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“Morales!”
Miles jolted awake at the slap of the book against the edge of his desk. A rash of snickering waved across the classroom, as the teacher of his English Lit class glowered down at him.
“Pay attention.”
“S-sorry,” Miles said, blinking away the threads of sleep still clinging at his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he was dozing off. He’d just let his eyelids fall shut for a moment while the teacher was going on about something he didn’t remember but knew didn’t sound too important.
He grabbed his thermos filled with coffee and finished it off, for all the good it did him. Strange, his body kept trying to fall asleep. You’d think after 6 espressos over the course of the past several hours it’d learn that wasn’t an option. Could it be that by this point there was no way to stave off his utter exhaustion except through just getting some sleep? Yeah, surely not!
... Yeah, alright. He knew he needed rest. Under his uniform, he was nursing no less than six major burns and probably numbered at least twice that in serious bruises and scrapes, all sustained in his recent battles as Spider-Man. He was no stranger to getting banged up in a fight, but usually he wouldn’t walk around like this- the nature of his powers was such that he recovered inhumanly quickly; all he needed was a good night’s sleep or two.
But sleep was a luxury that had definitely been on the backburner the past week. Handling constant crises as Spider-Man had left little time in the day to keep up with his schoolwork, which meant he had to stay awake well into the night just to fit it in.
Nonetheless, he planned to finally give his body what it desperately needed. He had no more assignments that urged his attention, and his spider sense hadn’t tingled all day. Hopefully the city’s villains would be nice and keep that up.
Throughout the day, it just got worse and worse, until it felt like a Herculean effort just to keep his eyes open.
After classes, he marched to his dorm room.
“Ganke.” As he came in, he tiredly shouldered off his backpack and let it drop unaided to the floor.
“Mhm?” his roommate said, barely looking up from where he was perched on the edge of the desk, flicking through a book in his hand.
Drooping toward the bed, Miles exhaled weakly, “Wake me up at 5. My parents want me home at six.”
He collapsed, and all at once it was like every inch of his body stopped screaming and breathed a sigh of relief. He sunk, as with rapidly evaporating traces of clung-to wakefulness he peeled off his shoes and nudged them off his bed. He could not think of doing the same with his socks or his uniform- such expenditures couldn’t be justified in an energy budget best articulated by dying plumes of smoke.
“Uh-huh, will do,” he vaguely might’ve heard Ganke’s voice say from some distant mountains.
And finally, this hard-working superhero began to slip into some well-deserved rest…
… for exactly 5 minutes, before the spider sense tapped against his skull.
- He just ignored it. Just ignored it. Maybe if he did that for long enough, it’d go away. Screw the consequences. Consequences were for future Miles, who was hopefully at least 3% more well-rested.
“Hey.” He felt a poke against his cheek.
“Noooo,” Miles groaned weakly at Ganke’s voice, pushing his nose into the pillow.
“Isn’t your spider sense thingy going off?”
“No,” Miles lied. If he was any less than hellishly exhausted, he’d feel alarmed. But the question only halfway registered.
“Well, it should be. I think you-know-who just broke into the bank just down the street.”
… Ughhhh.
He kind of hated that he knew what Ganke meant by “you-know-who”.
A weary, beleaguered but somewhat affectionate smile rose on his sleepy face. Yet again, he found himself thinking about how much he wished the Spot would leave Spider-Man alone for at least a few weeks. Get a hobby? A job? A pet cat? Literally anything that wasn’t tormenting him?! He knew life was hard when you had a hole for a face (if there was anything Spot was interested in getting across to him it was that), but jeez.
But admittedly, he knew he’d quickly come to miss that weirdo. He’d declared himself his nemesis in their first meeting- and at this point, if Miles had to pick out a nemesis at all, then through sheer force of tenacity Spot had squeezed himself into being virtually the only active villain who could be considered for the role.
… And if Miles were being honest, he’d admit that of all the villains he’d met, he would actually indeed be happiest to bestow him the title.
Thing was, the Spot may have been a nuisance, but he was fun. He matched his banter, actually kept up in a fight, and his powers were kind of a blast. He had a strangely affable and effusively earnest demeanor that Miles found charming, and paradoxically left him feeling good after their encounters. Sometimes the villain even managed to give him a real worthwhile challenge- which, to be honest, had become quite a rarity.
Despite all the villain's craziness, his obsessiveness, his passionate hatred, he couldn't help but feel a... comfortable sense around Spot. Like around Spot, he was very much highly respected, appreciated- if in a strange crazy way.
So, ultimately, he couldn’t help but have developed a bizarre fondness for him- even if he was a criminal. Or, well, tried his best to be one, at least.
“Everyone in the hallway’s been lining up by the windows to watch for Spider-Man.”
He waved Ganke away. “Just- just- five more minutes. Then I’ll go get ‘im,” he sighed.
What did it matter, a shamefully substantial part of him wanted to think, if Spot ran off with a little money and in exchange he got a little more rest? But he knew that was bad. Of course he wasn’t gonna let him get away with it. He just… needed… just five minutes… just five minutes…
- He heard Ganke open their dorm window. He leaned out and peered down the road.
“Miles, the police are showing up but they all just fell into holes,” he said. “As funny as that is to watch, you better hurry up if you wanna stop him.”
“Ugh, fine,” Miles huffed, dragging his sleep-deprived corpse off the bed and to its feet to prepare to head out.
With bleary clumsy hands he tore off his uniform, revealing the Spidey costume he wore underneath. He haphazardly tugged on his gloves, adjusted his web-shooters.
Just before he launched out the window, a hand around his arm paused him. “Um, hold on, aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
Ganke gave him a look. “Your mask?”
“Oh, sh-!” He fished it out where he stashed it in his neckline and pulled it over his face. “Thanks! Uh, bye!”
With that, he swung valiantly off to face Spot.
Ignore the fact his shoulder just clipped a billboard. That was on purpose.
...
Call him crazy, but Spot started to suspect that he was actually getting away with it.
It was odd. By now Spider-Man usually would've had him webbed up and tied upside-down in some unnecessarily inconvenient place. But now he was nowhere to be found, and he had just about finished with his robbery. To be honest, he'd sort of been dilly-dallying, giving the hero some generous leeway to arrive- but he still wasn't there.
He was starting to get a little bit worried. Was Spider-Man okay? What if he was in a bind somewhere at the hands of some other, more undeserving villain? What if he needed his nemesis to come drag him out of it-? Ha, wouldn't THAT be deliciously embarrassing?!-
- A sudden sharp kick to his head threw off both his concern and that nascent fantasy in the midst of his tumbling-forward legs and arms- naturally, into a portal that instinctively appeared in front of him, and then he was out of the bank and half a block away on the roof of some office building.
It’s funny, the kind of firsts you have, after months of villainy- for one, he’d never felt relieved to be on the receiving end of an attack by Spider-Man before. But even more bizarrely, there came another first in quick succession; he’d tumbled to the ground many a time thanks to those aforementioned attacks-
- but never before had Spider-Man tumbled with him.
The impact of the hero landing hard against his back shoved him to the ground. Spider-Man rolled off his shoulders, gangly spiderey limbs pinwheeling as they uncharacteristically ungracefully propelled him up into a stand.
“- Whoa, are you okay?” Spot could not help but ask, as he got up after him.
"I’m fine,” Spider-Man said, stumbling, lenses woozy half-moons. “Let’s- let’s just get this over with quick, yeah?”
Spot casually side-stepped a poorly aimed web shot that flung pathetically over his shoulder.
"... Yeahhh, fine. I can tell,” Spot said dryly.
“I’m just a little tired, that’s all,” Spider-Man said weakly, holding up his fists like he was still capable of fighting, let alone standing. “Can you, uh, do me a favor and stand still?”
Spot leaned off from the lousy attempted punch thrown his way. Spider-Man stumbled, failing to correct his momentum, and ungracefully hit the ground face-first.
"Uh, did something happen to you?" Spot asked, regaining the concern that had been prematurely evaporated. "Did a villain drug you?"
"What? No," Spider-Man scoffed, clumsily ascending into a stand like a newborn foal.
"Did you hit your head too hard?" Spot gently tapped his uncharacteristically readily accessible nemesis's skull. "If you have a brain injury you should really go to the hospital." With a jocular smirk invisible on his not-face but present in his voice, he added, "Here, let me take off your mask so I can see if your pupils are uneven sizes."
Spider-Man swatted him away, flapping arm clumsily slapping into his face- Spot leaned back, face-hole shrinking. "Dude, I'm fine. I just- didn't get much sleep last night! I can still fight!"
- He lost balance on his own two feet and flailed to stick to the wall to retain an upright posture.
“… IIII… think you should go home and rest,” Spot told him hesitantly, as Spider-Man once again attempted to rise into a stand. “Why don’t you just web me up and we can call it quits?”
Spider-Man laughed at that. “Hey, thanks. You know, you’re such a good friend.”
It was just about the hundred-thousandth time Spot wished he still had eyes to roll. It was just like Spider-Man, to be able to still somehow find the energy to taunt him while barely able to stand on his own two feet.
“We are not friends,” Spot corrected him in an admonishing tone as he nonetheless obediently lined himself up by the brick wall, and Spider-Man stumbled in front of him. “I just don’t see any dignity in fighting someone who can barely stand, that’s all.”
“Hey, I can stand. I don’t need this hand-out, for the record. I could still beat you with my eyes closed.”
Spider-Man aimed his shot and missed the entirely standing still Spot by about a foot.
Spider-Man stared with a hilariously despondent air at the gob of webs oozing ineffectually down the wall. Spot’s unimpressed gaze joined his there.
“… Statement withdrawn,” the hero mumbled meekly. It was one of the few times Spot’d seen Spider-Man’s pride wounded. And he had to admit, despite the ignoble circumstances, he enjoyed it.
“Do I need to get you a taxi?” Spot asked. He added, wryly, “What’s your address?”
Spider-Man rubbed his eye tiredly. “Um, it’s-” - A flare of giddy malevolent excitement rushed through Spot, but alas Spider-Man’s exhausted brain appeared to catch up. His lenses narrowed, and he lifted a weak point at Spot. “Ha-ha, nice try,” he intonated flatly. “I can get home myself.”
Spot watched as his web shot managed to connect with the side of a distant building, and he lunged on shaky legs off the rooftop- and immediately collided face-first with a street light.
The only thing that stopped Spider-Man from descending to the hard concrete like a thwacked insect was Spot’s two arms, popping through a hole to grab and pull the superhero through to safety purely by bare instinct.
“Heyyy, lemme gooo,” Spider-Man whined in weak protest- though his attempts to wriggle from the hands holding him up by his underarms seemed half-hearted.
(Spot assumed the hero was putting up as well of a fight as he could in such a depleted state- but the truth was, he wasn’t even really trying. Every inch of Spider-Man’s body was dying for the first surface that wasn’t cold harsh concrete- and lo and behold, there was Spot’s arms.)
“Look, as your nemesis, I have to say I think you’re in no condition to swing all the way home on your own. So many things could go wrong!” Spot lectured.
(… It was just Spot. What harm could Spot do to him? It could have been his exhaustion making him stupid, but he felt he could almost… trust him.)
“'m fine…” Spider-Man mumbled. He began to melt away in Spot’s arms, exhaustion yearning to claim him.
(Yeah... what would be the harm in just... letting himself close his eyes...? So what if he failed, and Spot would maybe get away with some money that wasn't his? Maybe it was okay to fail... for just a few minutes of sleep...)
“You are not fine. You can’t even beat me like this.” The fact that Spider-Man didn’t even produce a chuckle at that only made him even more concerned. “You should really take care of yourself better, you know! It was lucky it was me this time. What if next time, you end up serving yourself up on a silver platter to some more undeserving villain?!” Spider-Man fell further and further. “You better call a taxi home and get some rest! If you won’t, then I will! And I know you’ll protest, but I think-!”
- Spider-Man finally drooped away, head falling forward.
Spot’s lecture cut out short, as he stared, somewhat dumbfounded, at the worst enemy that was now snoozing soundly in his grip.
… He didn’t know if he should be offended or what. Obviously he understood the hero was exhausted- but letting his guard down so completely around him, (his nemesis) (worst enemy) (greatest threat) that he just fully fell asleep while he was literally holding onto him- no fight, not even an attempt at a struggle, like he completely trusted nothing bad would happen?! Ugh, typical!
… The worst part was… Spider-Man was probably right to. Spot couldn’t just leave him here. Or anywhere out in the open.
- No, it wasn’t out of concern for his well-being or anything similar! He hated Spider-Man, after all. It was just… what if some random person came across him and took the opportunity to take off his mask, snap a photo, and sell it to the highest bidder- therefore depriving him of the chance to dramatically unmask him and become the only supervillain to know his true identity? Having such a crucial bonding moment for two nemeses stolen from them would be a real tragedy!
Yes, as much as it made his skin crawl to help the person he hated the most, annoyingly, Spider-Man wasn’t the only one with great responsibility. As his one and only nemesis, he had a duty here… as unpleasant as it was.
He sighed, shoulders falling as he resigned himself to his fate, represented in the slumbering hero in his grasp.
Spot had never enjoyed being touched or in close contact with others. - Oh, of course there was the fighting, which was actually weirdly a lot of fun when in a body that couldn't really be hurt. But that was a totally different thing, naturally.
Being in contact with someone- casually, nicely- always felt like being invaded. He may have liked people fine- and sometimes yearned to be closer with them- but he would recoil from the burning-scalding experience of a hand on him. Something like a hug was absolutely out of the question- whatever you could imagine further up the scale, unthinkable.
So, it was only with reluctance, he carefully adjusted Spider-Man into a more comfortable, horizontal position, more fully supported by his arms.
… But... this wasn't so bad. Actually, it kind of... wasn't bad at all. It was the same as gripping onto his nemesis as usual, just... without the legs and fists and gross gooey webs coming at him fast as lightning. So, if anything... it was... uh, fine.
After all, he was… warm. Which was a pleasant contrast to Spot’s body, which no longer produced any heat. He couldn’t say the cold necessarily bothered him, as it had long since become his normal. But the endothermic heat of a living, breathing person in his arms, curling against his chest- it was nice... even though it reminded him of what he’d lost.
… What he’d taken away from him.
- Spider-Man adjusted himself, and Spot froze as two wiry, spider-like arms wrapped around his neck and face tucked against his shoulder.
Okay, yeah, forget all that. Spot’s internal reaction was like a real spider had just crawled up his arm, all aaa-get-him-off-me-get-him-off-meee!!!!
But against all odds, he managed to maintain his composure. After taking a moment to scream internally, Spot vented his despair in a distressed exhale. “Oh, Spider-Man, you better appreciate this when you wake up. Honestly, the lengths I go for you- I-I mean, I despise you! You know that’s my whole thing!”
… But at Spot’s admonishment, Spider-Man just breathed in that slow, steady pace against his shoulder, as peaceful as a kitten.
At least his holes made a fast taxi service straight back to his apartment evil lair. At home, Spot carefully ducked around DIY micro-colliders, DIY quantum engine prototypes, and many other things that definitely should not be yet were prefaced with DIY that stood between him and his bedroom in a tangled maze.
He carefully nudged open his bedroom door with a foot. At the creak of the door, Spider-Man once again adjusted himself where he was wrapped around Spot and nuzzled up to his chest.
Discomfort like crawling spiders shuddered up Spot's spine, and he held back the instinct to chuck the hero to the opposite wall. “Okay, okay okay okay,” he said rapid-fire, hurrying in. He came over to the side of bed and lowered Spider-Man down.
He expected Spider-Man to just let go and droop away at this point. But noo, that would be too easy for the hotshot hero, he supposed. Instead, ever eager to make his life difficult, the slumbering bug's limbs clung to him tenaciously, really living up to the creepy-crawly arachnid nature of his namesake. As if his sleeping mind considered him a better bed than the perfectly comfortable one he was graciously offering right there!!!
Desperately wanting to just shove him off and run to the other side of the room, Spot instead took a deep, shaking breath, again collected himself, and pressed stoically onward in his careful extraction of himself from Spider-Man’s clinging wiry limbs.
And finally, Spider-Man fell away from him. Apparently accepting his new accommodations, he nestled down into them, his head tucking against the pillow.
Spot backed away slowly to regard the sleeping hero from a safer distance. “Okay,” he murmured to himself, as this horrible moment settled out of its relative urgency. “Okay.”
With the words, the anxiety that he didn’t even know was winding up in his chest slowly abated. Nemesis safe. Nothing more to do. He could just… relax. Maybe make himself a tea or something while he waited for Spider-Man to wake up. Yeah. That’d be nice.
He bobbled to the door. He didn’t bother pulling it close behind him; he didn’t want to wake Spider-Man.
Yeah. He’d just… leave him alone.
...
… - Spot’s head popped right back in the doorway.
HIS MASK, he thought in big bold letters.
Oh, he didn’t even realize-! He was so focused on worrying about other, undeserving people having the opportunity to unmask Spider-Man that he didn’t even notice that meant he, too could-! Ohohoho, yes, now was the perfect chance!
A devious little chuckle escaped him as he crept up to the bedside, hands rubbing together with wicked intent. His excited fingers reached forward, nearing the terminal edge of the mask (which was a little unevenly tucked under the neckline as if hastily shoved on over his head). Yes, it was only natural that he, his true and only nemesis, would be the first person to see who Spider-Man really was under the m-!
- Spider-Man’s hand lunged out and slapped Spot’s wrist away with the power of a horse kick.
“Ow!” Spot yelped, jerking back and rubbing his stinging wrist. He was about to launch into a frantic explanation, entire body steeling to defend himself against further attacks- but Spider-Man didn’t make another move. His hand had already dropped limply back at his side. He still breathed slowly and deeply, like he hadn’t actually been disturbed in his slumber at all.
… He’d always noticed that Spider-Man had a freaky habit of always knowing when attacks were coming at him, even from behind. Like he literally had eyes on the back of his head. Maybe precognition was a spider thing. Who knows. Whatever the nature of that strange inhuman part of his mind, it was kind of cool- and rather disappointing- to see that even in his sleep, it was still active enough to reflexively defend him from threats.
He gazed at the sleeping Spider-Man. Watched the peaceful slow rise and fall of his chest.
… Well. It’s not like he wanted his secret identity that badly yet anyway. It was still a little too early for that, after all. One shouldn’t rush these things, you know.
Funny, though, wasn’t it? It turned out there was no point to bringing him all the way back here. He’d been so worried about people stealing his mask- well, good luck. He could portal him straight back to the roof if he wanted. No worries. No questions. No little annoying taunting jokes and quips at his expense when the hero woke up and realized the favor he’d done for him.
… But…
... He was curled up so tight like he was conserving warmth. It occurred to Spot, maybe he was cold. Spot may not have minded the temperature anymore, in this mannequin-like body that could barely feel it- but he knew the air was crisp outside, as the leaves were well into their fall transformation.
… Spot grabbed the edge of his covers, and carefully pulled them over the resting hero. He braced himself for another smack, but none came. So, he tucked the blankets around his shoulders, made sure his feet were covered as well.
Spider-Man stirred again. He shifted onto his belly, and his arms curled up, fingers sleepily wrapping around the blanket and pulling it just a little tighter around him.
… It was… strange. The way he…
… he looked so…
… so small.
It didn’t make sense. How could someone who taunted your every waking moment with their all-encompassing pervasiveness, someone whose frustratingly extraordinary existence seemed to stretch across the sky and seep from every seam of reality itself, someone who took away your face and your life and everything you liked about yourself and laughed about it-
- how could someone like that… look so small?
… After just a moment longer of looking at him and not knowing what to feel, Spot finally left him to sleep.
–
...
Spider-Man was softly, gently, settled in his state of dreamless unconsciousness. But now, having healed some amount of energy, somewhere in the mist his mind began to wonder:
… What was the real world like again…?
He better check in. Yes, soft. Comfy. Warm. He’s in bed. That’s nice.
- Wait, in bed?
Miles’s eyes wrenched open. Through the lenses of the mask, he took in his situation.
Whirring fans of the beefy computer rig over there. Pipework in the uninsulated ceiling. Tangled industrial wires of inscrutable source or destination snaked down the walls. Shelves filled to the brim with machine parts, unlabeled containers of mysterious fluid, and specialized tools. The only light, the sunlight filtering in dimly through the blinded window.
He’d never been in this room before, but yeah, be rest assured, he could put together the puzzle pieces.
With a bleary wobble he eased himself into a sit up. The motion of the blanket drooping down his shoulder made him look down, mystified, at the soft cozy covers laid over him.
… He almost burst out laughing.
Spot had tucked him in.
Smirking and shaking his head in gushingly fond disbelief, he swung his legs off the bed and jumped up to go hunting for the villain.
The metal door was unlocked and he shouldered it open, barreling into the next room; Spot, lost among a dense forest of unstable-looking machinery that replaced most actual furniture, startled, head jumping over it all like an alarmed prairie dog at the intrusion.
“- Spider-Man!” he yelped. “You’re awake! Wow! Uh- hi.” He tried to lean casually against some- contraption of some kind. “So I bet you’re wondering what you’re doing here.” The contraption made an eerie quiet groan, its chassis moving under his weight, and Spot rapidly alighted from it and jumped a few feet away.
Spider-Man laughed. “You know what, I think I can put together what happened.”
“Well- uh- good.” Spot’s voice came out a little meeker, hands pulling at each other. “In that case, you can, uh, probably go now.”
“That was real sweet of you, you know.”
Spot made a forced psssh, shaking his head in mock disbelief as his body language tried to be confident but just came off anxious and jerky. “No, no, it wasn’t sweet.”
“What would you call it?”
“Pragmatic.” More certainty bled into Spot’s posture, as he went on, “You think I could let my nemesis just lie there out in the open for any rando to come across him and take off his mask?” You’d think the very notion was spiritually offensive to him, like he was talking about someone defacing the Mona Lisa. “It was basically my responsibility!”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Miles said with a smirk, sidling up to him with impeccable little brother energy for an only child. “Aaaand I’m sure tucking me in was some kind of nemesis responsibility too?”
Ha. He saw it in Spot’s shoulders, in the way his holes shifted. He’d caught him caring, and there was absolutely no wriggling out of it.
“Fine,” he sighed, crossing his arms surlily. “I admit that part wasn’t… strictly as pragmatic as the rest.”
“It waaaas… friiiendly?” Miles suggested, tipping his head against his shoulder, lenses curling in a cat-like expression of taunting joy.
Spot shoved him off gruffly. “No, it wasn’t,” he denied. “It was just… nice. Just because I’m a villain doesn’t mean I can’t be nice to you sometimes!”
“Come on, when you gonna admit we’re just straight-up friends?” Miles said, lackadaisically stepping after him. “Nothin’ wrong with two enemies also being friends, man.”
“Two nemeses,” Spot corrected him, pointing a finger in his face.
Spider-Man smirked under the mask, pushing the finger away. “I didn’t say that.”
“If you admit we’re nemeses, I’ll admit we’re friends.”
Spider-Man laughed earnestly at that. “You know what?” he said, grin bright. He angled up his palms in mock defeat. “Alright. Fine. We’re nemeses.”
It was kind of hilarious, how fast Spot’s body turned toward him at attention like a dog that just heard the word walk. “You mean it?”
“Yeah. You know, I try not to act like it, but really, you’re a constant torment in my life.”
Spot’s hand went over his heart in a comically sincere heartfelt gesture. “Aww, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”
“Yeah, see, I can be sweet too,” Miles said. “Now, do you admit we’re friends?”
There was a long moment of hesitance.
“… Fine. We’re... kind-of-maybe friends,” Spot admitted.
“Yeah," Miles agreed with a self-satisfied smile. “We are.”
- Miles suddenly realized he hadn’t checked the time. “Uh, by the way, how long have I been out?”
“Ohh, I don’t know, about an hour or soo…?” As Spot was saying that, though, Miles pulled out his phone to check-
“5:30?!” he borderline screamed. “It’s 5:30?!”
"Is that bad?"
“I gotta get going!” He rushed to the window. “Crap, I’m gonna be so late!”
“Where you off to? Maybe I could help!”
Spider-Man glanced back at him suspiciously. Risk calculations ran through his head.
“… You could drop me off back about where I fell asleep,” Spider-Man said, a little cautious, but choosing to trust him all the same. “I could probably get to where I need to be pretty fast from there.”
With a fling of Spot’s hand, a hole spun out and opened dutifully beside him. Spot gestured toward it with theatrically gentlemanly air, like a concierge.
With some suspicious hesitance, Spider-Man ran forward and jumped through, even though he was half-expecting to find himself plummeting into the Hudson or something.
He was almost surprised to find himself back at the very same rooftop he last remembered, just as Spot had promised.
But hey, then again- they were friends, weren’t they?
The hole blinked out of existence behind him with a cheerful warble.
With a smile still lingering on his face, he shot off a web line and swung off back to Visions.