"Alright Ging, time to put the phone down." Her normally bright blue eyes are red and crusted, and even though I removed one of her earbuds, I don't think she hears me.

I gently tug the other bud out, and this time I get a reaction as she frantically pauses whatever it is she was watching. "No, give it back . . . I've only got five minutes left in the series . . ."

"Sorry, but this is an intervention. And for your own good. You've been doing nothing but watching this weird show on your phone all weekend." This seriously can't be good for her. I attempt pulling her from the spot she's occupying on her bed, wrapped in a tangle of blankets, but she protests, still trying to get her headphones back.

"It's called a marathon. And this show isn't weird; it's anime," she huffs, trying and failing to move her arms out of her sheets.

"Weird, anime, same thing. And trust me, this isn't healthy. Aren't you tired?" Again, I try moving her over towards me to get the phone away and the blankets off her. She must be tired, because she gives in this time, as if she doesn't have the strength to fight back. Which, I think, she probably doesn't.

"Stop it . . . I only have . . . five minutes. I need to know how . . . how it ends . . ." She's almost babbling now, her desire to finish her show battling her growing weariness. I can't help but laugh a little. She's just so. . . so . . . adorable.

"You'll only have five minutes left tomorrow, too. Right now, what you need is sleep." Finally, I manage to pull her fully up against my side, throwing a blanket over us. My cheeks blaze red when I realize how close we are, and the shade deepens when I remember where we are. I'm on Ginger's bed. However, she seems unfazed by this sudden development, probably too tired to care, and my embarrassment is replaced by a smile as I see how peaceful she looks. Still, I'll have to leave.

"Here, Ginger, get under your covers and let me up . . . I can't stay the night, we have school tomorrow . . ." My awkward attempt does nothing, so instead I try to get up slowly without moving her. To my surprise, however, this is met with soft murmurs of protest.

"No . . . don't go . . . I'm . . . too comfortable . . . don't . . . go . . ." Again, my face becomes red as she drifts back into unconsciousness. Did she really just say that? She must be delirious. Though she is right . . . This is really comfortable . . .

How long have I been drowsy? Well, five minutes can't hurt. I'll just stay a few more minutes, and then I'll go home.

That's right . . . just a little longer . . .

Just a . . . little longer . . .

When I wake up in the morning, I'm still there.