His head bobs dutifully along. His feet don't stumble more than a little, the automaticity of dance training keeping him moving without much need for the assistance of his bleary mind.

The real swaying comes when they reach the right landing--when he's got to wait for the door to be opened, when he's being dragged along into the apartment. There's much less of a rhythm to that. It throws his balance.

And it means he'll be clinging tightly to her for a moment in an attempt to reorient once they're in. Purely for rebalancing. "...yes."