Chapter Text
Are you doing anything tonight? Would you like to
No— Severa would see right through her ploy.
Hey, are you busy? I need
Why does it always have to be about you, Noire? You're not the only one with problems.
There's no food in the house, do you mind giving me a ride to
Do you always have to be so needy? Noire let the phone fall to the mattress, rolling on her side.
Thank gods for backspace.
She'd just leave it—she would've been tempted to give Severa a call otherwise. Besides, it was only a twenty minute's walk to the grocery store, and if she left now, she could make it back before dark.
Noire sat up, rubbing her temples as blood drained from her skull. Her dotted vision cleared, and she pulled herself to her feet, setting out into the stillness of the hallway. Hesitating before her mother's study, she listened for the slightest stirrings of life. Good as empty; probably sleeping. Noire knew better than to disturb her, and relaxed only when she'd left the study door far behind her. Taking a knee-length, forest-green sweater from the coatrack, Noire emerged into cold, mid-noon sunlight.
This was nice, she convinced herself. Birchsmoke twirling from chimneys, mingling with clear autumn skies; the distant cries and laughter of children at play; the flickering porch-gourds with their manic grins etched into their flesh: it was a nostalgic season for her, maybe because it'd been Father's favorite. (And Mother's, for entirely separate reasons.) For Noire, stepping into a neighborhood fallscape was almost like stepping back in time. Always a little happy, and a little sad.
She took the back way this time; the usual route passed Severa's house, and Noire didn't need another reason to cave and beg her friend for a ride. She warmed her hands in her pockets, kicking sheets of leaf-cover into a small pile. The lush, quiet byway rarely saw so much of a rake, ribbed with far-hanging ceilings of elm branches and bursts of flowering dogwood. Noire thought about treating herself—maybe grabbing a tea for the walk home—and wrapped the illusion of solitude around her like a blanket.
The low growl of a passing truck disturbed her reverie. Noire stopped to watch the wake of exhaust fade into the afternoon, puzzling over her own unease. It's not that she recognized the car, but the make, the noise, the film of dust, all struck her as too familiar. That truck had passed her before, just minutes ago.
She didn't have time to wonder, her attention drawn to the rustle of leaves underfoot. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw another familiar face: a pedestrian who, in a best-case scenario, shared her route, no further than a block away, and very slowly gaining on her. Noire quickened her pace, her surroundings forgotten. Broad daylight and nicer neighborhood aside, paranoia ruled the day for Noire; she didn't like walking alone with strangers.
Even less so did she like dusty old pickups looping back around the block to follow her, slowing to a crawl along the curb and drawing up beside her. The engine growl lowered to a rumble, and Noire realized that the truck was pacing her. Fixing her eyes on her boots, she picked up her stride. Every wildlife documentary taught her that bolting would start a chase.
“Hey! You're Noire, right?”
Noire stiffened. She knew that voice from anywhere.
“Yeah, uh, Noire Saqqaf?”
Leaning out of the driver-side window was Kjelle Svendsen, star quarterback and first ever female player for the YHS Griffons, fellow senior, Severa's ex after a week-long whirlwind romance, and Noire's single most hopeless crush since middle school. Noire briefly considered just getting mugged.
“Yeah, you! Don't you hang out with Severa?” Kjelle pressed, pulling up besides her. The figure behind her long forgotten, Noire finally found her words, refusing to meet Kjelle's eyes.
“Y-yeah, I do,” she mumbled.
“You heading somewhere? Need a ride?”
If Kjelle noticed her trepidation, she was too polite to mention it.
“Just the store,” Noire said. “It's only a little ways out now—”
“C'mon. I'll take you.”
The thrust of Kjelle's insistence was clear, and between a total stranger and familiar face, Noire decided she'd risk putting her foot in her mouth over a kidnapping. She jogged around the front of the pickup, tugged at the passenger-side door before Kjelle could unlock it, and scrambled in. The truck peeled out with a screech, leaving the strange man to disappear behind a bend in the road.
Struggling with her seatbelt, Noire took in her surroundings, stale cigarette stench, tattered upholstery and duct taped windows. Her foot met with a pile of forgotten soda cans; on closer inspection, Noire realized they were energy drinks.
“Sorry about the mess,” Kjelle said, not sounding entirely apologetic. There was a pause, and then she turned to Noire, her expression softened. “And uh, sorry if I freaked you out back there.”
She had one hand slung over the open window, the other steering lazily. Noire allowed herself to take in the view from the corner of her eye; Kjelle without the school uniform was a rare sight, and Noire hated how she found herself getting flustered from it, like some sort of pervert.
“That creep was following you for like eight blocks,” Kjelle said. “Better safe than sorry, you know?”
Oh, gods. Noire bit her thumb, looking away before Kjelle could catch her staring.
“I-I didn't even realize...”
“Yeah. You're lucky I was going out for a drive.”
For a time, neither of them spoke; Noire, terrified of making things any more awkward, Kjelle, too polite to say anything about it.
“You're in Sev's neighborhood, right?” Kjelle said at length. “She's coming over to my place tonight. If you wanna just have dinner with us, she can take you home.”
Every ounce of Noire's iron-deficient blood crept up her neck, and she turned her face away.
“If it makes any difference, my dad's a pretty good cook,” Kjelle added. “I wouldn't offer otherwise.”
“Oh no, it's not that!” Noire stammered, refusing to face her rescuer. “It's just that… there's no food in the house, and...”
She swallowed back the rest of her words; this was definitely oversharing, for the first real conversation she's had with Kjelle in months. (Noire may have been keeping track of them.)
“Fair enough.” She could practically hear the shrug in Kjelle's shoulders as they pulled into the lot. Rolling up to the front of the grocery store, Kjelle fixed her again with a look of concern.
“Hey, this is a weird thing to ask, but do you want a ride back? You seem kinda spooked.”
Kjelle had a brow raised, and Noire willed herself not to look away again.
“I don't mind waiting. Dinner's not gonna be ready for another hour,” Kjelle pressed.
It hadn't even fully processed that she was speaking with Kjelle Svendsen, or that Kjelle had given her a ride, like a knight in shining armor on her wise and hardened steed—that Kjelle seemed so concerned for her safety was too overwhelming for any sort of rational reaction.
“Ah, it's fine! I'll just call my mother and have her pick me up,” Noire lied. “You—I mean, thank you very much for all the help. Tell Severa I said hi, and that I'm fine, a-and not to worry...”
This would be a good point to shut up, she reminded herself, so Noire hopped out of the truck, shooting back her most convincing I'm-Not-About-To-Die-Of-Embarrassment-Grin.
“Anyway, uh, see you tomorrow! In calculus!”
This would be a very good point to shut up. Kjelle's smile was ambivalent—maybe relieved that she didn't have to breathe Noire's same miserable air—before she finally drove off.
Noire quietly debated a good stress-cry in the grocery store.
KJELLE TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED. I WOULD'VE GIVEN U A RIDE DUMBASS!!!
Noire winced as her phone rattled against the bleacher seat.
Speaking of r u on campus? Im out of cheer practice, I can take u home.
Setting aside her half-woven charm, Noire answered Severa:
I've been finishing tonight's calculus pages! I'm out on the bleachers, come meet me?
The first part wasn't entirely true, but it wouldn't matter unless—
OH THANK GODS U CAN HELP ME OUT.
A short pause, then another buzz.
… lol y the bleachers? Its super cold u weirdo.
Noire decided she'd leave it at that, returning to her charm. From a distance, the royal blue helmets of the YHS Griffons looked like little river stones, or candy shells. Coach Gregor's voice boomed over tinny, outdated exercise music: “Take him up in great bear hug! Swoop in like Griffon! Miss Svendsen, very good!”
As far as Noire could tell, they were drilling tackles. Lined in two rows, players alternated as attackers and training dummies, rushing in to lift each others feet off the ground. Further off, a smaller figure crossed the field, clad in yoga pants and an oversized sweater.
“And here is coach's darling daughter, come to lift our spirits with great cheer! Hello, Daughter!”
“Ugh, shut up Daddy!”
“See, coach doesn't roll eyes like dying goat when told to being quiet!”
Even at this distance, Severa's cold-tinged scowl read clear. Noire began packing her bags as her friend stomped up the bleacher divider. She stopped just in reach of Noire, considered her for a moment, and then went one step higher before pulling her into a hug.
“You idiot,” she sighed, mussing Noire's hair. More bewildered than comforted, Noire nonetheless relaxed into the embrace, tipping her head against Severa's shoulder.
“I'm fine though, really,” Noire said. “I didn't want to bug you, but I guess it backfired...”
“Yeah, well.” Severa broke away, shoving her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “Will you just err on the side of bugging me next time?”
The music below died down; laughing voices took its place as the players dispersed. From the sounds of it, practice was drawing to a close. Noire risked a glance at the field below, dim gray beneath the afternoon's overcast; Severa caught her before she could make out Kjelle.
“Okay, so it's really not like you to hang around outdoors without a reason, so let's just go down the list,” said Severa. “...Finally giving a shit about football.”
Noire flushed, and made a silent thanks to the gods for her less revealing complexion.
“I-I get out plenty,” she mumbled.
“Journalism put you on the sports beat.”
“I'm not even in—”
“Crush on one of the players.”
“No!”
Noire reacted before she could stop herself, and then flinched inwardly—that tone was a definite give.
“I mean...”
“Bingo.”
There came that smirk that Severa was so famous for, knowing and sly and a little satisfied.
“Really, that's not it!” Noire stammered, gathering up her charm. “I figured… since it's nearly Homecoming...”
Severa took the charm, fixing it with a critical eye.
“It's a… rock?”
“It's meteorite,” Noire said, only slightly offended. “They're charged with all sorts of energy… there's a reason we wish on meteors.”
“Pretty sure we wish on comets.”
“Severa, that's… really not true.”
“Whatever! Why are you changing the subject?” Visibly flustered, Severa averted her eyes. “Will you just spill the beans?!”
“What's up, guys?”
As caught up in Severa's ignorance as she was, Noire had been completely oblivious to Kjelle's approach. Helmet tucked beneath her arm and sweat-plastered hair clinging to her neck and cheeks, Kjelle was the very vision of Noire's confusing homeroom fantasies. She regarded Noire with a nod.
“Great to see you made it back alright. How'd we look?” Heat crept up the skin of Noire's neck; she hadn't expected Kjelle to notice her in the bleachers, let alone acknowledge her presence.
“Gross and sweaty,” Severa cut in.
Kjelle scoffed.
“Speak for yourself.”
“At least the dumb uniform lets me breathe.”
Noire felt herself deflate a little at the exchange; jumping into the discussion now was out of the question. She'd had this conversation all plotted out since second period, and Severa broke the script without a second thought. Envy pooled in Noire's gut like a well of ink, that ugly, hateful, desirous creature baring its teeth. She didn't want to resent Severa—not her confidence, not the ease with which she so freely expressed herself, not her popularity, not her parents…
She stopped herself before she could carry the thought any further.
“Whatcha got there?”
Noire snapped back to reality; Kjelle's eyes were on the charm clasped in her fist. Noire considered her options. If she hadn't grown out so much in the last four years, she would have been able to slip through the gaps of the bleachers and make her daring escape, or in the very least knock herself unconscious.
“Well,” she started instead. “A-actually, it's...”
She opened her fingers. Black and creased under dull cloud cover, the stone resembled more a shriveled raisin than a piece of meteorite she'd meditated over for half an hour.
“I wanted to thank you, for last night,” said Noire. Kjelle snorted, but not unkindly.
“I told you already, it's no problem.”
Mostly undeterred, Noire pressed on.
“Still, I know you have a game coming up, so… I made this,” she said, and then hastily added, “I-I know you don't wear accessories! You don't have to take it, I just...”
Strike one: don't shoot it down before she even accepts it. Idiot. Strike two was fast approaching with the gathering heat of unshed tears; Noire fixed her stare to the scaffolding beneath her feet.
“Whoa.”
The skin of her palm seared at Kjelle's touch when she took the charm. Her fingertips were coarse, nails worn down to nubs, and warm.
“You seriously made this? What's the stone?”
“Um.” Noire took a strand of her bangs between two fingers, smoothing it down with long, nervous strokes. “It's meteorite, actually...”
She wasn't prepared for the moment Kjelle accepted her gift, and she was prepared even less for Kjelle to actually wear it. At best, she'd hoped to pick it up on their trip to the parking lot, a sad heap at the foot of a garbage can (she played football, after all) and ready to be reclaimed.
Kjelle held her wrist away to examine the charm, and made a thoughtful noise.
“This is... seriously cool, Noire. I don't know what to say.”
“Say 'thank you' and go,” Severa cut in. “We're sort of in a hurry.”
It was only then that Noire gave a thought to Severa's conspicuous silence during the entire exchange.
“Uh, okay,” Kjelle said, unfazed by the brush-off. “See you tomorrow, then. Thanks again.”
“Haha, tomorrow. Yeah,” Noire answered, less of a laugh and more the sound of all the air in her lungs escaping. They watched Kjelle jog down the bleachers together, and before Noire could demand an explanation, she felt Severa clutch her arm.
“Noire,” she started, low and wondering. “Oh my gods.”
“Oh my gods. OH, my gods.”
Noire buried her face in her hands; this had continued from the field, to the parking lot, and well into their drive home.
“Oh my GODS. Ugh!”
She felt the car lurch to a halt as Severa flipped on the hazard lights. Peeking out through her fingers, she found herself on the receiving end of Severa's unbelieving gawk.
“You're mad, I know...” she mumbled, staring hard into her lap. “I'm a terrible friend.”
A puzzled silence fell over Severa, and then a choked noise.
“What? No, no! Gods, no.” A hand settled on Noire's shoulder. “Noire, we dated for like. A week. Gods, get that out of your head now. I'm not mad because of that.”
Another pause.
“I'm mad because you didn't tell me. Actually, I'm real pissed off! Am I not a good enough wingwoman for you? Is that it?!”
“N-no, I just… didn't think anything would come out of it, anyway.”
She smiled, in spite of herself—self-depreciating, a defense-mechanism. Severa was quiet for a moment.
“You miss every target you don't, I don't know, shoot at. Archery metaphor.” Severa trailed off. “Anyway, you should totally tell her.”
“But you haven't told—”
“OKAY! Okay, point made.” Grumbling under her breath, Severa grabbed the gearshift and added, “Low blow.”
The sound of gravel filled the silence as they pulled back onto the road, until Noire finally spoke up.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean it like that.”
“Yeah, well.” Severa angled a weak, sidelong grin. “You're lucky I love you.”
Drawing to a stop at an intersection, Noire watched down either end of the cold, empty boulevard. Maple leaves skimmed over the dull tarmac; above, the cloud cover darkened. After a decisive beat, Severa turned into the wrong street.
“Um.” Noire straightened in her seat. “Which way are we going, again…?”
“We're going,” Severa said, quiet and grave, “for backup.”
The Lowell home stood grand and tall in the city outskirts, tucked deep into the family estate of grazeland and orchards. Noire had only been twice before—once, in middle school, for one of Cynthia's famous sleepovers, where she tried alcohol for the first time, and again for Lucina's eighteenth birthday, where Severa joined her. A gray-dappled horse paced Severa's car down the length of the gravel driveway, separated by a squat iron fence that would have been effortless to clear.
“This place is fucking weird,” was the only comment Severa would give.
Despite her grumblings, Severa was plainly relieved when Cynthia greeted them at the door. They didn't tarry long—only enough for Cynthia's mother to offer a slice of sweet potato pie to each of them—before shutting themselves in Cynthia's room, which remained largely unchanged from the last time Noire had seen it. More photos had been added to her corkboard; mostly the girls (and Inigo) from cheer. Colorful, stenciled horse silhouettes pranced along a grass-painted baseboard; in the center of the room loomed a glittering, princess-style canopy bed, where Cynthia now took her seat. Noire found hers in a round, downy unicorn beanbag; Severa took the stool at the vanity. For the first time in years, Noire felt as though she'd been initiated into the covert and arcane—she'd been let into a Girl's Night.
Cynthia, for her part, made for an excellent listener, nodding sympathetically when appropriate, and offering little commentary beyond the occasional thoughtful “hm.”
“Hm, okay. So, Noire,” she started, after Severa had explained their plight. “Do you play an instrument?”
“What good will that do her?” Severa huffed. “Should she beat Kjelle over the head with it?”
With an inappropriately earnest cackle, Cynthia said, “No silly!”
She reached for the guitar leaning against the foot of her bed, making a few tuning plucks.
“I mean a little something like...” She strummed out the four chords one would expect from a twee ukulele tune: “You done done me and you bet I felt it, your abs are so hot I practically melted...”
“Cynthia,” warned Severa, but Cynthia gleefully ignored her.
“Sev, won't, he-si-tate, no more, no, she cannot wait, she's Luuuci's—”
“ARGH!”
After a solid five minutes of calming Severa down enough to continue, Cynthia turned to a thick, spiral-bound notebook, scribbling with a pink gel pen.
“All jokes aside, you've got a lot going for you, Noire!” she chimed. “Smart, pretty, and the muscly archer biceps can't hurt either.”
Old habits resurfaced, and Noire crossed her arms over her chest.
“That said, I thiiiiink I've got an idea,” Cynthia continued, in her ominous sing-song. “But it's gonna take eeeveryone's cooperation!”
With a manic, conspiratorial grin, she leaned in close.
“Here's the plan: Severa, you're our mole. You go over, convince her to bust into her dad's liquor cabinet, and get her real sloshed! Try and get some good intel out of her.”
She tapped the end of her pen against the side of the notebook, deep in thought.
“I'll look into getting hold of a wire in the meantime. Anyway, you tell her you're too boozed up to drive home, and that's where me and Sis come in!”
Severa grimaced. “Leave her out of this.”
“And not without our mom's favorite ingredient...” Turning the notebook out, Cynthia revealed her notes: an ornate, cursive “S” drawn inside a box. “Sugar! I pour a few cups of that sucker in her gas tank and we steal away like bandits into the night! The next morning, we do a stakeout. When that car breaks down, we'll be the first to know!”
She nodded to Noire.
“And that's where you come in! A knight in shining armor, a prince and her noble steed, a chick with her car, you swoop in to pluck her off the roadside. And then make out, I guess? I-dee-kay.”
When Severa didn't raise one of several obvious objections to this, Noire glanced over to find her instead bent over her phone, a pearly, lacquered thumbnail clacking angrily against the touchscreen.
“Let's see… recording someone without their consent. Vandalism. Destruction of property,” she read. “And look here! Tampering in the first degree—a Class C felony, carrying a sentence of ten to forty years. Great plan, idiot!”
Giving her friend's shoulder a pacifying squeeze, Noire added, “Besides, I don't really have a car… and I don't think Lucina would agree to anything criminal.”
Cynthia pouted into her notebook, as if betrayed by the contents, and then flung it aside.
“Well, I'm all out of ideas.”
Having relaxed from the gentle reminder of Noire's touch, Severa let out a calming breath.
“Okay,” she said. “What about homecoming?”
Just the word “homecoming” summoned a flood of unpleasant associations for Noire. She thought back to last year's dance—she and Brady Macclery had gone, as friends, and then left, again as friends, skipping the afterparty for Noire's living room couch, where they shared a miserable kiss, confirmed for themselves a long-suspected truth, and watched videos of unlikely animal friends into the early dawn.
(Severa had later chided, “Who in your friend circle is even straight?”)
“Um,” said Noire. “I wouldn't think Kjelle even cares about the dance.”
“Oh yeah, that reminds me!” Cynthia perked up in her seat, snatching her backpack and producing a stack of glossy posters. “You guys are voting my sister for Homecoming Queen, right?”
Noire accepted a sheet. In her hands, rendered in flat blues and reds, she held the YHS Student Council President's benevolent visage. Just as she was about to answer, a soft knock sounded from the bedroom door.
“Come in!” called Cynthia.
Cracking the door just enough to poke her head through, Lucina gave the scene a puzzled once-over.
“Hello, Severa. Noire,” she said.
Severa fixed her glare to the pile of smiling Lucinas on the floor before her.
“Hey.”
“Hello.” Noire gave a feeble wave. Though she and Lucina were friendly acquaintances more than anything else, they enjoyed a warm, cordial relationship. “Cynthia was just showing us your posters.”
Lucina's mouth twitched with the faintest hint of a frown.
“Yes, well… they weren't really my idea.”
“I'm her manager!”
“Erm, anyway.” Lucina quickly changed the subject. “The two of you are welcome to stay for dinner, though by no means obliged.”
Noire turned to her ride for an answer, and found Severa once again occupied with her phone, furiously tapping garbage text into her browser's search bar.
“Uh. Sure,” mumbled Severa. “Yeah—well—no. Noire?”
Severa looked to her, anxiety barely-concealed, and Noire secretly wondered if there was any hope for either of them. She swallowed, and said, “Sure.”
“Nice of you to leave a note.”
A voice cut through the darkness, catching Noire mid-reach to the light switch. There her mother stood, more silhouette than woman in her black nightgown, cast in the harsh half-illumination of the oven light.
“Sorry, Mother...”
Almost catlike in her motions, her mother turned to retrieve a coffee pot filled to the lip, and took it to the bar table.
“So,” she droned, unscrewing the cap. “It was your birthday last week, huh. Guess you're not a kid anymore.”
Her mother reached for a mug and removed two from the cabinet above. She motioned Noire to the stool beside her. Following wordlessly, Noire grimaced as her mother poured equal parts coffee and liquor into one, and then a more sensible ratio into the other.
“It's sambuca,” she said with a shrug. “Your father was obsessed with the stuff, if it makes any difference.”
A little startled, Noire watched her mother for some sort of tell. It wasn't often that she spoke to her, and even less often that she spoke of Noire's father. But when her mother slid the second mug of coffee and liqueur across the counter, Noire questioned whether she had it in her to humor the woman.
When she took the mug and sniffed, her mother continued.
“You'll be shocked to hear this,” she said. “But I did get you something.”
Bewildered, Noire gulped down the coffee before giving herself a chance to acclimate, and nearly gagged.
“You did?” she choked, blinking through tears. Her mother rolled her eyes, rising from her stool.
“Here. Come.”
Returning her mug to the counter, Noire followed after her mother out of the kitchen. It always felt awkward, walking alongside her; to stand tall, at first, and then slouch and shrink until she stood small beside her mother as she felt. Her mother led them to her room, flicking on the light without ceremony.
“Happy birthday. Woo,” droned her mother. Noire blinked at her present. Her present blinked back.
“He's from the lab,” she explained as Noire drew closer to the wire cage. “We were testing for mood stabilizer efficacy. It went… uh.”
Pure white, with pink, glistening eyes, the rat rose on its hind legs and wrapped its tiny paws around the cage bars, sniffing the air. Noire offered a hesitant finger—out of reach of its teeth, but close enough for him to take in her scent.
“Anyway. I have to get back to my report,” her mother said. “Night.”
Before Noire could turn to see her mother off, she was gone, and Noire's bedroom door closed. Her shoulders fell with a sigh.
“I should've asked if you bite...” she mumbled, letting her book bag fall to the floor. The rat remained in place, following her with its strange, fixed gaze. Noire took a seat on her bed, flicking open the plastic lid of her pill organizer, and the rat watched as she knocked the meds back dry.
“Um… I should probably name you.”
The absurdity of the moment didn't escape Noire; she was a full-grown adult, less than a year away from graduating high school, making conversation with a rodent. If Kjelle could see her—
That was always a dangerous line of thought, with the way Noire's mind would wander. If Kjelle could be here, in her home—her bedroom—on her bed…
Shaking the image, Noire crossed to her bookshelf and took up her dogeared paperback of Galdrallion, flipping to the appendix for inspiration. A buzz sounded from her bag, and she dropped the book to retrieve her phone.
I had sooo much fun hanging out wih u! ^_^ read Cynthia's text. We should do it more often! I can get u 'in' iykwim… xD
Another buzz.
Your my number 1 project now! Sevvys number too but dont tell her… she gets mad when I bring up the Luci thing lol.
“Project.” Despite herself—despite the way Cynthia had surely intended it—Noire's stomach turned a little at the word, and she set her phone aside. She'd get to responding later.
“There's um,” she said aloud, to the rat, “there's Izuka I guess. He performed all sorts of experiments on live subjects… so… Pelleas? Pelleas the rat?”
She watched Pelleas for a flicker of reaction. He continued, heedless, with his grooming. Deciding she'd leave it at that, Noire dropped onto her mattress and groaned. Today's ordeals had left her exhausted, and gods knew what Cynthia had in store for the rest of the week. Though she hadn't removed her makeup or uniform, the bed beneath her was too soft to abandon. She shielded her eyes against the harsh lamplight, willing the image of Kjelle—Kjelle in a tuxedo, maybe; Kjelle's warm hands against Noire's hips, Kjelle leading the dance—to follow Noire into her dreams.