The blanket was in a box of some things Ian's sister had found in the old house in Nevada. She'd sent them along with a note that said basically, "I forgot to give these to you when you visited. Hope that's okay."

Most of it was junk - old toys, clothes that had long since been outgrown, inexplicable odds and ends like buttons and old sewing needles and unidentifiable little metal bits - but way in the bottom was a folded batch of fluffy cloth.

"My blankie!" Ian said, hugging it to himself.

"Geez, wash it first, would you? That thing's been in an attic for seventy years! No telling what kind of filth it's attracted."

"My mother made this for me, you know. Took her a year and a half. See all the little fiddly bits on the ends? All hand-knotted."

"It's a wonder it's still intact," I said. "Go get it cleaned, would you? Don't put it in the washing machine. It'll shrink and unravel. Take it to the cleaners."

"Okay, I will."

"Fine." I thought that would be that. He would get it cleaned, then bring it home, and put it on a shelf forever.

I didn't expect that after he brought it home, he'd want to put it on the bed.

"But it doesn't even go with our color scheme!"

"Sure it does! It's yellow! Well, mostly yellow. It'll be fine."

"What do you need another blanket for? It's July! It's ninety degrees out! How can you possibly need another blanket?"

"It's cold in here at night."

"No, it isn't! It isn't any colder in here than in any other room in this whole place! They're all kept at the same temperature - seventy-two degrees."

"I'm cold," he said. "I want the blanket."

"You know, I wake up every morning sweating to death because of all your stupid blankets! Can't you just . . . put it away?"

"It's been put away for too long. It needs to be used."

"It's not alive, you know."

"I know. Things should be used, that's all. I'll fold it up and lay it on the end in the daytime, and only spread it out at night."

"All right, fine. If that's what you want."

It wasn't that bad, really. Once it was cleaned up, it was a nice shade of yellow, a very soft baby yellow. Which made sense if it was his childhood blankie. It was nice and soft to the touch, too. It wasn't that big - it barely covered half the bed - but it might be nice to have an extra layer in the wintertime.

But right now it was the middle of summer, and I didn't think we needed another blanket. Maybe if he kept it on his side of the bed . . .

Yeah, that was the plan. And when we went to bed, it was draped over his half of the bed. But with the way Ian sleeps, rolling around all over the place, it didn't stay there very long. When I woke up, it was on my head. I pulled it off, and that's when I noticed I was having trouble breathing.

Nothing life-threatening, or anything like that. But I was so stuffed up I had to breathe through my mouth until I could get to a tissue. And one didn't do the trick; I went through half the box before I could get any air in through my nose. I wondered if I was getting a cold.

After a while, my sinuses cleared up, and by the end of the day, I thought that I'd beaten it. Sometimes that happens. I went to bed feeling confident that I wouldn't have to stock up on Nyquil.

Only to wake up again with the same thing.

It felt like someone had opened up the top of my head, poured in about a quart of liquid Jello, and then closed it up again before it fully set. I could feel stuff sloshing around in there, and it hurt.

"You okay, Channy?" Ian asked me, when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples.

"I think I'm getting a cold or something," I said. "I'm all stuffed up."

"Poor baby." He came over and put his hand on my forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"You should go to the infirmary and get checked out. Go on, I'll let everyone know where you are."

"I don't know . . . it cleared up on its own yesterday. Maybe it will again."

"And maybe it won't. Go already!" He turned away and began making the bed, shaking out that blanket of his.

All of a sudden, I started wheezing. It was like I couldn't get any air into my lungs. Ian stopped what he was doing and came over. "Chance? What's wrong?"

I just shook my head helplessly, unable to speak.

"Come on, I'll help you." He put his arm around my shoulders and helped me down to the infirmary. Funny, but . . . the further I got from the dorms, the easier it was to breathe. By the time we actually reached the infirmary, I was feeling a lot better.

The doctor wasn't in, but one of the nurses gave me a full work-up. "You seem pretty healthy to me," she said. "When did you start having symptoms?"

"Yesterday. I was okay when I went to sleep, but I woke up all congested and stuff. It went away, though. I thought I'd beaten it. Then this morning, it was like I just couldn't breathe. But it got better on the way down here."

"Uh huh." She wrote something on the chart. "You say it cleared up on its own?"

"Yeah. Then it came back. Funny, huh?"

"Let me ask you this: have you ever had any allergies?"

"Yeah, when I was a kid, but not for years . . ." Then it hit me. "The blanket! It has to be! That's why I was okay when I went to sleep, but all stuffy when I woke up! And he was so happy, too. It'll break his heart to have to put it away."

"What's it made of? Do you know?"

"Not really. Do you need to see it?"

"I don't think so. If you're sure it's the problem, then getting rid of it should clear up your symptoms."

"Oh, he'd never get rid of it! What if we just put it in a box somewhere?"

"It would have to be an airtight box. A locking plastic bin, perhaps?"

"I'll see what I can do. Thanks a lot."

Ian was waiting for me outside. As soon as I came out, he said, "So?"

"We need to talk."

At the look of alarm on his face, I quickly said, "No, it's nothing like that. But . . . Ian, that blanket of yours . . ."

"What about it?"

"I think I'm allergic to it. That's why I couldn't breathe this morning. You have to . . . put it away somewhere. The nurse recommended an airtight box. I'll pick one up for you later."

He gave me the strangest look. "If you didn't like it, you should have just said so."

"I didn't say I didn't like it! I know how much it means to you. But I can't sleep with that thing on top of me."

"I'll keep it on my side of the bed."

"Uh huh. That worked so well last night. You dragged it all over the bed - my side, your side, upside-down. No. It has to go."

"Can't - can't you just take something? Isn't there some other way?"

"I don't want to take pills! You know me and pills. I have trouble swallowing them."

"You could get shots."

"Needles? They're worse than pills! I hate getting shots! Can't you just . . . put it away for a while?"

"But it's my blankie! It's . . . it's all I have left of my mother. She made it with her own hands! How can I just put it away?"

"I didn't say get rid of it. I know how much it means to you. Just put it in a box, where you can see it, and it won't bother me."

"I can't do that!"

"Then I'm gonna have to sleep in another room tonight. I'm sorry, buddy, but I can't be in the same room with that thing. It's just not possible. Not if I want to breathe in the morning, anyway."

"Fine."

"No, I'm - wait, what?"

"I said fine. If you don't want to sleep with me, you should have just said so."

"That is not what I said! Why can't you just put the stupid baby blanket away and grow up?"

One of these days, my mouth is going to get me killed. I watched as Ian's whole face kind of crumpled in on itself.

"Fraz, Ian, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I keep saying stuff like that. I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, you did," he said. "You're only ever completely honest with me." Then he walked away.

I felt so bad, I didn't know what to do. I had to make it up to him somehow. But I didn't know how.

We kind of avoided each other for the rest of the day. I had hoped we'd make up by bedtime, but it didn't happen. So I snuck into the room when I knew Ian wasn't there, and grabbed a few things I would need. Then I went to the closest guest room, and bunked down for the night.

I hoped this wasn't the end for us. It would be stupid to break up over something like a blanket. Maybe I should try the pills after all.

First thing in the morning, I decided, and went to sleep.

I woke up to the familiar feeling of another body draped over mine. Wait a minute . . .

The bed was narrow, but there was just enough room for me to scoot back against the wall, once I disentangled myself. Sure enough, Ian was lying across the space I had formerly occupied. As I watched, he started to wake up.

"What are you doing in here?" I said.

"I got lonely."

"I notice you didn't bring your blankie with you."

"No, I . . . I packed it up. In a box, just like you said."

I felt oddly touched. "You did that? For me?"

"I thought about it, and I decided that if I had to choose between the blankie and you . . . I'd rather have you."

Awwww. I didn't know what to say. I leaned forward and kissed him on the nape of his neck. "Thanks," I said. "I know how much that meant to you."

"But you mean more. Don't ever leave me again."

"I won't." I slid off the bed and grabbed my clothes, heading into the bathroom. "People are more important than things. Even special things that mean a lot to us."

"I'm glad you said that," Ian said, in such a way that I had to come out of the bathroom to see his face.

"What happened?"

"Well, you know that big green robot toy of yours? The one with all the spiky bits on top?"

"My Omnizord?" I felt a sudden sense of dread. "What about it?"

"It wasn't my fault! I was trying to put it away, up on the shelf, and it kind of . . . fell. And a couple of pieces kind of broke off. But we can fix it! I think I can glue it back together!"

"That was a special order from Japan! It cost me a lot of -" Then I saw his face. "And it's not as important as you are. We'll fix it."

"Okay." And that was the end of that.