Kellin’s fading away from me.

I’m not quite sure what triggered it, but for the past few weeks, he’s been acting strange around me. He’s quieter, sadder, deader than he used to be. I want to talk to him about it, but every time I try, he just pushes me away even farther. It hurts, because I love him and want to help him, but I don’t know what to do about it.

Right now, we’re sitting on the wooden swing on the front porch of our house. My arm is around him, and his head is on my shoulder, but something feels off. It feels like there’s something between us, keeping us from being truly happy.

“Kellin,” I say, “what’s wrong?”

He looks up at me. “There’s nothing wrong, Oli.”

“Yes, there is,” I press. “Something’s been wrong for the past few weeks now. I want to know what it is.”

Kellin starts to get up, sighing. “It’s nothing—”

I take his hand and gently pull him back. “No, there is something, Kell. I want to know what it is. Talk to me. Please.”

He sits back down, biting his lip.

“Is it something I did?” I ask.

After a moment of hesitation, Kellin nods slowly. “I’m not mad at you, Oli, I swear. I’ve just been…scared. So fucking scared.”

I run my fingers soothingly through his hair. “Hey, it’s okay,” I say. “What did I do?”

He closes his eyes. “Drugs.”

With that one word, I suddenly know exactly what he’s talking about. He’s talking about my addiction. He’s talking about how one night a few weeks ago, I had so many different substances in me I nearly killed myself.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Then blame me. I deserve it. But don’t…don’t give up on me, Kells.” I kiss him on the cheek.

He turns to me, and for the first time in weeks, I think I see real hope in his eyes. “We’ll get through this?”

“Go on, then,” he said. A moment later, his fiancée’s head peered around the door, and then she twirled into the bedroom, doing an over-the-top sexy wiggle that made him laugh.

“Ta-dah!” she cried, stopping in front of him with a flourish. He took in the sight of her in maroon-coloured cotton underwear, which seemed to be cut on the generous side, and looked back up to her face.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you parading around our bedroom in your bra and pants,” he said, “but those aren’t the nicest things you own. Those black lacy ones are much...better.”

“Yeah, they’re a bit Granny Pants-ish,” Katie agreed. “But that’s not the point of them. Look!” She sat down on the bed next to him, crossing her long, long legs, and took his hands. “Are you ready?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Oliver grinned back. “I’m always ready,” he said. She guided his left hands towards her breasts and his right towards the front of her pants. He grinned even harder, the inevitable comment on the tip of his tongue when, just as both of his hands touched the material, a dragon appeared  between them, roared loudly, breathed fire, and disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Oliver yelped and jumped, causing Katie to laugh, which turned into hysterics when, in an effort to avoid the dragon, he fell off the edge of the bed. “What the hell,” he began indignantly, sitting up, “was that?!”

It took her a moment to calm down and wipe the tears of laughter from her face. “Potential new Wheezes’ product invented by Ange,” she explained. “They look like your basic underwear set, but when someone who isn’t you touches them, a dragon appears and breathes fake fire. We all thought they were hilarious, but then Alicia pointed out that you could use them as a sort of safety thing for women—you know, if someone’s trying to assault you and they get that far, they get blasted by a dragon giving you a few minutes to escape. How clever is that?!”

“No!” yelped Oliver, scrambling back towards the wardrobe. “I mean, no—yes! That’s good! The bit about the saving women, that’s good. But you can’t wear them around me! You can’t!”

Katie looked confused. “It’s just a harmless joke,” she said. “You can’t really get hurt—the fire’s fake and the dragon’s about a fifth of the size of your average real one anyway. What’s the problem?”

“No,” he repeated. “I don’t want you wearing them around me!”

“Whyever not?” She was beginning to feel a bit alarmed—her six foot four Quidditch playing hunk of a fiancé was acting like her tiny Grandmother when she thought she saw a mouse.

He mumbled something in such a low tone that Katie rolled over to his edge of the bed to hear better, but rolled back again, when he backed off still further in alarm. “What is wrong with you?!” she asked.

“I don’t like dragons,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I said I don’t like dragons! My brother, when I was little, he played a joke and...well, I don’t want to get into it, but I’ve always been terrified of them ever since. It’s a phobia, I guess.”

“I never knew!” Katie said, biting her lip. “I wouldn’t have done it if I did. How come you didn’t tell me, though?”

“S’not very manly,” Oliver muttered, and she quickly covered her smile.

“You’re manly in other ways,” she said, soothingly. “And I promise not to wear them again, if it’s going to upset you...”

“I don’t mind the prank—it’s quite funny, really. I’m just...dragon-phobic,” he said. “If it was any other animal, I’d be fine.”

“Well, until George comes up with another creature to add to the collection, I’ll not wear them,” Katie promised, unhooking the bra and then sliding out of the pants. “Better?” she asked, once she’d discarded both.