tiny kiss to his shoulder. "Love you too."

Suddenly, the sound of glass breaking echoed through the house, followed by high-pitched barks. "Frances! I told you not to break it!"

"It's the only way to keep my plan intact!"

"Yes, but you scared Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

"She's a dog, Brantley. Dogs don't get people names."

"Elizabeth Cady Stanton was a brilliant woman!"

"…you think your dog is a brilliant woman!"

"No! She was named after-"

"Brantley, you are so fucking bizarre."

"But I-"

Kurt blinked blearily up at Blaine. "Will this make sense…when 'm sober?" he inquired.

"No," Blaine sighed.