Notes: Inspired by something my husband gave me during the start of our relationship, and written for the Klaine Advent Drabble 2017 prompt 'drink'. Explores the important question - What is that necklace we saw Blaine wearing in BIOTA? Also, I may have been a little pissed and bitter when I wrote this so, yeah ...

"Here. Drink this. It'll make you feel better."

Blaine squints at the glass of clear liquid Kurt puts on the table in front of him. He leans over and gives it an experimental sniff.

"Wha- what is it?" he asks, his voice raspy (sexy, if Kurt's being honest. But he doesn't want to be. He's stung, and he can't overcome that right now.)

"Vodka," Kurt says, walking over to the kitchen counter to put together a plate of dry toast and scrambled eggs for his hungover guest. "You know, hair of the dog that bit you and all that."

"What?" Blaine shoots back in his chair and clamps a hand over his mouth, his skin turning an impressive shade of pea green. Kurt snickers. It's mean, but he can't help it. This is a little too much fun.

"It's water, Blaine." Kurt sets the plate of food in front of him, carefully so it doesn't clatter. "Just plain water so you can take these …" Kurt puts out a hand. Blaine reaches for it, and Kurt puts two aspirin in his palm. "And consider that glass bottomless."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Blaine places the pills on his tongue, then chases them with the water. Kurt assembles his own plate of eggs and toast, and sits in the chair across from him. In the tense silence of the kitchen, they both regard their food, each without an appetite, too full of things left unsaid to take a single bite. But Blaine starts in on his breakfast, chewing a corner of his toast, mostly so he won't seem too ungrateful for everything he suspects Kurt has done for him during his drunken haze from the night before.

He just wishes he could remember.

"You know," Blaine starts, clearing his throat, then immediately regretting it, "I wanted to say that … I'm sorry."

"For what? Vomiting on my shoes, and then again in my SUV?" For kissing Rachel Berry for a single straight minute, then singing a song with her, full of significant looks that made it seem like all you wanted to do was kiss her again?

That shade of green returns to Blaine's face (nowhere near as impressive as the green monster clawing around in Kurt's brain), and he nearly drops his toast. "What?"

Kurt waves Blaine off with a chuckle, but it's hollow. "I'm kidding, Blaine. You didn't vomit on me, or my SUV. Or anywhere else for that matter."

"Really?" Blaine asks, somewhat disbelieving.

"Really. You managed to isolate all of your puking to the hydrangea bush right outside Berry's front door. After that, you were empty enough to travel."

"Well, that's … that's a relief," Blaine says, taking larger bites of his toast.

Kurt picks up his fork and moves his eggs around his plate. He usually hates it when people play with their food, but this meal has become so awkward, he doesn't know what else to do. "So, what … what are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry if I'm making things awkward between you and your dad."

Dammit, Kurt thinks, maintaining his poker face as he switches from pushing his eggs to buttering his toast. He'd really hoped it would be for that kiss.

"You are," Kurt admits. "But that's more about him and me. Less about you."

"Oh." Blaine doesn't pursue it further, but from the look on his face as he contemplates his eggs, Kurt knows he doesn't entirely believe him. "Well, thank you. Really. You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had."

Suddenly, the kitchen becomes chillier. To Kurt, at least.

Friend. Yikes.

"And you're mine." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes and smiles as reassuring a smile as he can come up with. But it becomes tight-lipped when Blaine returns his attention to his breakfast.

And that's that apparently. Kurt will continue to do the best friend thing and take care of Blaine, because Blaine needs his help. And he is his best friend.

Even if Kurt had hoped for more.

But there isn't more.

There's the memory of Blaine and Rachel kissing burned forever inside his brain, turning his heart to ice.

Combine that with Blaine professing his love to Jeremiah, ex-junior manager at The GAP, and Kurt's Greek tragedy can write itself.

When Kurt invited Blaine to Rachel Berry's train wreck of a frickin' basement party, he'd had such high hopes. It had taken him over two hours to get ready – one hour reserved solely for choosing the perfect outfit. His safety pin pants alone should have more than sealed the deal if Blaine were truly interested.

Kurt sighs as he watches Blaine carefully attempt the eggs.

He must not be interested.

And Kurt might accept that, resign himself to friendzone status forever, if not for one little thing …

There's a strange leather cord Blaine wears around his neck. Kurt didn't notice it when they first met, maybe because the stiff, button-down shirts they wear with their uniforms hid it. But when they hang out together sans uniform, Kurt can see it dangling around Blaine's neck, the loop of it tucked somewhere out of sight, in the vicinity of his chest. Kurt thinks he saw a charm on it, but every time he catches a glimpse, Blaine subconsciously adjusts it, hiding it from view.

Last night, Kurt finally plucked up the nerve to find out. Actually, it was more a matter of righteous indignation. If Rachel got to kiss Blaine, leaving Kurt with the consolation prize of cleaning vomit out of the carpet of his precious Navigator (not that Blaine threw up, but it could have happened – there was an assumption in place the second Kurt decided that he would take responsibility for his drunk friend), Kurt was going to get some answers.

Why?

Because why kiss Berry, of all people!? The girl who gets every solo, every spotlight!? The girl who gets EVERYTHING Kurt wants!? Why did she get to kiss Blaine!? What had she done so right in her life that she should earn that honor!? She'd always been a horrible, self-serving person (she's one of his best friends, so he should know). Why did she constantly get rewarded for that!?

Spin the Bottle is just a game! The rules aren't life! They don't dictate what they have to do! Blaine could have been a poor sport! He could have turned her down! He could have said no!

Why did Blaine have to kiss Rachel Berry!? Why before Kurt even got the chance!?

But he couldn't ask those questions, not with Blaine half asleep and babbling like a four-year-old on a sugar high.

So he picked one that wasn't quite as needy, whiny, or morally indicative.

He decided to find out what was so damned important about that necklace! That stupid necklace that he clutches like a string of pearls, that he kept feeling for every time he sang the lyric Don't you want me, baby? while gazing wantonly at Rachel frickin' Berry!

But how to go about it. He needed to be cool, nonchalant, and sensitive to Blaine's feelings, especially over something that Blaine seemed to keep a carefully guarded secret. As gossipy as Kurt could be, it wasn't in his nature to pry. He respected Blaine. He didn't want to take advantage of his confidence.

But just as Kurt thought of a way to ease into the conversation, Blaine - his head pressed against the glass of Kurt's Navigator and singing Don't You Want Me, Baby? to himself over and over - started giggling, repeating something he'd just sang by accident.

"Don't you want me, Berry?"

And Kurt cracked.

"What's up with the necklace, Blaine?"

Blaine stopped singing and looked over at Kurt with big, confused doe eyes.

"Wh-what?"

"The necklace. The one you always wear around your neck," Kurt repeated, side-eyeing Blaine as Blaine flashed his goofy smile at Kurt – the one that made his heart melt and his knees weak. Yeah, well, not tonight, Blaine Warbler! Not when Blaine still had Berry's nauseatingly sweet Debbie Gibson Electric Youth perfume clinging to his clothes, filling Kurt's SUV with its stank.

He'd almost prefer it if Blaine vomited in his vehicle, just to counteract it.

Blaine's brow pulled together, his forehead creasing as he tried to understand. But with his right hand already over the spot on his chest where the phantom charm lay, his eyes popped open.

"Oh!" he said, rushing to pull the cord out from under his shirt. "It's this!" It seemed to take forever for Blaine to reach the end of it, and Kurt's eyes diverted from the road several times trying to get a better look. After much indecipherable muttering, Blaine pulled it out, holding it up with a triumphant, lopsided grin.

Kurt turned his head for a second to examine it closer, then raised an eyebrow.

It wasn't a charm (in the traditional sense), wasn't a locket (which Kurt had originally assumed seeing how Blaine kept it private). It was a shiny silver key – a small one, similar to the kind you would use to open a diary … or a pair of handcuffs. Kurt scrunched his nose, stealing glances at it while he drove, but he soon realized he recognized that key.

"What the … is that the key I gave you?"

"Yeah. When I couldn't unlock the top drawer of my old desk." He looked worried for a second, palming it protectively. "You said I could keep it."

"That's because it was garbage," Kurt said, and Blaine gasped. "It didn't even work. Why would you keep that piece of trash?"

"It's not trash!" Blaine snatched it out Kurt's sight and stuffed it back down his shirt in offense. "You gave it to me. So that makes it important."

"How long have you been wearing that?"

"Since …" Blaine's voice drifted off as he did the math in his head. But after a few seconds of painful looking concentration, he shrugged his shoulders and gave up. "A long time."

"Why did you keep that?"

"Because it reminds me of you," Blaine said cutely. "It keeps me company when you're not around, and I … I miss you when you're not around because … because … I think I love you."

Kurt's eyes opened wide as Blaine started quietly singing one of Kurt's favorite Partridge Family hits, "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of, a love there is no cure for …"

Kurt kept driving, holding his breath almost the entire way to his house as Blaine's voice softened and he fell asleep. Not until he was snoring did Kurt let that breath go. He pulled over to the curb outside his house, but didn't turn off his vehicle. Instead, he watched Blaine sleep, his face relaxed, so calm. So trusting.

Trusting that Kurt would take care of him, come what may.

Rachel couldn't do that. Kurt remembered the Misters Berry telling him how Rachel had practically murdered three hamsters before they came to the conclusion that she wasn't exactly the nurturing type.

To be fair, Kurt wasn't either. But he could nurture Blaine.

Because Kurt was his best friend.

And he loved him.

But what did Kurt do now? What was he supposed to do with that information? Which did he believe – a drunken kiss or a drunken confession?

Or neither?

He read somewhere that alcohol lowers a person's inhibitions, which can make them do things they wouldn't normally, which could explain that kiss. But people can also be at their most honest when they're drunk, because they say the things inside them that they wouldn't normally say.

That was good to know, but it didn't help him out any.

He wished Blaine would wake up, sober up, and explain what the hell he meant by that! Did he love him love him? Love him only as a friend? Love him the way we should all blanketly love the rest of humanity!?

Kurt turned off his Navigator and sighed. He wasn't going to get any answers. Not before morning. So, Kurt would have to wait … and cross his fingers.