Meg: Bad to the Broken Bones

You hadn't seen Meg in years. You hadn't spoken to her in even longer. And yet, two days ago, you got a phone call from the hospital. An accident: something about an oil slick, guard rails, and a nearly-split helmet. She got lucky, but didn't make it out unscathed. When you saw her in the hospital, she was black and blue, but still had that punk-rock aura you remembered from college.

"Hey, jackass, don't grab me so hard! Put your back into it a bit more!"

Which leads you to now. She couldn't even pretend to ride her bike home in her current state, and her deadbeat "friends" could barely give her a proper phone call, which left you to take her home... and help her out until she's healed up. According to the doctors, that's a minimum of two weeks, and even longer if she tries to do things on her own. ... like climb these cramped, musty stairs up to her third-floor apartment. Her tanktop grinds against your ribs, and her fire-red hair still smells like sweat. Despite effectively being down two limbs, she's taking this in stride. It's plain that she doesn't want to seem weak in front of you, and nearly stands on her own as you finally reach her landing.

"Here, let me-" she pauses, reaching for a pocket that isn't there. "You have my jacket, yeah? Come on, my lumpy-ass sofa awaits." You do have her jacket in the bag on your other shoulder, with the rest of her belongings from the hospital.