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It was a lazy Saturday with no real obligations and no plans to speak of. The kind of quiet day that invited productivity, if only because it didn’t demand anything else. Finals were approaching fast enough to be worth worrying about, but still distant enough to romanticize the idea of a long, uninterrupted study session. So they leaned into it.
A full-blown academic marathon—complete with caffeine, color-coded notes, and a mutual agreement to suffer productively in the comfort of their apartment.
Gem had volunteered to handle the supply run. She’d vanished sometime before lunch, hoodie over her head, muttering something about snacks and “fuel for the mind,” backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. Pearl stayed behind to set up.
By the time the sun began to dip below the window ledge, the apartment had transformed. Pearl had taken over the dining table with surgical precision—stacks of syllabi by course, flashcards bundled tight with color-coded rubber bands, annotated lecture notes in labeled folders. Her timetable was printed in A4, neatly lined with post-its and mild liner strokes. Even her pens were sorted by ink weight.
On the far side of the table, a second set of materials sat waiting: Gem’s notes. Less pristine, more… chaotic. Most pages were ringed with doodles. Highlighters had been used liberally but inconsistently. Entire diagrams had been drawn sideways in the margins. Still, Pearl had done her best to decipher it. She’d reorganized what she could, cross-referenced a few textbook chapters, and printed a rough outline to help both of them keep on track.
The front door thudded open behind her with a grunt and a soft bump, followed by the unmistakable rustle of a bag collapsing under its own weight.
“I come bearing caffeine,” came Gem’s voice—breathless, triumphant.
Pearl looked up just in time to see her roommate stumbling in backward, juggling a paper drink tray, a lumpy backpack, and what looked like two fistfuls of gum packets crammed into her hoodie pocket.
“Took you long enough,” Pearl said, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. A smile pulled at her lips before she could stop it.
Gem kicked the door shut with her foot and dropped her bag beside the couch in one motion, already shedding her jacket. “I got stuck choosing between sea salt and barbecue chips. A real moral dilemma.”
She flopped onto her knees with a theatrical sigh and started unpacking the contents onto the coffee table like she was revealing buried treasure: two twelve-packs of energy drinks, a full sleeve of espresso pods, granola bars, cookies, half-melted chocolate, the aforementioned chips, and three brands of gum just because she could.
“I handled the essentials,” Gem said, already moving toward the kitchen.
Pearl slowly raised an eyebrow at the snack pile. “That’s a sugar coma waiting to happen. If neither of us ends up in the ER, I’ll call it a win.”
Gem snorted, already halfway across the room. “Hey, I took a first-aid class once. Two years ago. We’ll be fine.”
Pearl didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly? If we die, at least we won’t have to deal with finals.”
“That’s the spirit,” Gem called back with a grin, vanishing into the kitchen. A moment later, the hum of grinding beans and clinking mugs joined the soft jazz buzzing softly from Gem’s phone speaker.
Pearl went back to reorganizing flashcards, glancing up now and then at the familiar rhythm of Gem’s coffee routine. It was always strangely calming—the way she moved with effortless grace, the way her hands stayed steady, even when the rest of her was a little all over the place. It was oddly soothing. Comforting, even.
Within minutes, the smell of coffee filled the apartment—sharp and dark, tinged with vanilla. Pearl turned in her seat just in time to catch Gem walking over, holding out a mug with both hands.
“Triple shot,” Gem said. “We’re gonna need it.”
Pearl accepted it, careful not to brush their fingers but failing anyway. The touch was light, brief, but lingered in her chest longer than it should have.
“Thanks,” she said, trying to sound straight. “Smells good.”
Gem sank onto the carpet beside the coffee table, settling in with a satisfied sigh. Her notes spilled across the floor like a nest of loose pages and bent paperclips. She took a long, practiced sip and leaned back, eyes closed as the caffeine flooded into her system. “God, that’s better.”
Pearl took a cautious sip — then let out a sharp, surprised exhale, her eyes widening at the sudden punch. The espresso was strong, sharp, and far more effective than she’d expected.
“This is really strong,” she huffed, the triple shot hitting fast. She exhaled sharply again, the spoonful of sugar barely softening the blow.
Gem shrugged, grinning into her sleeve. “We’ll need it.”
She reached over for her stack of handouts and accidentally nudged Pearl’s knee under the table. Neither of them moved away.
Lo-fi buzzed gently from Gem’s phone speaker. The lights were dim but cozy. Somewhere between the coffee steam and the scratch of pen on paper, they began to fall into rhythm.
Pearl lifted her mug again. “To surviving finals?”
Gem smirked and clinked her mug against hers. “To acing them—somehow.”
And just like that, the study night began.
The timer on Pearl’s phone buzzed softly, marking the end of their first 45-minute study block. Without looking up, she tapped to silence it.
Across from her, Gem was half-curled on the carpet, highlighter cap between her teeth and three notebooks fanned around her like chaotic wings. She didn’t seem to notice the sound—still squinting at a page as if trying to decode an alien language.
“Break time,” Pearl said, gently.
Gem blinked, then slumped. “God, finally.”
Pearl stretched her back with a small sigh. “Ten minutes. Then the next block.”
With a groan of theatrical defeat, Gem flopped onto her side like she’d just run a marathon. “You’re cruel.”
“You agreed to this system,” Pearl replied, not bothering to hide her smile.
“I was lured in by the promise of snacks and not failing my courses. It’s not the same.”
Pearl didn’t respond—just handed over a granola bar without looking. Gem took it without a word.
The next block began.
Surprisingly, Gem actually stayed on task—for the most part. Pearl quizzed her with flashcards, and Gem fired back answers in a stream of half-mumbled memory. When she stumbled, she corrected herself fast. When Pearl hesitated, Gem would coax the answer out with half a smile and a gentle nudge.
Their rhythms weren’t the same—but they moved together. Pearl with her sharp, surgical focus. Gem with her sprawled-out, spiraling logic. Together, somehow, they met in the middle.
At one point, Pearl leaned over to show Gem a diagram—an annotated sketch of cardiac flow she’d redrawn from lecture. Her handwriting was small and perfectly spaced, the lines clear and methodical.
Gem paused, squinting. “Your handwriting’s really nice.”
Pearl blinked. “What?”
Gem tilted her head. “It’s… calming. It’s very you.”
Pearl’s pen stopped mid-mark.
She didn’t look up. Just made a soft, dismissive hum and turned the page, pretending she needed to recheck the next question.
Her face was warm. She refused to acknowledge it.
Gem leaned back slowly, balancing on her hands. She didn’t push. But she was still watching Pearl from the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable and a little too soft.
Minutes passed. They swapped roles. Now Gem was explaining how pathogens can cause plant mutations, tapping her pen rhythmically against her thigh as she spoke.
Pearl watched the tip of the pen. “You’re rambling again.”
Gem blinked, looking down at her own notes, “There’s a method to my madness,” she said, circling something in her own chicken scratch handwriting.
Pearl just rolled her eyes and didn’t argue. She’d figured out early on that trying to tame Gem was a lost cause. But sitting beside her like this—trading notes, sharing snacks, the quiet buzz of music and gentle lamp light—it worked. Somehow. They balanced each other in a way that made the night feel less like a chore and more like fun between friends.
Gem leaned forward to check Pearl’s notes, close enough for their knees to brush under the table. She didn’t move.
Neither did Pearl.
The timer beeped again. Pearl reached to stop it, then rested her chin in her palm.
Across from her, Gem’s eyes flicked down—just in time to catch Pearl biting the edge of her hoodie sleeve. She was squinting at a multiple-choice question like it personally offended her.
Gem blinked.
And smiled.
It was unfair, she thought. How cute Pearl looked when she was annoyed. She bit the inside of her cheek, looked down at her own notes, and said nothing.
Another block started. Neither of them moved. The flashcards remained untouched on the table.
The only sound was the quiet hum of music, and the soft shift of fabric as Pearl adjusted in her chair, completely unaware that Gem hadn’t looked at her notes in several minutes.
Something had shifted.
It hadn’t broken the rhythm—but it had changed the beat.
And neither of them wanted to be the one to call it out yet.
They just sat there in the quiet, side by side, like something in them knew—even if they didn’t—that the work they were doing had nothing to do with finals anymore.
By the end of the seventh hour, the study session had lost its sharp edges. The espresso buzz had faded to a muted hum, and the urgency that once propelled them had softened into something looser, gentler. Focus lingered—but without teeth.
Gem flopped onto the rug with a theatrical groan, limbs sprawled like she’d been felled in battle. “I can’t feel my brain,” she mumbled into the carpet.
Pearl, quieter in her exhaustion, stretched her arms overhead until her spine gave a satisfying crack. Her shoulders popped faintly in protest, and she winced. “Good,” she said, easing down beside her, legs folded neatly beneath her. “That means it’s working.”
Gem groaned again. “You’re a sadist.”
Pearl tilted her head, calm and unreadable. “Says the masochist who agreed to this.”
Gem rolled onto her side to face her. “Yeah, well. You made the plan.”
Pearl shrugged, her voice even but quieter. “If it hurts, that’s how I know it’s working.”
Gem answered only with a limp thumbs-up, still flat on her back. The lo-fi beats from the corner speaker filled the space between them, low and steady. The apartment was bathed in soft lamplight—warm amber pooling over the floor like syrup, casting their outlines in stillness.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They just breathed—together, quietly, like the world outside didn’t exist.
Then Pearl broke the silence. “Do you have that TA? The one who docks five percent for using British spelling?”
Gem groaned again, deeper this time. “Don’t remind me. I wrote ‘colour’ once and got penalized as if I cheated.”
Pearl snorted. “He gave me a zero on a quiz because he couldn’t read my margin notes. He said, and I quote, ‘Your annotations lack academic relevance.’”
Gem rolled onto her side, grinning. “What did you write?”
Pearl blinked. “It was literally just some of my rough work.”
Gem burst into laughter—head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. It wasn’t elegant, but it was honest. The laugh shook through her ribcage and stayed in the air long after it stopped.
The laughter faded eventually, leaving behind a quiet fondness in its wake. Their conversation drifted with it—still playful, but softer now. Gem mentioned a beaker explosion in chem lab. A professor who uploaded the wrong exam key, then doubled down instead of owning it. Pearl recounted a group lab where someone knocked over an open jar of formaldehyde. Gem countered with a story about a botany demo that ended in a building-wide fire alarm.
“In my defense,” she said, one hand raised solemnly, “the plant wasn’t labeled as flammable.”
Pearl gave her a flat look. “That feels like basic lab protocol.”
Gem smirked, unbothered. “I’m more of a field girl.”
Their laughter settled. The room dimmed a little, not in light but in tone.
And then, slowly, the topics began to slip sideways.
Pearl mentioned a high school friend—offhand, casual. “She had a full-on breakdown before our physics final. Like sobbing in the washroom, it was a whole thing.”
She didn’t say it with judgment. Just memory.
Gem blinked. “Jesus.”
“She said she couldn’t breathe. It was like… studying made her feel like she was falling behind, even while doing it.” Pearl’s voice was light, but something caught in the rhythm. “I didn’t really get it, felt a little excessive if you ask me.”
Gem’s expression shifted. Just barely. She didn’t speak.
Pearl didn’t notice—kept going. “She was convinced her whole future depended on that one mark.”
Gem’s face didn’t change much, but something in her posture did—shoulders sinking slightly, like a slow deflation.
Then Pearl, without quite realizing the pivot, brought up Scott. “Scott and I used to get into these stupid fights during exam season. Once we spent an entire evening fighting about whose course was the most difficult.”
Gem tilted her head. “How did that end?”
“I… don’t remember.” Pearl laughed. Too quickly. “It happened all the time. We were… kind of a mess.”
Gem didn’t laugh.
Instead, she leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was quieter this time. “Sounds like it sucked.”
Pearl froze. Just for a second. Then she shook her head and waved a hand. “It was what it was.”
She didn’t look at her.
The silence that followed was comfortable, but not light. Heavier than it had been. Not unwelcome, just… heavier.
Gem stared up at the ceiling. Her voice came softer now, more measured. “I used to push too hard. Didn’t sleep. Tried to outpace everything.” Her fingers traced the edge of the carpet beside her. “I got sick a lot. Mentally. Physically. Couldn’t really slow down until my body forced me to.”
Pearl glanced at her.
Gem’s eyes stayed up. “I don’t know. I thought if I stopped, I’d fall behind, and if I fell behind, I’d—” She cut herself off. Shrugged lightly. “It’s fine now.”
Pearl’s heart sank.
Only now did her earlier words land—what she’d said about her friend. How casually she’d spoken. How familiar Gem’s words sounded in hindsight. A quiet realization hit her like cold water: her story had probably sounded flippant. Or worse—dismissive.
She wanted to say something. To clarify. To take it back, or soften the edges.
But something inside her hesitated. The rawness in Gem’s voice pressed too close to something she wasn’t ready to name in herself. So instead, she nodded like she understood. “Yeah.”
And the moment passed.
Neither of them spoke after that. Just the soft ambient music and the hush of tired breathing.
Pearl pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin against them, flipping through notes more from muscle memory than actual focus. Her pen tapped gently against her lip.
Gem lay nearby, head tilted just enough to catch glimpses of her through half-lowered lashes. She watched Pearl’s mouth move as she silently mouthed words to herself. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers twisted the pen cap without realizing it.
Gem watched too long.
Pearl glanced up.
Gem startled, fumbling for the snack bag beside her like she’d been in the middle of doing something. Her cheeks flushed. She didn’t look up again.
Pearl blinked. Said nothing.
They didn’t talk about it.
But something was shifting—soft and slow and dangerous in its subtlety.
And they were both beginning to feel it.
A few hours later, the energy had shifted again.
The espresso had long since worn off, replaced by the low drone of fatigue. The playlist still went on, but it felt far away now—just more background noise, like the ticking of the wall clock or the occasional rustle of paper. A couple of snack wrappers lay forgotten on the table between them. The notes were still out, the highlighters uncapped, but the drive behind it all had dulled.
Gem was hunched over her notebook, highlighter frozen mid-sweep. Her brow creased. She blinked slowly, mumbling the same sentence over and over, each word blurring into the next. Third pass. Still nothing.
She exhaled through her nose, shifting in place. Her jaw flexed. The tip of her highlighter trembled slightly in her grip, unnoticed.
Pearl sat beside her, their shoulders almost aligned, quietly reviewing her own set of questions. But she paused and glanced over when the silence stretched too long.
“Hey,” she said softly, tilting her head. “Water?”
Gem didn’t answer right away. Just gave a faint nod, eyes still stuck to the page. Pearl reached for the bottle, cracked the seal, and placed it gently within reach.
“Thanks,” she said. Her voice was soft. Strained at the edges.
Gem’s hand hovered like she meant to take it—but then dropped to her lap instead.
She didn’t move. Her thumb rubbed absently at a faint ink stain on the corner of the paper. Her breathing was a little uneven now—slightly too shallow, like she’d forgotten how to do it properly.
“You okay?” she asked, not unkindly.
“I’m… fine,” she said eventually. But her voice broke halfway through the sentence. “Just tired.”
Her hands were fidgeting now—twisting the cap of her pen with increasing pressure, then setting it down, then picking it up again.
Pearl didn’t press. She just stayed quiet beside her.
Then Gem exhaled, long and low, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmured.
It came out too softly, like she was afraid the room would scold her for saying it aloud.
“Every time I think I’ve caught up, I feel like I’ve already fallen behind again. I’m trying so hard, and it still never feels like enough.”
Pearl didn’t move.
“I keep thinking if I just study more, or sleep less, or plan better…” Gem’s voice trailed off. She looked down at her notebook, then away, as if the page had betrayed her. “I’ll finally get it right. I’ll finally be enough. But it’s like chasing fog. Every time I reach for it, it’s already gone. It always slips. I always slip.”
She blinked hard. Swallowed.
“And then I start thinking maybe it’s not the work. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m broken and everyone’s just too polite to say it.”
Her hand curled around the corner of the notebook. She was gripping it tightly now—knuckles gone pale.
“I don’t know how to stop. Because if I stop…” Her voice thinned, trembling at the edge of something sharp. “If I stop, I might fall apart.”
The words hit the room and lingered there. Heavy. Unmoving.
Pearl didn’t speak right away. She didn’t offer a fix, or a platitude. She just listened—quiet and steady like always.
Gem’s breath hitched. She let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a choke. Swiped the heel of her hand under one eye and shook her head. “God. Sorry. I’m being—”
“You’re being honest,” Pearl said gently.
Gem blinked. That made her look up.
Her eyes were glassy now—rimmed pink, lashes damp, but she wasn’t crying hard. Just enough to show the pressure had leaked through.
“You don’t have to be perfect to be enough,” Pearl added. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but firm. Unshakable.
Gem’s lip twitched. She looked down, then back again—uncertain, but moved. “Thanks,” she said, and this time it was almost a whisper. Her voice cracked a little at the end.
Pearl nodded once.
Their knees were touching now. Neither of them moved away.
The world outside might as well not exist. Inside the apartment, the air had gone still and golden again. No words, no motion—just the quiet thrum of two hearts trying to understand each other.
Gem’s fingers twitched like she wanted to say something more. But instead, she leaned back slightly, gaze fixed on Pearl now—exposed, vulnerable, and strangely calm.
Pearl’s breath caught.
The moment hung there, suspended in something warm and fragile.
They weren’t ready to break it.
Not yet.
The apartment had quieted again.
The weight of Gem’s earlier confession still hung in the air, but not heavily now—just gently, like something that had settled instead of shattered. Their notes were still scattered across the table, but the highlighters had stopped moving. The lo-fi playlist kept playing, barely noticeable, and the lamplight bathed everything in a warm, low haze.
Gem blinked down at her laptop. Her eyes were dry. Her body felt boneless, like the exhaustion had finally won.
She glanced at the corner of her screen.
1:17 AM.
She exhaled softly.
Then—without warning, from across the couch:
“We should get a cat,” Pearl whispered.
Gem turned her head slowly, blinking. “…What?”
Pearl was curled sideways on the cushions, her knees drawn loosely to her chest, eyes half-lidded but sparkling. “A cat,” she repeated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “A little one. Nugget.”
Gem stared. “…Nugget?”
Pearl nodded solemnly. “Or Olive. That’s cute.”
Gem tilted her head, amused despite herself. “Do you always have cat names just… floating around up there?”
Pearl lifted a finger. “Of course,” she said, matter-of-fact.
Gem rubbed her eyes. “You do realize we have finals this week.”
“Well,” Pearl said, waving a hand vaguely, “that’s a problem for future us.”
Gem gave a small, tired laugh and leaned back against the couch. “I’m more of a dog person anyway.”
Pearl froze. Then slowly turned to her, eyes wide in mock betrayal. “ Puppo? ” she gasped. “ Puppo?? ”
Gem blinked. “…What?”
She snorted, laughing at herself. “A tiny little puppy would be so—so cute, oh my god. “
Pearl’s voice dropped to a soft, cooing tone. “Puppo… puppo puppo puppoooooo…”
Gem covered her face with both hands. “Pearl.”
Pearl kept going. “Puppo.”
Gem peeked between her fingers. “Are you okay?”
Pearl didn’t answer.
Instead—without warning or explanation—she rolled off the couch.
There was a soft thud.
Gem startled upright. “Pearl?!”
Silence.
Then, quietly: laughter. Breathless, airy, real.
Gem leaned over the edge of the couch, blinking in surprise. Pearl was curled on the carpet, giggling into her sleeve, arms sprawled overhead like she’d just fainted from sheer emotion. Her head was barely a foot from Gem’s knee.
“…You’re lucky that wasn’t a concussion,” Gem said, still blinking.
Pearl didn’t respond with words—just a pleased little sound, halfway between a hum and a whimper. Then another soft giggle, as if her body was two steps ahead of her brain.
Gem watched her, something shifting behind her eyes. She’d seen Pearl tired before. She’d seen her focused, guarded, irritable, even flustered. But never like this.
Never… loose. Never this soft.
Pearl rolled slightly toward the coffee table, hair in her face, blinking slow and uneven like a sleepy cat. Her limbs moved without purpose. Her smile was crooked. Unthinking. Real.
It didn’t feel forced. It felt like something had simply fallen away.
And Gem wasn’t sure why, but the sight made something warm curl behind her ribs.
They sat like that for a while.
Pearl, limp on the floor, her breath slow and steady.
Gem leaned forward slightly, as if still trying to figure out what she was seeing.
Then—after a beat—she realized—this wasn't a performance. This wasn’t her being cute. This was just... her, with no shields left.
Gem watched her for a moment too long, then looked away like she’d intruded. She reached for the couch blanket, gently tugging it down and draping it over Pearl’s legs.
They didn’t say anything for a while.
The music hummed faintly. The city outside was quiet.
Pearl curled into the blanket, fingers catching the hem where it trailed near Gem’s knee. Her breathing slowed, soft and even, a sleepy rhythm.
Gem let herself lean back, head resting against the couch. She didn’t bring up how different Pearl seemed. Didn’t ask why she hid this softness from the world. She didn’t need to know. Not right now.
The moment was here, and Gem just… let it happen.
After a pause, she chuckled under her breath. “We’ve gotten completely derailed.”
Pearl made a small, contented sound—barely awake. She didn’t move, just blinked slowly and smiled, serene in a way that made something catch behind Gem’s ribs.
Gem glanced down again. The sight made her heart ache, but not in a bad way.
She reached down, gently nudged Pearl’s sleeve. “You’re ridiculous.”
Pearl’s answer came as a soft breath—maybe a sigh, maybe agreement.
Gem leaned back again, head tilted toward the ceiling.
For now, this—whatever this was—was enough.
Eventually, the apartment had fallen into a hush.
A soft instrumental track looped from somewhere in the background, low and steady. The golden light of the lamp pooled lazily over the floor, where textbooks lay splayed open and notes fanned across the carpet in a paper sprawl. The two of them had stopped studying and drifted long ago, but now…
Pearl was already half-asleep.
She lay on her side, curled just slightly inward, her knees drawn up and her face tilted toward Gem. Her hoodie sleeves had slipped down over her hands again, her lashes casting faint shadows over the curve of her cheek. Every few seconds, her eyelids fluttered—open, shut, open again—as her breathing steadied and her body began to give in.
Gem watched her for a long moment, saying nothing.
Her own body felt heavy with exhaustion, her muscles tired from hours of pushing past the limit. And yet—she couldn’t look away. The way Pearl had gone soft at the edges, the way her features had unknotted with sleep… it tugged something deep in Gem’s chest. Something warm. Something real but unknown.
With a slow inhale, Gem shifted.
She didn’t stand. Just leaned forward, careful not to disturb the stillness, and began cleaning up what she could reach. Quietly, she clicked shut the laptop, capped the pens, and stacked the scattered notes into a single, uneven pile. Her motions were gentle, almost reverent.
It wasn’t like her.
And maybe that’s why it felt so loud, even in silence.
Once the space had settled again, Gem reached up behind her and pulled down one of the throw blankets from the couch.
She didn’t speak as she draped it over Pearl. Just moved slowly, laying it over her shoulders, tucking it around her sides. Her hands hovered as she finished, uncertain. And then, like she couldn’t stop herself, Gem reached forward again.
Her hand hovered for a moment above Pearl’s head. Her fingers trembled, then reached forward—hesitant—brushing aside a loose strand of hair from her forehead.
Her palm followed instinctively, curving down toward the shape of Pearl’s cheek.
Her thumb was just about to graze her bottom lip when she froze.
Something sharp and breathless caught in her chest.
She pulled her hand back like it had touched a live wire, cheeks flushing crimson. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She couldn’t believe she’d almost—
Pearl stirred.
Her eyes blinked open slowly, half-lidded and unfocused, but they found Gem’s face with gentle clarity.
“Night, Gem,” she murmured, voice soft and sleepy.
Gem’s breath caught.
She swallowed. Then smiled, small and warm and helpless.
“Goodnight, Pearl.”
Pearl’s eyes closed again. Her body settled, the blanket pulled a little tighter around her.
She sat motionless for a second longer, overwhelmed with something she didn’t have the strength to name. Then, with a careful breath, she took the second blanket and wrapped it around herself. Shuffling down beside Pearl, she let her head rest just inches away, close enough to feel the warmth between them. Not touching—but not far.
And with her eyes still fixed on Pearl’s sleeping face, Gem finally let them close, her exhaustion pulling her under at last.