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“Spot, love, you're sick. You shouldn't be here.” Elmer whispered softly to his girlfriend.

“S'not that bad. M fine.” Spot mumbled, her words muffled, her face buried in the sleeves of her oversized hoodie.

“She's operating on like 3 doses of Dayquil, don't believe her,” Jack said, leaning over to Elmer. “She's really not supposed to be here. I can guarantee that as soon as we get our phones back I'll have a million messages from Mama Medda yelling at me for driving her.”

“She's right, you know. Why would you let her come?”

“She has that huge test or whatever in Chem. Something mathy, I dunno-”

“Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Kelly?” Their bio teacher, Mr. Young, looked up from his marking.

“No, it's fine!” Jack said hastily.

By the time class was almost over, Jack and Elmer had drawn quite a few moth diagrams, Jack's including a lamp, and Spot was fast asleep.

Elmer decided enough was enough, and asked if he could take her to the nurse, and that's how he ended up literally carrying Spot down three flights of stairs, Jack in close pursuit with their bags.

Spot woke up when they were sitting in the office, waiting for Medda to pick her up.

“I told you I'm fine! I gotta do my test!”

“You wouldn't do very well on it today, you know. You're exhausted,” Elmer pointed out, partially teasing, partially serious.

“I'm tough!” she protested, despite looking about as menacing as a sleepy kitten in the moment.

“Self-care is punk, babe,” Elmer smiled softly and pressed a kiss into her hair.