Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-BRRRR.
	Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-BRRRR.
	Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-BRRRR!
	"Hey," Emeral said softly, tapping Ket on the shoulder. He turned to her, left eye half-lidded, right eye almost completely closed. "It'd open if you pushed more than one button." She giggled, and patted his right shoulder. "Let me try?"
	He stepped aside, his arm flopping limply.
	Emeral punched in the code, the trill of acceptance trumpeted, and the gate chutter-chutted to life. She hooked her fingers around his. "Come on," she said chipperly, tugging his arm a bit to get him to walk.
	All day he had been out of it to varying degrees. But during the walk home, he was well into almost zombie-mode. She talked with him, but when she asked him the same question twice in a row he gave her a different answer each time, not even pointing out that she had asked it a few minutes prior.
	It was like he was here, but also there. He walked just fine, but one eye was closed and the other was at least half-lidded. But that was probably more or less the sun, because when they got under the shade of the front porch, the half-lidded eye popped open all the way.
	She pulled the key out of her back pocket and slipped it in the door, taking his hand once again as she opened it up. She half-expected him to trip over the little step, but he didn't.
	The air-conditioning was a blessing from the heat, and they both shuffled out of their backpacks and shoes.
	Being inside seemed to revitalize him a bit. His eyes were open and his shoulders weren't quite that slouchy. He huffed when she embraced him, like she slammed into him even though she was gentle as a dove. He tried to squeeze, but he felt so fatigued and his arms felt detached from his torso.
	"What's the code to the gate?"
	There was a second or two of silence. "Huh?"
	"The code for the gate to my neighborhood. What is it?"
	"Three..." He started. "Uh...Three..." He shook his head. "Three..."
	She giggled, mixed with a coo.
	"What?" He snapped.
	"Nothing," she replied, releasing the embrace, nowhere near the five-minute mark. "How do you feel?"
	"Fine," he was quick to respond.
	"Are you sure?"
	He nodded.
	"You're alert? Conscious? Know what's going on around you?"
	He nodded again. "Absolutely."
	"Then you know you're standing on my foot, right?"
	He flinched, lifting his left foot—the wrong foot. All his weight went on her foot, and she let out a gasp but it was more of a joke than anything else. He quickly swapped feet, stepping back and catching his balance again. "S-sorry," he said with a bit of a slur.
	"Be honest, Ket," she said, taking his hand and walking him over to the den just a few steps away, "How much sleep did you get last night?"
	He brought a hand to his face, rubbing it and pushing his skin all over the place. "I dunno..." He grumbled. "I'm fine, though, it's not a big deal." He took a step in the direction of his backpack, but her hands wrapped around his biceps, and pushed against him gently. "Emmy," he stated, a little agitated.
	"Where do you think you're going?"
	"Home." He tried to break her arms away, "I have to start doing work."
	"You're not leaving like that." She insisted, changing her stance to a more stable one; she planted her right foot and bent the knee, her left foot serving as support. "Fine, if you wanna go home you gotta get through me!"
	Growling, he mined a nugget of strength from within him, clutching her sides and pushing forward. His feet shuffled across the carpet, his socks making him skid and slip just as soon as he would have gained any traction, just like a car stuck in the mud. This lasted for only a moment, before he ran out of stamina and slumped forward, her resistance against his force now serving to support him.
	"Oooog," she grunted, straightening him up. "Back up," she instructed, and he took a few steps back. "Back-back-back, okay," he was in front of the long white couch that was placed across from the TV. "Sit." She instructed, letting go of his arms, but when he didn't move she prodded his chest with two fingers, making sound-effects as he dropped back onto the cushions; "Beew-bong."
	"Fine," he grumbled as she plopped down beside him, "I'm sitting." And dang it, he was comfy.
	"I see." She picked up the remote. "Wanna watch TV?" She asked, to which he shrugged in reply. "We have..." She turned it on, and it took a moment before the sound came, followed by the picture a second later. "Medical drama..." she said, and began flipping to her favorite channels, "Cartoons...History Documentaries—looks like guns and stuff—Um...Mythbusters, that show's really neat." She heard a gurgle come from his direction. "Yes?"
	"Huh?" He asked.
	She grinned. "Are you hungry?" She straightened up. "Now that I think about it you didn't have much of a lunch."
	"I dunno," he replied.
	She pushed her mouth to one side of her snout and then ducked down, pressing her ear against his stomach in a head-butt. Sure enough; "It speaks!" She proclaimed, "It demands nurishment!" She tossed the remote into his lap. "You pick something to watch; I'll be right back with an offering."
	Without any will to oppose it, Ket was given control of the control and Emeral disappeared behind the couch and past the open frame into the kitchen. He looked at the remote. It had more buttons than he had hairs on the tip of his tail. It looked like, if he pressed the right button combination, it would turn into Optimus Prime. Up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-b-a-select. Nope, nothing.
	Several beeps came from the kitchen, and then a whirring. Suddenly his mouth watered. He knew exactly what was coming. He surfed the channels, decided on Spongebob Squarepants and after approximately forty seconds to one-and-a-half minutes, there came a loud and long beep from the kitchen. A moment later, Emeral emerged from the opening, carrying two small glass bowls.
	"Thanks," Ket took one of the bowls.
	"Welcome. I got one too," she said, displaying hers, "I maybe got a little hungry, too." She admitted bashfully, like she wasn't allowed to be.
	They ate their snack, Emeral trying her best to wolf it down just as fast as Ket. For a sleepy guy, he sure was eating the Insta-Mac like it was Kool-Aid. He ended up finishing first, but thankfully he didn't make a motion to get up and put his dirty dish in the sink.
	"That was good," he complimented with a sigh, and looked over at Emmy. She paused in her consuming, fork-handle sticking out of her closed mouth. Again she was acting like she wasn't allowed to eat, or like she felt guilty. But she seemed very goofy today. He looked back at the TV and let her finish the guilty pleasure in peace.
	"Mine was a little soggy," she said, and before he could react she plucked his bowl. He looked down at his hands like he could not figure out where it went. Did it disappear? Did it implode? Did it fall through a wormhole? Finally he looked at her; she smiled, and stretched forward to set their bowls on one of the small wooden tables in the center of the room.
	When she returned to the couch, she draped her arm over her boyfriend, pulling him toward her. Their heads tapped together and he glanced in her direction; she looked to him, giving him a warm smile.
	She pulled at the throw-pillow between her and the arm of the couch, and placed it on her lap. If he noticed, he didn't show any sign of it. Ever so casually, she moved so that instead of leaning against each other, he was leaning more on her. More... More... More...
	Ket placed his arm to prop himself from leaning any farther. "Emmy, I really gotta go, mom'll start wondering and then start calling neighbors..."
	She giggled. "Shhh, just lie down," she coaxed, and surprisingly he did. She almost didn't expect the plop of his weight when his head hit the pillow, his eyelids hitting his cheeks at the same time.
	With almost no disturbance Emeral retrieved her little red phone from her shorts pocket. She flipped it open and held down the number two on the keypad for the speed dial. It would be number one, but that was her voicemail by default, which was dumb.
	"Hello," she said into the speaker, her voice just a little below normal. "Yup, it's me. Not much, I was jus—heheh, yeah," she gently stroked the chin of the head in her lap. "Well, I was callin' because a certain someone is showing some strange symptoms." She poked his cheek. "Well, I'm seeing signs of fatigue, loss of appetite (but I got him to eat), he's walking and grunting like a zombie, but there's no sign of a bite, and he's a little forgetful."
	"Oh no," Ket heard his mom's voice over the phone, feigning dread and concern. "What do you think it could be?"
	"My diagnosis is he stayed up late last night. I suggest letting him take a nap at my house, since he's already kinda comfy." She flicked his whiskers.
	"That sounds like a plan," his mom agreed. "I will leave him in your capable hands."
	"Oh, by the way, did mom tell you about next Friday? ...Cool! I mean," she softened her voice, "Okay, we'll talk more about it later. He'll be home after his nap, bye." Her phone made only the slightest of noises as ear-side met mouth-side.
	"What's next Friday?" Ket mumbled, half of his face in a feathery cloud.
	"You'll find out soon enough, but right now you gotta sleep. Those are doctor's orders."
	"You're not a doctor," he chuckled.
	"Fine, nurse's orders."
	"You're not a nurse either," he teased.
	She gently slapped his cheek. "Mom's a nurse and that's what she'd say. Now close your eyes and go to sleep."
	"But I'm not sleepy..."
	Even as he denied it she could tell he was practically bubbling with grogginess. She didn't say another word. She picked up the remote and turned the volume down, changing the channel to DiscoveryHealth and glad it wasn't a show about pregnancy. She crossed her ankles and sat more comfortably, making sure she could move in case she got pins and needles, without disturbing the sleepy-head on her lap—literally.
	She scratched the top of his head, at the base of his ears. He began to purr, and she began to stifle little giggles, barely able to keep her tummy from lurching. If she could ever pet Buttons without the stupid cat giving her nasty bites and kneading on her legs with his claws, she imagined this is what it would be kinda like.
	She forgot about watching the TV and just watched her boyfriend as he fell into sleep. She could tell when he hit, too. His face sort of changed color, like all the muscles beneath his skin relaxed and that caused the sheen of his fur to brighten. She wished the room was a little darker, but the curtains on the windows were meant to be decorative and not a light-blocker.
	As she moved her fingers from scratching his ears to massaging his neck at the base of his skull, she thought back to the conversation she eavesdropped upon. Ms. Hupp was right, everyone should be helping him. She wasn't being any help at all, hogging so much of his time and then shoving his incompleted papers in his face.
	She made a vow to help him, if only by giving him space. She wanted to take back what she'd said about not giving him another kiss, but so far she hadn't gotten the chance. She could, now, if she wanted. She leaned forward, her hand ever so carefully tilting his face in her direction.
	But after a pause, she set it back down. She would have a chance later, when he was awake and well rested. She sighed. Next week was when they would get their report cards. She worried what Ket's grades would be, more than her own. She hoped he didn't have anything below a C. Even with Ms. Hupp being nice and grading him differently from everyone else, she worried it wouldn't be all that helpful if he was failing right now—it was too late for the grades for this six weeks to be changed.
	He grumbled, as if to tell her to stop dwelling and dreading. She sighed, remembering to keep him comfortable. She moved from his neck onto his shoulders, giving him a gentle massage all down his back while he rested and recovered.