“Okay, Blaine – right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot…no, your other left!” Kurt instructs in a tense whisper, but it doesn't work. Blaine trips over his left foot with his right, and nearly tumbles down the stairs. “Come on, Blaine.” Kurt tries to help the giggling Warbler attached to his waist stand upright, but he's dead weight, his limbs as useless as wet pasta.

“I'm sor-hic…I'm sorry, Kurt.” Blaine looks up at him with puppy-dog eyes through a mess of untamed curls. “But I can't walk until your house stops spinning.”

Kurt huffs in frustration, leaning down and putting a hand behind Blaine's knee, moving his legs manually, one at a time, up the rest of the stairs. If only Finn had come back to the house with him. He could carry Blaine up to Kurt's room, no problem. But no. He had to stay behind at Rachel's.

Rachel.

Stupid Rachel, with her stupid party, and her stupid wine coolers, and her stupid game of Spin the Bottle.

Kurt doesn't want to be angry with his friend. He doesn't want to be jealous. But how is it that Rachel frickin' Berry gets to kiss tipsy, loopy, happy, adorkable Blaine, and Kurt gets stuck taking care of nauseous, green, can't-walk-straight-to-save-his-life, vomiting, drunk Blaine? At the rate Blaine's been losing his lunch, Kurt's shoes will never recover. And Kurt might be in love with Blaine, but that doesn't mean Kurt's not sending him the bill for steam cleaning his back seat.

After eight more steps of right foot-left foot-right foot-left foot, Kurt manipulating Blaine's body like a puppet master with his life size marionette, they finally make it to the second floor. There's a nerve racking minute-and-a-half while Kurt sneaks Blaine past his father and Carole's door, but they make it to Kurt's bedroom without bumping into another soul.

Kurt sits Blaine on his bed, then hurries to lock his door. When he comes back, Blaine is splayed on his back on the comforter, giggling profusely at the ceiling. Kurt frowns. He always thought that the first time he got Blaine into his bed, the circumstances would be much, much different.

Oh well.

Kurt has no intention of undressing Blaine. He's not quite ready for that. But he's not about to let Blaine sleep on his Ralph Lauren sheets wearing deck shoes. Standing still for longer than four seconds, Kurt starts to feel the exhaustion of dragging a teenaged boy up a flight of stairs weighing down his eyelids, and knows he has to get himself to bed soon or he'll fall asleep standing. Kurt sighs, half of his available energy escaping along with it, then kneels carefully to remove Blaine's shoes.

“We're…we're best friends, Kurt,” he hears Blaine mutter. “Do you know that?”

“Yes, we are, Blaine,” Kurt says. “I know.”

“Nah, nah, nah, I mean, you're like…like…the best friend I've ever had,” Blaine elaborates. “In my life. Seriously.”

Kurt sets Blaine's shoes aside. He stands, and maneuvers Blaine up to the head of the bed, lifting his legs and tucking them underneath the comforter.

“Well, best friend to best friend” - Kurt lifts up the blanket so Blaine can squirm into a comfortable position on the mattress - “I think that maybe you should consider not drinking quite so much. Next time, I might not be there, and that could be dangerous.”

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine snickers, “I wouldn't have drunk at all if you hadn't been there.”

“Goodie,” Kurt returns dryly. “So this was special, just for my benefit?”

“No,” Blaine says with a clumsy swipe of his hand through the air, “it's because I knew that you were with me, and that you would keep me safe.”

Kurt stops fussing with the blankets and looks at Blaine, closed eyes and goofy smile, the sweet, charming boy he fell in love with, falls more in love with every day. Regardless of what happened tonight, Blaine is still his prince, and all angst over Blaine kissing Rachel aside, that was the most romantic thing Kurt's ever heard.

“Well, I'm glad that you feel safe with me,” he says with an affectionate smile.

Blaine sinks into Kurt's pillows, sniffing at the pillow cases as he snuggles against them.

“Thank you, Kurt,” he whispers. “Thanks for being my…my…”

“Your seeing-eye person?”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees with a dopey grin. “Thanks for being my seeing-eye Kurt.”

Kurt pulls the blankets up under Blaine's chin. He has a strong urge to kiss him on the forehead, but he can't, not while Blaine's drunk. But this is Blaine, and for Blaine, he's willing to wait. Kurt kisses his own fingertips, and presses those to Blaine's forehead instead.

“Any time.”