Archive of Our Own

Yuuta isn’t really sure how this happened.

One second, he’s eating dinner with his friends, wolfing down an okonomiyaki recipe that had sent each of them fussing at the stove trying to flip the scrambled mess because they somehow all agreed Hiroshima-style wouldn’t be that hard. The next, he remembers he’s flying off to Kenya first thing in the morning, and this get-together is nothing short of a synonym to a goodbye party none of them ever thought to voice.

The fried yakisoba shakes a little in the hold of his chopsticks. The layer is slightly burnt. He’d failed to flip it thrice when it was his turn to try. The first attempt had sent the bottom grazing right where the noodles sit, the second barely lifted anything, and the third was just a different first. Toge had to reassemble his unspooling concoction while trying to keep everything from becoming charcoal, and the entire time, Yuuta was drenching his ears in every new flavor of sorry’s he ever had.

Alas, once it was off the stove and onto his plate. Seasoned half by him and half by Toge’s skilled hands, looking hugely against all food beauty standards—Yuuta still thinks it’s the best okonomiyaki he’s ever eaten.

And he’s leaving it all behind tomorrow.

“So,” Maki starts, whether she’s attuned to his detriment or completely oblivious about the timing, Yuuta doesn’t really care. He’s just grateful for the reprieve. “Beansprout’s going away tomorrow, huh?”

Maybe not all too grateful, then. He forces a swallow and a nod.

“What time?” She pries, though the answer is already known. Yuuta has already told them a week before. He’d tried to say it as casually as he could, which meant it wasn’t much, but he tried.

“I have to be at the airport by eleven,” Yuuta’s chopsticks fold awkwardly over the shredded cabbage bits. “Ijichi-san said he’ll pick me up by eight so we have enough time to run over customs and– stuff.”

Stuff in their language means whatever Gojo-sensei decided to thrust upon them that day. It’s just his luck his trip to the airport is also doubled as a trip to exorcise a grade two curse hanging near the take-off site. 

A parting gift, Gojo had said, treat it like you’re just leaving for a mission.

Part of him is thankful for the means of normalcy. That when he gets up and drags his suitcase inside the sleek black car and drives kilometers ahead, he’s only going away for a little bit. Then, he’ll be right back home with his family who will greet him like nothing has ever happened. They’ll have dinner together again like every other day, and he’ll never have to say goodbye so long as he’s here with them. With—

The okonomiyaki stares back at Yuuta, a gargled, haphazardly fried mess that it is. It feels taunting, the crooked filling is but another skewed line to his already failing comfort fantasy. He knows what going to Kenya means, they all do.

This time, it’s Panda who speaks up. “Did Satoru tell you when you’re coming back?”

Yuuta’s hand pauses. Suspends in the middle of almost stabbing through the crispy crepe base.

“Not… really. You know how he is.” He tries a smile. It’s off. 

“Doesn’t really make it any more bearable,” Maki cuts in. Her iced tea glass cracks a thud against the table when she puts it back down. “Can’t you just ask him to tell you?”

“Okaka,” Toge waves them off. A nudge with his chopsticks tells them exactly why it wouldn’t work. It’s Gojo Satoru who’s their homeroom teacher, after all. If it were Kusakabe, maybe they could drill it out of him with enough ego-rubbing. But Gojo-sensei is anything but clear. He’s a constant, misty waterfall. Yuuta has had enough firsts with his vagueness to understand that much.

Maki clicks her tongue. “I hate that you’re right.” 

In spite of her previous spat, she does settle down. Only slightly, but it’s the least restless he’s seen her all night. It works like a reminder. He’s not the only one upset at the news. He never was.

The rest of their dinner passes like honey dripping off a beenest, syrupy-slow and thick with tension. Yuuta isn’t sure what’s worse. Eating what’s basically the physical embodiment of a farewell dish, or sitting in the brooding silence knowing this is going to be the last time he’s seeing them together for however long his stay in Africa will be.

When it’s clean-up time, Yuuta deliberately moves a little slower. If the rest of his classmates notice, they don’t say. 

It’s still as green as grass, however, that everyone is trying to delay the inevitable too. Maki shuffles a little too long by the fridge, claiming that she’s trying to find space for their leftovers despite it being only two plates extra. Panda wipes the table a tad too meticulously for someone his hand size. Toge hangs around Yuuta more often, a bit more bumpy than he ever was. By the third time their shoulders graze as Yuuta reaches over to grab a wet dish to dry, he’s decided to not think about anything anymore and take all he can get.

Who knows when he’s going to have all this again? Okkotsu Yuuta has never prided himself in believing that he’s entirely selfless anyway, maybe not until recently. Everyone had tried to pluck him out of that mindset like a plush being gripped by metal claws, an effort that instantly doubled after he’d so easily thrown his life away into a sacrificial pact last Christmas’ Eve.

And it worked. Maybe a little too well. Because the next time Yuuta’s hand meets Toge’s in their well-meaning routine of washing dishes side by side, he thinks something so unbelievably selfish he’d almost drop the plate altogether.

I think I want Inumaki-kun to say my name again like he did last Eve.

Toge gives him a look and fixes the grip. Their fingers brush for a second longer, Yuuta turns away with a nervous smile and accepts the porcelain.

I think I want him to tell me to stay.

It’s strange, this thing he and Toge have. Even though Toge didn't speak much during dinner, Yuuta had watched the way his violet eyes flick around with an indescribable bob in them when the new recycled the table. 

It sounds weird, but he's been staring at Toge since forever. Whenever those eyes glance to his, a brief second in between Panda’s monologue or in the lapses of conversations, before shining away. Yuuta wonders, not for the first time, if Toge had been looking at him for just as long as he has.

He’s not sure when he picked that habit up. Maybe it has happened ever since their joint mission at Hapina Market happened, but saying that doesn’t feel true. It happened before that too, Yuuta knows it did, Hapina just made everything more obvious.

Toge is kind, incredibly so. He's kind and gentle despite the power of his technique. Toge was born into this earth with destruction marked onto his face and he still chose to be tender despite it all. Everything that Toge encapsulates feels larger than life, and Yuuta is just a satellite in his orbit. 

So, is it that crazy to say Yuuta would miss that ever-growing, furnace-fire warmth a little more than the rest?

It is. The subconscious-Yuuta folds inward. It so is. 

He doesn't know why he's thinking about that out of everything. Toge is sweet and nice and he deserves everything that comes his way. Everything that isn't– shouldn’t be Yuuta-shaped, because even if Yuuta is the same as Toge in the unbridled power they carried, Yuuta is still wholeheartedly not worth his gentleness. 

Unlike Toge, he could have led a life where none of this happened. Had his selfish denial not gotten the better of him, there’s probably a future where he’d just been a normal high school boy, playing in some sports club after school, unknown to this world. 

The power Yuuta holds is brought upon him by himself. And unlike Toge, Yuuta had always had a way out. He never did. How could he burden him with his feelings when Toge had been so selfless his entire life already? 

Thoughtful Toge who’d hook a water bottle by his shoulder whenever Yuuta finished a session with Maki. Patient Toge who sat with Yuuta through their joint sign language lesson and correcting his mistakes with a smile softer than snow. Considerate Toge who would make his favorite dish on hard days and somehow always knows to cut out the fatty part of the meat that Yuuta hates whenever they have them for dinner. Toge who’s currently touching him and—

He can't be selfish. He can’t. If anyone deserves it. It's Toge.

It’s like an electric grid, the way Yuuta’s brain circuits back to life.

“Sorry, Inumaki-kun,” he takes another plate. “I must've zoned out.” 

Toge’s brows knit together, pensive. “Takana?” 

“Ah… Yeah, I’m okay, I was just a bit distracted because, well. You know.” He spares a look over the other side of the sink. There’s about three tiny bowls left and Panda’s ceramic mug. Time is slippery, trickling down like faucet water. It’s running out.

“Mentaiko.” Toge reels back. His voice is soft.

“It’s a lot,” Yuuta agrees, then shifts his focus. “We should probably finish up. Wouldn’t want to spend our entire night at the sink, right?”

That’s a lie. Yuuta thinks he would be more than happy to stand here next to Toge for however long he could. Even if his fingertips scrunch up like raisins from the endless barrage of wet dishes, he still wouldn’t go. He would never go if he didn’t have to.

“Shake,” gestures Toge. When Yuuta looks over, Toge is smiling at him wistfully. His hands are a bit soapy with foam, but the intention is obvious when he signs, fluent and delicate the way his words seem to always sound. “I’ll miss you.”

Yuuta tells himself he will love again one day.

He will move past the hollow of his heart and find clay that he can hold steady in his palms. He will not take too much and he will try the best he can. Put the cool, dense clay flat down and knead it gently between his fingers. Then, he will spin it round and round, shape, mold, form it however the heart asks, however it fits.

He will not give too little, and he will take his time. The void is a permanent gape, but the edges will one day grow past their serrated age. There he would caress it again, let it know of its effort, show it the world past the darkness of a clay bag long forgotten in the storage. He will let it weather under his hands and find peace in the loss.

His fingers will be sludgy with ceramic slip. The bits of dried excess will feel abrasive against his skin. They’re nothing but part of the process, he will embrace them as he does everything else, and continue.

Hold the messy final product in his hands and keep it even as best as he can. When it teeters, he will watch as another warmth different from his envelope it as well. Their hands are far more delicate than his own, but their hold is firm and assuring. He will continue to mold and sculpt while they watch, fingers as moist as his palms.

They stay as he tries to smooth out the sharpness of his ache. They stay quiet and gentle and they never rush. They stay and their hands are always there when the foundation shakes. He will let mornings and nights pass. The months will flash by and the world will fade through seasons.

Slowly, he will take his time. Carefully, he will grow closer to finishing. Give it two weeks, then three months, then another three. He will hold his heart up again once he’s sure the shabby clay will stand. He will let it sit close, close to the patient hands in front of him. 

Their eyes will finally meet his. And they’re bright, flaring in the purple of salvias and alliums. They will take his hands and heart and let it sit next to theirs. Never mind that it’s disorderly.

The sun will rise and the moon will fall. Though their hands will never stray away from his. Time feels fickle because there is only infinity.

Yuuta thinks he can love again today.

When he places Panda’s mug back to its usual spot in the cabinet, he spends a second too long fixing the rest of the cups into a proper line.

Panda’s mug has a paw printed on the front. Whether it's a cat’s paw, a dog’s paw, or a bear’s paw, none of them knows. All the memory supplies were that when he and Toge first got it for Panda’s birthday, Maki had squawked her eyes over and said it looked like a cat’s paw, to which Panda was quick to deflect. Then, they had an entire argument about whether a cat’s paw was in any way distinguishable from a bear’s in cartoon style because both had claws. 

It was a whole mess. The entire thing didn’t stop until nearly midnight. Yuuta still wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Maki’s mug is next to Panda’s, a simple purple ceramic piece. The bottom is entirely black. It fades into little flower branches, then into a gradient upward. She got it a few months before he was around on a long distance mission with Toge; they were at Karatsu in Kyushu. 

Toge’d told him the story over a game night, how the shop was only five minutes away from the station. A perfect excuse, Toge had signed to him, because Maki’s old cup had just cracked a few days ago from a kitchen accident. He’d dragged her through the entire selection and back until she reluctantly pointed at one. The rest was apparently history. Good ones, he would assume, considering the cup hasn’t cracked once ever since.

Toge’s cup is to the right of Maki’s. Unlike the rest, he knows very well how it came to be, and Yuuta is certain Toge knows his very well, too.

Suddenly, there’s footsteps on his right. Out of instinct, Yuuta’s eyes gloat over. Toge is right there to meet him. The lines of his brows are slightly knit, he looks strangely contemplative.

“Hi,” Yuuta says automatically, a pitch too high at being caught looking forlorn. He pats his cheek with his hand, embarrassed. “I mean, hi. Did you need a cup, Inumaki-kun?”

He’s greeted with a long stare, completely indiscernible. That’s the thing about Toge. Sometimes Yuuta thinks he knows him like he knows the motions of swinging his sword. Sometimes he can’t tell anything at all. It feels almost unfair, Toge always seems to know his mood like the back of his hand. He just wishes it was the same the other way around.

Reluctantly, Yuuta thinks about taking back his question. Toge beats him to the punch before he’s even halfway through opening his mouth again. “Sujiko.”

“Huh?”

That earns Yuuta an unimpressed look. “Sujiko,” Toge repeats, like it’s any better.

“Um, sorry, Inumaki-kun. But I don’t think I understand—” Then Toge’s nimble hand reaches out around his and all words immediately fail to sputter past Yuuta’s lips. 

“Okaka,” Toge frowns. “Su-ji-ko,” he says again, slowly. As if the words are going to fly past Yuuta’s ears if he doesn’t. He can’t really blame him, they haven’t even stuck in the first place. 

Just focus. He swallows back the urge to explode and rearranges his brain back in place. Focus. 

First, there’s a constant warmth from Toge’s palm draping over his knuckles. The second is kind of weird, there’s something oddly cold brushing against his callouses. 

Yuuta blinks, looking down.

Tucked neatly in the grip of his hand is a green mug, cylindrical shaped with shadowy touches of fishes swimming around the lowest bit of its body. It’s the one Toge made next to him last October, after they dug up a pottery making set in the depths of the art department’s storage room.

Instead of a proper birthday party, Toge had insisted they should all make something, claiming that it’d last longer than the cake anyway. Nobody refused, he was the birthday boy after all. Still, Yuuta had a lot of fun. Being side by side with Toge always is.

“Ah,” Yuuta flushes, back to earth and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t even notice it was in my hand. Do you need it?”

Toge tilts his head, considering. Normally, Yuuta wouldn’t mind waiting, but tonight, Toge’s hand is clasped around his as he thinks. The touch is longer than any other ones they’ve shared, and Yuuta feels like it’s longer than any long distance mission he’s ever taken too. He just hopes his hand isn’t growing as clammy as he believes it is.

It’s probably a minute, but when grace finally comes, Yuuta’s heart practically falls out of his ribcage. 

Toge all but gets into his personal space and reaches up to the cabinet without answering anything. It’s not tall to the point where he has to tiptoe, but it’s tall enough that he has to stretch his arm all the way up. By proxy, Yuuta has just been thrown the entire weight of Toge’s while he searches for god knows what in there.

Their hands are still locked through it all. That might be the worst part—because he doesn’t know if he’s the one holding on or if Toge is. Either way, he isn’t sure if he wants to let go. He doesn’t think he wants to.

That’s really bad, his subconscious supplies. 

Yeah. Yeah it is. I should stop, is what Yuuta means to say. It’s what he should say and do. Instead, his grip tightens and Toge doesn’t even look half bothered, just grabs something past Yuuta’s peripherals and retreats back down.

“Tsuna tsuna,” Toge says, clearly without the intention of letting go. 

Yuuta bites back another flush. His hand feels blazing hot. “Ah. Yes?”

Toge doesn’t answer, he just wiggles something lower than where their eyes are. Almost like he wants Yuuta to break his current no eye contact streak with their held hands. Not that he would have to try too hard regardless, Yuuta has always been weak to him. 

In hindsight, he should’ve expected that his own mug would be what he’s being greeted with. The little thing is right next to Toge’s after all. It also is conveniently in his blind spot when Yuuta’d turned over to face him a minute earlier. 

It’s blue, a couple shades darker than the typical sky’s blue, some sort of navy. It’s also a bit taller than the rest, wider too, albeit barely. There were a couple of mishaps that happened when he was trial-testing alongside Toge—they had been flimsy through and through—it was their first attempt. 

In the end, Yuuta’s mug took twice the time and effort just for the intended katana design to look like an abstract epoxy floor design. When Toge offered to try again, Yuuta declined. Looking at Toge’s second attempt with his own mug made him grow fonder of their first anyhow.

“Tsuna mayo,” Toge says again absentmindedly. Before Yuuta has the chance to reply, the warmth of Toge’s hand leaves, replaced by the cold ceramic of his cup. Yuuta nearly slips up a frown, but Toge isn’t finished yet, he signs instantly. “We can have… a movie night?”

The last bit of the sign is skewed from a statement to a question, more sloppy than Toge’s usual work. It’s almost like he’s decided, then remembers the reality of what happens tomorrow and ends up a few words too late to take it back. Part of Yuuta wants to tell him that he would abandon overseas study and stay in Japan forever if Toge so much as asked. The other part knows he can’t. Toge wouldn’t let him. The world wouldn’t. He’s the only current student special grade—he wouldn’t.

But at least for tonight, he’s still in Tokyo. The sky is dark, the moon is high, and he’s home. If he can keep one last bit of routine before this is all over, he will.

“We can,” Yuuta bumps his shoulder, tone light. “What movie did you have in mind, Inumaki-kun?”

Toge looks a bit unsure, but he signs the title anyway. “Drawing Closer.”

Yuuta’s brows perk up. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that before. What’s it about?”

Rather than answering him, Toge pushes back into his personal space, snatches the cups and keeps them in between his fingers. His hands are firm on Yuuta’s shoulders, guiding him toward the direction of their snack cabinet. “Okaka,” he says mid-maneuver. There’s a playful lilt to it. He’s telling him to find out.

“Fair enough,” Yuuta laughs. “I’ll get the snacks and meet you in your room then?”

“Shake,” Toge nods, and his warmth is gone instantly. Yuuta finds himself missing it before he can think the better of it. The second he realizes what the thought was, he slaps a hand against his cheek. He needs to focus on the snacks, not that. The faster he can pile their junk food into his arms, the faster he can get out of this stupid spiral.

God. His mind is a mess. Maybe mess doesn't even come close to that.

“Oi, Yuuta!” Well. At the very least, Maki is always a reliable mess-squasher. “What’re you up to?”

“Getting snacks for the watch-together with Inumaki-kun,” Yuuta answers, wriggling his fingers to the far back and pulling out a bag of nori shio chips. He leaves the spicy flavor in there in case Maki wants it. “Do you want to join us, Maki-san? I don’t think he would mind.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Maki walks over to the counter from where she was sprawling out with Panda on the couch. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt the lovebirds on their last day after all.”

“Eh?”

“What?” Maki scoffs at him. “You heard me.”

“I mean, yeah,” Yuuta’s ears are just about ten seconds from being blasted off by his own hands anyway, so maybe not for long. “But… lovebirds?”

“I may not be able to see curses but I sure as hell can see the way you tail after Toge.” She leans back to the counter. “It’s kinda pathetic, honestly.”

“Ah.”

“And it’s pretty obvious.”

Is it? Yuuta doesn’t think he was ever obvious about it. But then again, he doesn’t have the nicest track record when it comes to loving someone normally. Rika can definitely attest. “Am I?”

“Very,” she says squarely, then points at the reddish bag in the cabinet. “Pass me that.”

Yuuta complies. When she takes it out of his hand, there’s a loud crunch before the package rips open. 

“Y’know,” Maki starts.

“Um. Yes?”

“Toge likes you,” Maki announces casually. The tips of her slippers make a soft squeak as she turns for the top cabinet. “I don’t know if you noticed. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t.” The chips ruffle as she puts it down on the countertop, a cup harder than porcelain clunks down afterward. “But you two are weird about each other. Have been for a while.”

Yuuta’s hand pauses. Hovers awkwardly over an umaibo. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, glancing toward the hall of their dormitory. “I don’t know why I told you that. But it’s your last night today, and you’re going away tomorrow. The point is, I don’t want you to leave without doing something you’ll regret not doing later on.”

There’s an unreadable glint in her eyes when he looks over. It’s not something Yuuta’d seen in her before. Zen’in is a heavy name after all, the concept of leaving someone behind and unable to reconcile for it seems about in tow. The roof of his mouth stings, when he rests his tongue against it, he tastes salt.

“Okay,” Yuuta breathes. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Maki repeats, holding out a hand. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Yuuta snatches two more bars of umaibo, purple and white, and passes them into Maki’s palms as she pulls him up. “I’ll see you later.”

He feels her gaze on his back when he struts past the living room. A ripping sound follows alongside Panda’s loud chewing. If he strains himself enough, he’s certain Maki is being interrogated about her conversation with him while she snuffs Panda out on table manners. It’s about the perfect summary of his home.

“Do you think he’s actually going to do it?” Panda asks between bites.

“No,” Maki tilts down behind the headrest, watching as Yuuta’s t-shirt fades out of view. “I know he will.”

The thing is: Yuuta thought he was long over being anxious in front of Toge’s door.

The truth is: Most of the anxiousness only ebbed away because Yuuta thought he’d always have another night like this.

This must be what premature homesickness feels like. The feeling of missing and longing for something far, far away; except he’s technically still here. It’s not inherently a bad thing, if anything, it’s normal for human nature to dwell on what they had somewhere a distance apart. The only problem is Yuuta has never felt like this, ever. 

When he got plucked out of Sendai and thrown into Jujutsu High. He didn’t miss it one bit. Sendai didn’t—hadn’t felt like home for a while.

There are things he still misses. Like his parents and his sister. He misses the dinners they used to share at the table and the way his mother would always make him tea to help his insomnia. He misses his sister and the way he’d walk her to her school before going to his own, misses the events of her life he had once been in. 

He still has contact with them, sparsely. The important dates are on his phone, he still says Happy Birthday and Happy New Year when the time comes. But it’s not the same.

Here in this dormitory and the grassy training field and the dark wood of his classroom and the paths he skidded off with Toge more times than he can count. Here in his friends’ company and the inside jokes they’ve created over mere months. It all feels bigger than anything he ever had.

He might miss the normal life he once lived in Sendai. But he has a new one now, practically built it with his hands, and he’s leaving again.

It’s not fair.

The door swings open. 

In front of him stands Toge, slightly backlit by the bedside lamp he’d gotten in Shinjuku sometime after the whole Christmas ordeal. He looks just like back then too, if only a bit sturdier.

Yuuta remembers the aftermath like it was yesterday. None of them had wanted to sleep alone after everything so they all ended up piling into Toge's room for the week. After the first night, Toge went and bought the tiny bulb because he figured they should at least be able to navigate through four bodies instead of tripping over each other like dominos.

“Yuuta,” Toge frowns. “Konbu?”

All at once, Yuuta spurs back to life. 

“Konbu,” Yuuta says without a thought. Clarity only comes when he sees the way Toge’s brows raise up to his bangs in surprise. “I mean hi. Hi, Inumaki-kun.”

“Konbu,” Toge repeats, but the frown doesn’t lift. He points at Yuuta’s chest then brings his hand back into a circular shape. “Okay? You’ve been out of it today.”

Yuuta gives an awkward smile. “That bad?”

Toge nods slowly, eyes lowering to the snacks huddled in Yuuta’s hand. For a second, Yuuta believes that this is it. Toge is going to take back the offer because he’s worried Yuuta isn’t feeling good. He’s kind like that. And Yuuta will just dutifully agree despite the knot in his stomach because why would he deny Toge’s good will? That’s insane—the concept of denying Toge anything.

He’s all but practiced the words it’s okay, goodnight, see you later, a hundred times over in his head when a pair of hands suddenly shag him into the dim room.

“I– Inumaki-kun?”

“You’re thinking too loud,” Toge is quick to sign, kicking the door shut behind them. “Less thinking, more watching. It’s our last night.”

And well, Toge isn’t wrong. He should probably compartmentalize everything into a folder and open it when he’s midair to Kenya. Still, asking Okkotsu more nerves than sand Yuuta to stop thinking is basically the equivalent of asking the wind to stop blowing. Nearly impossible.

“Okaka, ikura,” Toge scoffs, clearly aware of what he’s thinking. He pulls out the chips in Yuuta’s arm and smacks it against his shoulder. “Mentaiko.”

“Oh,” Yuuta’s eyes flail away. “Right…” 

Toge’s posture softens. He throws the bag onto the bed, then moves his hands up to Yuuta’s eye level, guiding his sight. “Your trip is a big thing, so…” 

Toge’s hands pause, unsure. 

They had only started the sign language lessons a couple months ago. Online and on a whim. Neither of them are that great yet, but after using each other as practice dummies and inventing some home signs only they’d understand, they got better. Maybe not better for everyone, but at least for them. It’s yet another thing Yuuta is leaving behind. 

A blur of motions swish in between them. “It’s okay to feel weird about it,” the first bit says, “I don’t think any of us like it either.”

“But it’s different,” Yuuta murmurs, voice frail. “This is an opportunity that’s good for me. Shouldn’t I be more grateful?” His breath hitches, ”I want to get better and I want to protect you guys better– but being so far is– I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

He thought he'd gotten over this fright last week. It seemed so easy then, just a trip overseas to train him up. Nothing more nothing less. It seemed so far away back then, too. Twelve days is unfathomably plenty in a place where anything can happen within minutes or seconds.

“Takana,” Toge whispers.

“But it’s not okay, Inumaki-kun.”

“Tsuna?”

“Because– because I’m going to be gone from here and I don’t know when I’m coming back,” Yuuta says, working himself up. “And what if when I do come back, everything has already changed? I mean times pass and things change and that’s natural but then I’d just be—”

All lonely again.

“Yuuta,” Toge interrupts.

“Sorry.” Yuuta breathes in a sniffle. “That was a lot I– I didn’t mean to ruin the movie night mood. I’m sure you’ll all do great things while I’m gone, and I’ll be super glad things are going well because why wouldn’t they, right?” His lids wound up sucking the sting dry. “So… Please ignore that.”

Toge shakes his head.

“You being gone doesn’t mean you’re losing your place with us.” Even with the scarf on, Yuuta can still see the way Toge’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuta mumbles for what must be the trillionth time tonight. He’s growing sick of the phrase too, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Yuuta wonders if it’s the only thing that will ever make sense among everything.

It’s a horrible thought, he forces it to the back of his retinas and lays the snacks down on Toge’s plush bed.

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Yuuta smiles awkwardly. “I don’t really want to sour the mood anymore than it already is.”

But then Toge shoots him a look, and Yuuta immediately realizes they’re so talking about it. Which is fair. If this was reversed, Yuuta doubts he’ll let Toge off easy either. They both had a penchant for that anyhow.

“Okay,” Yuuta acquiesces shyly. “But I really don’t know where to start.”

Toge doesn’t give him a reply. Yuuta isn’t sure if it’s intentional, the way those purple eyes are boring into his, because it drags on for long enough that Yuuta eventually continues.

“I guess I just… don’t want to be left behind? Which I know is weird because I’m the one that’s technically leaving,” he fidgets, breaking contact. “Everything will be so different a continent away and I– I don’t know. Don’t know if I’m ready for it. Or anything else in that matter because I’m getting shipped off again before I can settle.”

The embarrassment hits Yuuta like a truck as the last bit spills out. The heels of his palms immediately find pressure flat against his eyes. He shouldn’t have said anything, like ever. 

“God, that’s such a dump. I’m sorry Inumaki-kun. We don’t have to watch the movie anymore if you’re not up for it.”

The scarf ruffles. “Okaka.” 

“No, seriously. I’ll be fine with it, I promise.”

From the darkness of his cover, Yuuta can’t really tell if it’s getting darker or brighter. All he knows is that one second, all he sees is void, and the next, he sees purple and a platinum blonde that’s basically silver. Yuuta thinks he might as well just die now and let it all be over rather than feeling the colors rising up his ears tenfold. They’re so close it feels sinful.

Mercifully enough, Toge’s hands back away to sign. “You’re not ruining the mood. It’s fine.”

“I– right,” Yuuta mumbles, then because of instincts: “Sorry.”

Toge rolls his eyes. Yuuta’s lips press small again.

“Yuuta,” Toge calls, falling flat on the bed. He pushes the snacks all the way to the wall and pats the empty space they leave. “Come.”

Yuuta skids closer to the sheets and plops down with barely a register in his head. Toge didn’t use cursed speech on him, but Yuuta doubts he would ever need to. There’s very little he wouldn’t do for Toge, it feels equal part scary and not. Maybe he’s just weird, but it's the second thing that feels true all night.

Toge’s laptop is already propped up near the foot of the bed. It’s paused on a black screen on some piracy site Yuuta has never been privy enough to ask. Most movies he watched were ones from their movie night, and Toge has never asked him to do the streaming so there was never a need to learn any. 

Now though, Yuuta can’t seem to suck up enough details.

“What’s the site called?” 

Toge glances over, more surprised than confused. “Just XX then a television suffix. Why?” A blink, eyes narrow. “If this is to shove down what you told me earlier, then it’s not working.”

“No!” Yuuta squawks, scandalized. “I just wanted to know. I swear.”

Toge’s eyes dub him suspiciously but otherwise, he doesn’t say much else. Yuuta smiles timidly, looking back at the screen. The circle spins once, twice, then on the third rotation, it fades into a bright blue sky.

There’s a boy on the screen, standing by the railings of some building overlooking the city. He has a phone gripped in his hand, a thread is opened. Yuuta’s eyes fly to the top post on the page. 

Is there an easy way to die?

Reply: Probably a tall building, I guess?

“Oh, wow,” Yuuta clears his throat, shifting a little on the bed. There’s an odd churn in his stomach that feels way closer to home than he’d like. “…That’s one crazy way to start a movie, don’t you think?”

Toge just shrugs, reaching over to his right and tossing Yuuta a box of pocky. The room is dark, Yuuta has to bend the front cover slightly toward the bright screen to make out the flavor. It's chocolate, his favorite. His face immediately lightens.

“Thank you, Inumaki-kun,” Yuuta mumbles. He rips the peeling open and splits the thin silver bag down by the middle. “Do you want some?”

Toge shakes his head and pulls out something from the pile, wiggling a green box at him. Yuuta strains his eyes, he doesn’t think he’s brought anything green and boxed, even most of the nori shio chips had yellow packaging unless— oh.

Toge has a matcha flavored pocky box in his hand. Obviously. How else could he have given Yuuta the chocolate one if he didn’t have some beforehand? Yuuta hadn’t brought in any at all, he doesn’t think they even have any in the cabinet. But they were already with Toge like a fate pre-written, like Yuuta was always meant to be here with him tonight.

Yuuta bites down on three pocky at once. He needs to get a grip. 

The screen transitions to a soft green, slightly blurry lens teeming with a dull glow. 

The sound of something dropping startles both Yuuta and the boy on screen. A bare flinch at best, he suppresses it with another chew and watches as he walks toward the trellises in the distance. There’s a girl sitting on the wooden bench under them, they look about the same age.

Nothing much happens at first, they exchange some artist talk Yuuta barely has half the mind to understand. Something about Faber-Castell pencils and Chagall. The only thing Yuuta remotely recognizes out of the whole thing was the name Van Gogh, which isn’t really impressive, that’s basically standard knowledge.

Truth be told, Yuuta hadn’t been the most creative kid around even back when he was enrolled in normal schooling. He was an average student, maybe slightly above, but he has always preferred physical activities over arts most of the time. Then everything changed, and he hadn’t preferred anything since.

The movie glows slightly on the hospital sign, then resettles under the shade of the vines. Kinki University Hospital, it reads.

Okay, Yuuta’s pretty confident where this is going. Toge hasn’t revealed anything yet, and he doubts he will. But putting one plus one together: a boy who had just thought to die, a girl who had just revealed she’s terminally ill with only six months left to live, and a general theme of art. The rest seems pretty self-explanatory.

The scene switches, dimly lit room and messy art supplies greets him. Akito, Yuuta learns, is the boy’s name. He’s lying on his side, cheek pressed against the pillow. There’s another post he’s typing out.

“What would you do if you found out you were going to die?” Sent.

I don’t know, Yuuta thinks dully. Isn’t death technically the ending for us all?

If this were months ago, before he’d been taken in by Gojo-sensei, Yuuta would probably consider it a relief. He’d finally be able to lay himself and Rika to rest, and nobody would be hurt from his whims again. Okkotsu Yuuta might be no more, but at least Orimoto Rika wouldn’t be chained to him either, she’d be free.

It’s hard to see Toge’s in the dark—perhaps a little odd to seek him out during this—but he risks a glance anyway. Toge is already meeting his gaze when he does.

Yuuta inhales, darting between the motions on the screen and the soft lashes of Toge’s eyes under the low light. “Oh, um. Sorry, Inumaki-kun, did I distract you?”

Toge shakes his head. He waves a stick of pocky toward the direction of the movie, as if telling him to focus up. Yuuta’s body u-turns instantly.

“I promise I’m paying attention,” he says, embarrassed.

The second the colors fade out into an intro, though, Yuuta’s eyes fly back toward Toge again like a moth to flame. This time, Toge’s full attention isn’t there to greet him, he gets only the side of his face, still munching on the matcha part of the biscuit. The title screen gleams, and with it Yuuta can see a bit of cream by the side of Toge’s lips. It must’ve melted over when they were locked into a stare earlier.

“Inumaki-kun?” Yuuta calls just as the final drop of the music fades, Toge turns. “There’s something on the side of your lips. It’s like,” Yuuta points at his own face, “over here.”

Toge reaches up and Yuuta realizes too late that when they’re facing each other, Toge’s left is his right. 

“Sorry, I mean over here,” he points again. Toge nods, then misses completely.

Something about that is almost funny enough for Yuuta to keep them in an endless loop of here’s and there’s, but they still have a movie to watch and morning to catch. So instead, Yuuta raises his hand up and swipes his thumb over the green streak, tilting Toge’s head toward the light of the on-screen sketchbook to make sure everything is off.

For a moment, it all seems fine. Then a brush of pink lightly dusts over Toge’s face and Yuuta practically launches himself backward, flinging the culprit arm away like it’s the tip of a burning incense. 

“I’m sorry, Inumaki-kun!” Yuuta shrieks, ears going aflame. “I didn’t mean to do that! I mean I did but it wasn’t– I wasn’t– I didn’t mean to do that without asking you first, I swear. I thought it’d be funny if I just let you keep struggling and then I remembered maybe that wasn’t the best idea so I just reached over and…”

Thud. The packaging of Yuuta’s pocky lands pitifully on the floor. It’s not the actual snack bag so there isn't a mess, but that also means Yuuta can’t excuse himself and run off.

Sensei, he thinks miserably, You should’ve gone with the execution months ago.

Toge looks away to pull his scarf up higher, all the way past his nose, and leaves it there. The sight would be hilarious if Yuuta isn’t actively burning through the last heap of his dignity files. 

“If you were going to do that,”  Toge signs. “Then at least call me by my name when you apologize."

Whatever that’s left of Yuuta’s dignity has just been doused in gasoline and tossed straight into a running fire.

“What do you mean, Inumaki-kun?” The blush on Yuuta’s cheeks deepens. “Did I not do that?”

“Toge,” echoes the sign, his face is a matching mess with Yuuta’s own.

“I don’t know. Is that not too—” Toge shakes his head, still bunched away. Yuuta looks vacantly at the sight, before his eyes land on the abandoned bag of matcha pocky. Slowly, he exhales.

He can do this. It’s fine. He calls the rest of their class by their given names anyway, so surely he can do the same now. Though considering Maki despises her family name and Panda doesn’t even have a technical family name, Yuuta doubts those are on the same level. But it’s fine. It’s fine. 

Ducking his head to the pale wall by the headboard, Yuuta swallows the remnants of ashes. 

“…Toge-kun,” a mumble, voice thin. “I’m sorry.” 

For more than just the pocky thing.

“Yuuta,” Toge whispers. “It’s okay, I was joking. You didn’t need to do that or apologize again.”

“You don’t understand,” Yuuta argues. “I’ve been—”

Toge’s eyes level him, more curious than they are flustered. Yuuta swallows and drops his head down. It’s a pathetic looking gesture, as shameful and saddened as a scolded puppy, and as fitting for what next leaves his mouth.

“I’ve been referring and thinking of you in my head as Toge for months.”

When nothing answers him for several seconds, Yuuta dunks his head straight down to the mattress. 

“You can scowl at me if you want. Or like ignore me. Or like anything else for that matter,” Yuuta splutters, “I know that's like super weird, so I won’t blame you at all.”

The worst part is he knows Toge wouldn’t do any of that. He’s always so kind and considerate to everyone, to him especially. Yuuta doesn’t think there’d even be a single time in this lifetime—or the next—where Toge would deliberate those decisions. They’re not even anywhere near his mind, Yuuta bemoans, because he’s nice like that. Sometimes he wishes Toge wasn’t so merciful.

Multiple seconds continue to tick by with nothing to show. The movie is still playing in the background, low music and a conversation about how no one can ever know what the right or wrong answer resounds in his ears. With Toge staying as static as a flatline, Yuuta doesn’t long for either, he just wants an answer. 

If there’s something out there, it manages to hear his wish.

A hand lands on his head, even against his hair. For a second, Yuuta believes he’d totally be okay if Toge goes ahead and whacks him up the way he knocks him down during sparring practices. It’d be more than understandable, he deserves it. But nothing comes.

Instead, there’s a strange pressure on his head, like a brush carding down the mess of his hair. It feels so unbelievably soft and comfortable that Yuuta almost forgets about the strain on his neck from stiffly headbutting into the sheets.

“Yuuta,” Toge calls, not stopping his hand. “Takana.”

Against his own mind protesting, Yuuta tilts his head up. Violet eyes meet his immediately, and there’s nothing close to judgement or disdain in them. He hates how relieving and humiliating it feels, one because Toge isn’t weirded out by him, the other because Yuuta doubts he would ever be put off by him. Why is Toge so forgiving?

“Are you sure?” Yuuta clutches on the edge of the blanket, squeezes tight. “You can still hit me if it’s not.”

A dramatic eye roll answers his antsy rambling. Toge’s hand is rooted in his hair still, gentle as ever despite his spat. He gestures at Yuuta, then at the movie, angling his head like a question.

“We can keep watching,” Yuuta assures, albeit sheepishly. “I’m sorry for making this movie night so difficult.”

“Takana,” Toge repeats, retracting his hand and poking his finger toward the rewind button. A whole notion that Yuuta nearly misses because his brain has half the mind to yearn about the lost warmth rather than what he’s supposed to be doing at hand. Tonight feels like a grand bully and Yuuta is back to the hall of junior high again, being taunted for anything and everything.

Yuuta shakes his head frantically. Shoves the rest of the memory away. “It’s fine,” he says, “I’ve been listening in throughout this whole mess, funny enough. Ha.”

Toge acknowledges him with a nod and moves away from the trackpad, picking up where he left off with the pocky. Yuuta attempts to do the same, but his appetite has already dried up. He lasts about eight more sticks in before quietly tucking the ninth back inside the silver bag. If Toge notices, he doesn’t say, just passes Yuuta his ceramic cup from somewhere beside him. It’s already filled with chamomile tea—the good night rest remedy he left behind in Sendai.

“Thank you,” Yuuta takes a sip, letting the floral sweetness coat his tongue. “It’s really good… um, Toge-kun. You didn’t have to.”

Toge shrugs, lighthearted but also a bit uncaring, like he’s saying sure he didn’t have to, but he wanted to, and then leaves it as that. Yuuta doesn’t feel like challenging him.

The chamomile tea washes the thick chocolate and biscuit residue bundling in his throat away, goes down the stream and into his stomach, settling like the hearth of a bonfire deep in his guts. A way lighter aftertaste and a better smoothness on his tongue, when Yuuta takes another sip, the startup music rings again.

“What would you do if you found out you were dying?” Akito echoes.

Sorcery is a ticking time bomb at last, there’s only so much he can do and so much time he can have before everything goes sideways. Maybe his time is as infinite as it is finite, maybe everything is as limited as it is not. Death is always the ending. But, for a little while until then, Yuuta thinks he wants to try again.

Maki’s words resound in his ears like crackling dry wood: “I don't want you to leave without doing something you’ll regret not doing later on.”

And who is Yuuta if not a mosaic of all his closest people’s advice and patience? Who is he if not someone who wants to stop mourning the misses in his life? He wants to live a little more, wants to have a little, a lot. He wants the tiny things, the mundane the not, over and over; wants something he can hold safely, sacredly. He wants to start anew.

“Toge-kun,” Yuuta says aloud, keeping his hands on the ridges of his mug and voice stable with it. “Have you ever loved someone?”

Everything stays quiet a few seconds longer, muffled dialogue plays out in the background as colored petals come on screen. Yuuta lets the chamomile wisps between them, watching the slow turn of Toge’s head. When their eyes meet, he offers him a meek smile, just short enough to hear a faint “Shake” coming out of Toge’s lips.

Yuuta looks down at the swirling liquid and finds himself staring right back. What are you waiting for? The reflection seems to say.

He lowers his hands slightly, letting the warm ceramic sit in the middle of his legs. “Me too. I think you already know that, though,” Yuuta amends softly. “I love Rika, that much hasn’t changed, because I don’t think I’d ever stop loving her. But that kind of love is different, you know?” The necklace gleams like a reminder, he reaches out to brush it once. “I love her, but I love everyone else, too. I love Maki-san and Panda-kun, even if they get on my case a lot. And I love Gojo-sensei, even if he is in my case a lot.”

Yuuta traces the messy lines of his cup. The first ever thing he's poured some kind of love into before he’d even known what it meant. He holds onto it as evenly as he can, lets it rest in his palm like how a kiln keeps steady.

“I guess what I’m getting to is that, um,” Yuuta looks up, sheepish, “I think I love you,” a small stop, reigniting the kindle, as he lets the foreign words seep back once more. “I think I love you a lot. And I think it’s different from everyone else’s.”

“I know what kind of work we do and what sort of lives we lead, but I don’t want to regret anything anymore.” Has Toge’s marks always been this out in the open? Where did the cover go?  “...So, is that– okay? With you?”

Toge’s response arrives soft—a mix of sweet matcha and crisp chamomile—and a pair of lips pressing against Yuuta’s own.

It starts gentle, tentative little touches against each other as they test out the newness of everything. Then they part, and Yuuta reaches over to put the ceramic by the nightstand. Toge’s arms wrap around his shoulders the instant he pulls back, lips immediately colliding again.

Something about their inexperience makes Yuuta feel a little giddy, despite the awkward clashes where they’d breathe into each other’s noses and ticklishly wriggle away. It feels nice, learning how to do this, being able to do this. When the morning light hits tomorrow, he will miss this, will keep missing it the day after, and the day after that. But it’s okay, he will take his time, hold the memory close, and he will let it pass until everything is his once more.

After a minute, Toge draws back to breathe. Yuuta’s hand stays by the small of his back, equally abashed himself.

“Toge-kun,” Yuuta whispers as he traces the curve of Toge’s spine. “Would it be stupid if I were to ask if that’s a yes?”

“Shake,” Toge says simply before leaning in, marking another kiss as his again. 

For a while, that’s all they do. Relishing in each other’s embrace and leaving kisses like stamps on each other’s mouth, cheek, everywhere. Everything moves languidly, time feels distant, faraway, like a concept yet to be discovered. The moon sits high on her throne, bestowing just enough light on their bodies when Yuuta hazily opens his eyes. He can see his reflection in Toge’s pupils, and this time, it seems more at ease. He’s been waiting for this just as much as Toge has.

All he gets in response is a smile back, took you long enough.

Only when the movie starts making exaggerated yelling noises for some stage play that they both retreat for good. Yuuta spares a peek at the screen and another glance at the snacks splayed out around them.

“We should probably finish it,” Yuuta comments, “I’d hate to leave before we do.”

Toge dips his head in agreement before turning back around, his back still pressed flush against Yuuta’s chest. It’s closer than they’d ever been before. Longer, too. But Yuuta doesn’t feel the hesitation or clamminess that used to plague his mind anymore. Whether or not he should revel in this has already been answered for him in more ways than one.

In the dark, Yuuta feels the rise of Toge’s smile settle against his own lips, and decides that he’s waited for long enough.

There’s a story Yuuta’s mother used to tell on nights where sleep eluded him. 

It was set in the Mino Province, a legend about a kitsune and a human who married each other under a starlit summer night. Words say the human had been searching for a betrothed for many moons and tides until that one fateful day came along, where a shadowed figure showed up on their walk across a vast moor.

For most of their next few meetings, they simply talked and bonded over all earthly things, until eventually, those conversations grew more heartfelt, and their feelings intertwined into one. 

The kitsune had assumed human form for most of its time around the human, but never once did it forget its root as a supernatural. On waning nights, it wondered how the human would react if they were to find out. Would they hate it? Would they forsake it? What would be of their bond if not for the disguise they believed it to be?

The earth had always been ephemeral for mortals. Its human will return to the soil one day while it continues through the wafts of life. The kitsune may dedicate its years to study collections and anthologies, breaking down sentences into words, words into characters, and characters into strokes; but even with an eternity bestowed at its feet and an endless miscellany at its disposal, it could never truly comprehend the meaning of humanity. 

Because what did it mean to be human for a kitsune? What did it mean to feel?

And what did it mean—for a supernatural to love?

Out of the belief that the human deserved someone who can truly match the beauty and sorrows of mortality, the kitsune resigned itself into secrecy. Even as the moon phased through her cycles and the night of their marriage came along, it kept its mouth shut as promises wrung out.

That was how the two flowed through life for the longest time. The kitsune never stayed too far but also never too close, and the human never dared to push.

One day, while the human was away, their house got attacked by stray wolves, and the kitsune had to shed its earthly form to defend its home. Before it could transform back into its disguise, however, the human arrived home. And there was nothing the kitsune could do but flee as they caught a glimpse of its tails.

Leaving with nothing but the ring dangling between its neck, it dived into the forest and vowed to never return. 

It had taken advantage of their love. It had used their kindness to fair its own whims. It could never give the human what they deserve. The human was kind, far nicer than anything the kitsune had ever known, and it did not want to be the one thing that tainted their kindness because it had been selfish. So it ran and ran, deep into the tree lines, deserting everything.

The first night it spent away from the warmth of its lover and the gentle caress of their touch, it felt lonely more than ever before. But then, it heard a sound, a melody, inching closer and closer. Curiosity bewitched it. The kitsune followed the sweet sound until it realized it was only enticed because that was its human’s voice. 

Its lover rarely spoke, most of their conversations were held on ink and paper and gestures only the two of them knew. And they were now nearby, calling for its name over and over again—calling for it to come home, come back, slow down—let’s rest.

Reluctantly, it showed itself again and the human showed no malice. Maybe the human had known all along, or maybe they hadn’t. Or maybe, the only thing truly holding the kitsune back was its own reluctance that neither had tried to pry.

Kit-sune, the human said again warmly, lit by their house’s handwoven lantern, red and orange like the lights it had always known back home. Come and sleep.

And it walked back into their embrace. Fell asleep then, and again, every night. Until the earth grew old and the ring mellowed, until nature overtook the land, tree groves growing, always side by side with its lover. 

Ki-tsune, it had answered. Always come. 

Yuuta wakes up at the tailend of the movie.

The scenery seems about the same, and Yuuta can hazily remember the last few bits before he’d fallen asleep. Sometime during when Akito was furiously splashing colors onto a bare canvas and him reacting to an acceptance email not too long after, he thinks, Toge is still in his arms though, so maybe not that long.

Yuuta’s head tilts up slightly, and somehow, that seems to be the answer to his question. Toge’s voice chiming up. “Konbu.”

“Hi, Inu– Toge-kun,” he adjusts his grip around Toge’s torso, pulling him in closer. “Was I out for long?”

“Okaka,” Toge replies. His hand ventures to the trackpad and swipes across it once on the timestamps. Only about three minutes, the gesture seems to say. Yuuta is as surprised as he is not. He figures the staying asleep issue wouldn’t magically fix itself within a night, but the slipping into that territory first has just started anyhow.

“The movie’s really nice,” Yuuta files the thought away in the locket of his heart. “I know I fell asleep for a bit but– it really is.”

Toge nods his head gently, the back of it tickling Yuuta’s shirt. There’s something sort of affectionate about it, or maybe Yuuta is just giddy about this whole thing.

“Can I ask why you chose this movie?” Toge’s head only shakes in response, Yuuta’s voice droops. “Please?”

His chest gets a rough full body wiggle from Toge and he sighs, leaving it as that. Yuuta thinks he knows why though, the movie has been shouting it in his face the entire time.

Akito and Haruna’s lives are fixed within numbers, the kind of twisted fate that pervades illnesses like an hourglass’s sand. Sorcery is inherently different, but the lives that are integrated into it are just another ticking bomb waiting to go off. There may not be enough time. There may never be enough time. But the few certain bits they were given are still theirs, big or small as they get. Theirs to mold and theirs to hold. They’re theirs to keep until everything feels certain again, even if briefly.

He may not have forever, but he’s here for now. For tonight, he’s here in Tokyo and is wrapped in the dormitory’s old wood. There’s a room with his name at the end of the hall. And for tomorrow, he will be gone, and the room will stay along with his place next to his people’s cups. And it will be okay. 

He has laughed and cried and smiled and done so much in these four walls for a lifetime already, enough to then grip them close to his heart with his two hands like an offering far up the skylight, let them soar with him some eleven thousand kilometers away until he’s ready to return again.

Yuuta is loved, Yuuta wants to love.

And he knows he can love again today.

When data comes back on Yuuta’s phone hours later, deep in the bustling city of Kenya, there’s two new messages on his phone.

Toge (1:24 AM): 

[3Gerberas.jpeg]

assuming you didn’t fall asleep during this part, i’m gonna choose to believe you know what these three gerberas means

Yuuta (1:37 AM):

(Yuuta reacted “♡” to an image)

I love you too :)!