[Location: Jackson’s room – dim light, blankets, teacup on nightstand]

“Hey…” you whisper as you enter the room. Jackson is half-sitting on the bed, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt, his nose rubbed red. He forces a faint smile onto his face when he sees you.

“What are you doing here? You weren’t going to the prom?” he asks hoarsely, but his voice is filled with joy that he’s still seeing you.

You sit down next to him on the edge of the bed and run your hand over his.

“I was. Then I realized I was more interested in being with you than dancing with strangers in a shiny gym.”

Jackson smiles, coughs a little, then tries to be stern: “Don’t be stupid, seriously… I’m totally broke, and you’re supposed to be cool right now. At the prom. Dancing. Swimming in glitter.

“The problem,” you say, snuggling up next to him, careful not to spill the tea, “is that I feel good when I’m with you. Glitter here and there.”

He just looks at you for a moment, then laughs softly, wearily.

“Okay… but you can only stay if you make me some new tea. And watch some really crappy movie with me.”

“Are you bargaining on your deathbed?” you ask, half laughing, half worried.

“Every minute counts,” he says, winking at you.