Chapter Text
Today was the first day of the rest of his life.
Sure, it sounded like a cliché. Usually, Chuuya would agree. But this time… it was true. Now that he was finally old enough to leave the nest —His brother said as much—, and Paul had, at last, accepted the offer to go live in France with his soon-to-be-husband, Chuuya was finally left to live on his own.
Well, not exactly. He still had to share the apartment with Albatross. But that was his best friend, and as annoying as he usually was, there was no one else he’d rather live with.
The move was already complete; the house where they used to live, the one they shared with their parents —when they were alive, that is—, was now completely empty. Chuuya didn’t remember much about it, since he was quite young when they passed away, but thankfully, most of his memories were good ones. Like how his dad would pick him up and throw him in the air—Chuuya had always liked adrenaline, even as a little kid—and how he would laugh and ask his dad to do it again.
He smiled, thinking about the old times.
He had a thing for melancholy. It wasn’t that he liked being sad, or liked to cry, for that matter. But he enjoyed revisiting memories in his head. He used to feel wrapped up in them, like they were the warmest of hugs. Of course, that only applied to when the melancholy didn’t hit in the wrong way. Another case scenario, Chuuya would only reappraise how disconnected he was from other people, how hard it was for him to make real connections.
It’s not that Chuuya didn’t have friends, or people that cared about him. It’s just that making meaningful connections somehow seemed harder every time he tried. They didn’t matter, after all. Verlaine told him —many times— family is the only important thing Chuuya had.
“Chuuya. Chuuya. Chuuya,” he heard the echo of a voice calling to him, repeatedly, annoyingly even. “Hello? Is anyone there?” the voice asked again.
“Sorry, what?” He turned around, awaking from the self-dialogue going on inside his head. Albatross was standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, as if expecting an explanation for the lack of attention he was getting.
“I’ve been trying to get you to acknowledge me for way longer than I’d like to admit,” he sighed. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going out. Lipp invited me over for drinks. He said he told you about it, but you said you were busy.” The last part came out more like a question than a statement. Chuuya understood why Albatross might be confused. College hadn’t started yet, and apart from The Flags, there weren’t many people the redhead would hang out with.
“Yes, I told Lipp I couldn’t make it. I want to mentally prepare for Monday.”
“You do realize this is the last Friday we have before college starts, right?” Albatross said, as if he couldn’t believe what was coming out of his best friend’s mouth. “We have to do something to commemorate the occasion!” He gestured grandly, as if the fate of the world rested on... going out and drinking. “You have all weekend to get ‘mentally prepared’ and shit.”
“But I was really looking forward to watching tv and eating ramen. And—”
“Also,” Albatross cut in, “not to manipulate your feelings or anything, but you know the rest of the gang’s way too busy to hang out anymore. This is the first time we’ve seen each other in, what, three weeks?” He raised a brow. “But, y’know. I’m just saying…”
“Fine,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes but ultimately giving in. “You go ahead, and I’ll catch up when you guys get to the bar. And by the way, that was totally manipulative.” Ironic, he should know.
Albatross let out a laugh. “See you there, bestie. You better show up” he crooned, heading for the door.
“If I don’t show up, I’m sure you’d never let me hear the last of it!” Chuuya shouted, loud enough for his best friend to hear, with a smirk.
When Albatross finally left, content with how the conversation ended, Chuuya went back to sorting his stuff. Melancholy aside, he was damn happy to be in college.
***
“Yes, Fukuzawa-san, everything’s fine,” Dazai said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice, even though he tried to hide it. He had said this exact thing so many times before. His former stepfather was a great guy, but he was always worried about Dazai living alone. “I swear, I’ll be fine. So try to worry a little less, yeah?”
When he finally hung up the phone, he sighed, grateful for the silence that came with being on his own. Too much silence could be harmful, but at this point, it wasn’t something he was concerned about.
It had been a few years since he’d moved in with Yukichi Fukuzawa, changed schools, and had his entire life flipped upside down. It all happened back then when he was 16 years old, and his sorry excuse of a father lost the custody battle. But he was more than grateful to Fukuzawa for everything he had done for him over the last years. He never said it aloud, but it was safe to say that he had saved his life.
Now here he was: Dazai Osamu, officially a college student, soon to master the arts of engineering. He smiled to himself. He had never, not once in his life, thought he’d make it this far.
He needed to celebrate.
“Odasaku, let's go out!” he shouted through the phone, a grin decorating his face.
***
A few hours later, there they were —Chuuya and The Flags—, sitting around, drinking what Iceman would say was “more glitter than alcohol”. Even if he was the first to complain about it, though, he would always drink a damn cocktail. Chuuya would always laugh at him, in his head of course, ‘cause you do not wanna upset Iceman.
“I actually can’t believe you guys are old enough to drink now. I miss the times when Albatross would sip out from my drink while thinking I didn't notice,” Lippmann spoke, his face beaming at the memory.
The Flags had been Chuuya’s friends since he was sixteen, back when he’d first been left alone without his best — and only — friend in the world. Chuuya respected the fact that they were so different from the rest of the people he knew, and somehow, it’s how it clicked that they could become close.
Piano Man, the one who brought them all together, had always been unusually mature for his age — he could pass as an adult even back then. Lippmann was the funny, thoughtful one, always there when you needed reassurance. The kind of friend you go to when the world feels heavy , Chuuya would say.
Even if Iceman was colder —hence the name—, he was a good friend, in his own way. Doc… was just plain weird, but always fun to be around, never too much to become annoying. And Albatross, well, that’s his best friend, through and through.
Even know, when they couldn't see each other as much because of how busy their lives had become, they always made time to meet like this, keeping contact. They were real friends.
“Huh? So you knew all this time?” Albatross asked, the revelation was eye-opening to him, literally, but everyone else just laughed.
“So, Chuuya, your brother finally left for France, right?” Piano Man chimed in.
“Yeah, he left a few days ago, actually. Albatross and I saw him off.”
“I was only there because Paul is hot as shit,” Albatross admitted a truth that everybody was conscious of, against their will.
“So now you’re an independent little boy,” Lip smiled, patting Chuuya’s shoulder.
He was, kind of, if you considered living off his inheritance as “independent.” But still, Chuuya had to give himself some credit. Being on his own after being sooo close to his brother was a big step, one he was really proud of.
Albatross said he would get the next round; it was actually an excuse to buy whatever he wanted to drink, which, in this case, meant tequila shots. But before anyone could stop him, he was already ordering the shots from the bartender.
Their faces grimaced. Chuuya looked in Albatross' direction, trying to signal him to stop requesting shots, and to maybe ask for beers or even mojitos. However, instead of locking eyes with his friend’s signature sunglasses —the ones he wore every single day, even when there was not even a speck of sunlight— he saw another face, one that was very familiar, but that he hadn’t seen for years.
Still, he could recognize those brown curls everywhere.
“Dazai?” He murmured. His friend’s faces all turned to look at him. They had heard stories of Chuuya’s friend, the one that left before they even knew him.
Chuuya wanted to look away —to disappear before he could be seen, too—, and just pretend like he wasn’t there. Nonetheless, he wasn’t known for his good luck. Brown eyes were now looking at him, wide open, just as surprised.
“Shit,” this time, when he muttered, he did it while turning over to his friends’ and trying to hide his head by putting his hoodie up.
“Why are you hiding?” Piano Man wondered. “I thought you used to be friends.”
“Used to being the key-word right now,” he answered, quietly.
“Chibi!” He heard an irritating voice behind him, and sighed. “I thought that was you,” as always, he spoke like he was teasing him. Like, his voice almost sounded endearing, like he cared. How annoying.
“Chibi?” Piano Man repeated, eyebrow raised. Everyone else at the table was just shocked by the nickname and the fact that Chuuya didn’t immediately rip the man’s throat out for calling him names.
“Oi, Dazai, stop calling me that, damn it!” Chuuya pulled his hoodie off and stared up at the taller boy, his frown deepening. “Call me that again and I'll strangle you.”
“Very kinky of you, but no thanks,” he responded. The banter was just as it was when they were younger, before he moved and they stopped talking at all.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were living in Tokyo now.”
“Mhm, I see Chuuya’s been keeping tabs on my whereabouts. How kind of you!” Dazai smiled, though it was more of a teasing smirk than anything else. “But actually, I recently moved back to Yokohama for college. I start on Monday.”
“I do not keep tabs on you or any shit like that, you vagabond. That’s just what I heard. God, you’re so much more annoying than I remember,” which, for Dazai’s understanding, meant Chuuya had missed him.
“Well, you’re just as I remember, too,” he smiled. I missed you too.
Four words he would not dare utter in front of Chuuya, or any of his friends for that matter.
“Anyway, sorry to cut the reunion short, but I’m here with my friend celebrating our last days of freedom, so I have to go back,” he stated to the redhead, turning around and moving his hand as a way to wave goodbye. “I guess I’ll see you around, maybe.”
Once he left, Chuuya just sat there, stunned. Dazai was back, but he hadn’t even bothered to ask for Chuuya’s new number, or even suggest catching up. No attempt to reconnect. Asshole.
Whatever, he thought, he was always a pain in the ass.
***
Oh my god.
Oh, my god. Dazai kept repeating in his head. The fuck was that? “See you around, maybe?”
He was an idiot. No, scratch that—he was a stupid idiot. Just one negative adjective could not be enough to describe himself after whatever it was he blabbed out back there.
But, wow. Chuuya had friends now. A lot of friends. He probably didn’t even miss Dazai. Yeah, with that in mind, it was a good thing he ran away as soon as he had the chance. It was obvious, Chuuya wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. Not after he left.
“What's up? You look like you’d seen a ghost,” Odasaku spoke to him, but Dazai thought he’d rather not speak again, if he was gonna say stupid shit like what he just said to Chuuya. “Dazai?” he insisted.
“Sorry,” Dazai muttered, shaking himself out of his spiral. “It’s nothing. I just ran into an old friend. You remember that Chuuya guy I told you about? The redhead. The short one?”
“Oh yes, your high-school crush.”
“Shush, Odasaku!” Dazai hissed. “You can’t just say stuff like that in public! What if someone hears? They’ll know that I, handsome and brilliant Osamu Dazai, once had a crush on sluggy, short, stupid Chuuya Nakahara.”
“You’re being so dramatic right now.”
“Well, that’s because this is a serious matter!” He exclaimed, clutching his chest with exaggerated flair.
“So, did you guys catch up? You hadn’t seen each other in, what, two or three years?” Odasaku asked, his voice casual. For him, Dazai’s reactions were nothing new. More than that, he was used to them. So, he just kept the conversation going as if everything Dazai was doing or saying was perfectly normal.
“That’s the thing, you see…” He started explaining. “I actually just left, told him I had a friend waiting. Ended the conversation there.”
“Oh, so you don’t want to talk to him again?”
“Focus, Odasaku! Of course I want to, the guy’s my crush!”
“Then why didn’t you–”
“Because,” he started explaining, “Chuuya is too short to be my friend,” he sighed “and he’s also annoying and-”
“And you got nervous. Got it,” he laughed it off, as if anyone else could gather that from the way Dazai was speaking of Chuuya. “Just go back and ask for his number.”
“Nuh-huh. No can do. That’s embarrassing, and also, I don't ask for people’s numbers, you see. I get asked out.”
“Well, that’s very mature of you,” Oda said, dripping with sarcasm.
“I know, right?” Dazai grinned.
***
Monday morning, Chuuya was ready for whatever that day had in store. He was wearing his cutest clothes, because, you know, he had to leave a good impression. Albatross laughed at him, called him a try-hard —however, Chuuya would not take advice from someone whose first day outfit was a plain white shirt and Hawaiian shorts—, but he didn’t care because, let’s be honest, he looked good.
Both of them walked to the campus together, and thankfully for them that day, their classes were in adjacent classrooms. When they arrived, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.
Thanks to Chuuya and his fundamental need to get there early, he was one of the first people in the room. That was great, since that way he’d have time to look for a place to settle, leave his stuff, and also, if he had the chance, meet some of the other people who were taking that class as well.
He actually didn’t speak to anyone during that course of time. But he did catch a glance of the people that came in. A few caught his eye. Mostly, a boy with dark purplish hair. He looked smart. Maybe he would team up with him if they had to do lab work.
As soon as the class started and the professor came in, everyone was positioned on their seats and the classroom went quiet. The teacher started writing on the blackboard:
“ Theater Arts 101 ”.
Huh, isn’t that the class Albatross had today?
A guy seated a few seats ahead of him raised his hand, and after a few seconds, he spoke:
“Sorry, sir, but I think you’ve got the wrong class. This is supposed to be engineering,” he clearly stated.
That voice.
Chuuya’s stomach dropped.
He knew that voice. He had several sleepovers with that person, and enjoyed long lunches with him. It was Dazai speaking.
How could Dazai be—?
Then it clicked.
“I start on Monday,” he had said.
Oh.
Osamu Dazai was one of his classmates.
Of course that shitty, vagabond-looking asshole would take the same major he did. Of course he would study at the same university.
Chuuya grumbled in disbelief. After leaving Yokohama —and that, Chuuya didn’t even mind; he knew it was related to a family matter— Dazai had the nerve to just cut the conversation short when they finally ran into each other again. Now here they are, in the same classroom.
Yeah, Chuuya had horrible luck.
The professor’s face got crimson red as soon as he noticed he was, indeed, at the wrong place. He apologized, took his things and rapidly left. Soon, the actual teacher of “Introduction to Engineering” entered, his face wearing a confused frown as the students kept on laughing about the previous incident.
When Kunikida-sensei started explaining the contents for the semester everyone had already quieted down and gotten to taking notes. However, Chuuya’s mind was somewhere else. Did Dazai know they shared this class, even more so, a major?
Also, why would Dazai be that unenthusiastic to see him again? Had he forgotten already how close they used to be? Chuuya was damn pissed about it, because what the fuck? They were best friends, for fucks sake. Dazai was the only one who knew why Chuuya stopped talking every year when that date came around.
He felt like he had a right to ask him about it, to get actual answers. And that, he would.
***
The class had started off funny, something Dazai was grateful for, since he knew the rest of it —and of the semester— would be extremely boring. His chin rested on both hands. As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop his expression from twisting with quiet desperation and yearning for the end of class to come. He spent the whole time in class just daydreaming. About college, about going out to places in Yokohama with Oda, and… about a certain redhead he had met once again, at the bar. Additionally, he kept thinking about how badly he’d fucked up.
Eventually, as the lecture came to an end and they were all free to leave, Dazai felt his hair rise up in the back of his neck; the feeling of being observed, he thought. He didn’t turn around quickly enough, since the one and only Chuuya Nakahara was already there, inspecting him with a frowned look and crossed arms.
He tried for casual. “Hey,” he said — while his insides screamed.
What is Chibi doing here? is what he really thought.
“What the fuck was that the other day?” The redhead confronted him straight up. He was never a guy to waste time in frivolous chats without an intent. That’s Chuuya Nakahara for you.
“Hm? I wish I knew what you mean.”
The short one scoffed. “Don’t play stupid with me. At the bar—we barely talked. Even if it’s been years, I still think of you as—” He stopped short, visibly frustrated.
Dazai raised an eyebrow, but the playful smirk didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Sorry, Chibi. Were you expecting a kiss and a hug?”
“You know what? Forget it.”
He turned and stormed off, the grasp on his bag tight. Chuuya was never good at talking about feelings. He and Dazai had that in common, unfortunately
The brown haired boy hesitated. He really hadn’t expected him to still care that much. But maybe… maybe that meant something.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he was already moving — chasing his (former?) friend down the hallway.
“Chibi, wait up,” he called, jogging after him.
Chuuya slowed, but didn’t turn.
“I’m sorry,” Dazai said quietly. “I get what you meant. I just… didn’t know if we were still friends. It’s been a long time.”
“That’s a shitty excuse, and you know it,” Chuuya snapped—but there was less heat behind it. “Did you know we were taking the same major?”
Dazai shook his head, the ghost of a smile returning. “I had no idea. But what are the odds?”
He paused. He could say something cheesy. Soulmates. Red threads. How they were fated to- Hm. He thought about it. Chuuya would get embarrassed, for sure. Most of all given their history together.
Even now, with Chuuya looking directly into his eyes, Dazai had the feeling that the redhead knew something about him that the rest didn’t . A piece of information only he could gather. Did he know what he was thinking? The thought alone was scary, because if Chuuya knew the things Dazai had going around inside his head—
***
“Ah, Nakahara!” Someone shouted. A blonde guy wearing sunglasses and an awful outfit. “Exactly who I was hoping to bump into.”
“We live together, Albatross.”
“Yeah, funny life, huh.” He grinned, and continued without even peeking at Dazai. “Anyway, heads up—we’re going to a party next weekend. Art kids. Off-campus. You’re coming.”
“That sounds like your thing,” Chuuya muttered. “I’ll pass.”
“Thought you’d say that,” Albatross said, already ignoring him. “But there will be wine. A lot of wine. Apparently, art majors think they’re in a French film or something. Honestly, you might love it. It’ll remind you of your brother or whatever. Oh—hey, bar guy.”
“Bar guy?” Dazai scoffed. Finally, acknowledgement. He looked Albatross up and down, taking in the sunglasses, the confident grin, the arm still on Chuuya’s shoulder . Why was he touching Chuuya? And they lived together?
His jaw tensed before he even realized it.
“Well, yeah. You’re the old friend Chuuya encountered at the bar, right?” He delivered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Right. That’s me.”
“You can also come. It’ll be fun, you have a weird energy but I dig it.”
“Albatross—” Chuuya started, ready to shut him down, but Dazai beat him to it.
“Gladly,” he said, that familiar smirk already tugging at his lips.
Chuuya felt shaken to the core. Why would he say yes? “Are you actually going to this thing?” he inquired.
“Well, you’re going, are you not?” Dazai quirked an eyebrow.
“So, I’d love to stay here and watch… whatever this is ,” he gestured at them both with his hands. “But I gotta get to class,” Albatross started rushing towards the exit. “Don’t ditch me, Nakahara. I already told people we’re going. A friend of mine asked for you, she’s probably not your type, but hey, you never know.”
He flashed a grin and disappeared around the corner, leaving an awkward silence behind.
“So,” Dazai began. “Chibi has a type. ” He tried to inquire, without sounding too interested.
“Everyone has a type, I’m pretty sure. Yours would have to be… someone stupid enough to endure what a pain in the ass you are.”
He took one hand to his heart, theatrically. “Chuuya, you wound me!”
“Goodbye,” he rolled his eyes as he walked away. It was too much of a reunion for a day.
***
Dazai finished his classes for the day—thank God— and found himself crashing at Oda’s couch, while his friend made him something to eat. It’s the little things in life , he thought.
“You mean to tell me that he’s taking the same major you are?” Oda sounded almost speechless.
Dazai thought that was funny, since Odasaku was never speechless, and always knew the right thing to say.
Of course, in this case, it wasn’t that surprising. Oda had no way of knowing this, but he and Chuuya, they always had a way of finding each other. Somewhere deep down, Dazai probably knew the second he stepped foot back in Yokohama that the universe would toss Nakahara Chuuya right back into his life—loud, aggressive, stubborn as hell.
Even when they were apart, recurrent thoughts of the shorter one would cross Dazai’s mind daily. Still, he didn’t initiate contact again. He thought about it; did Chuuya need an explanation about that?
Frequently the two of them felt like the same soul in different bodies. Chuuya could read Dazai’s mind like an open book. So, more often than not, Dazai had a hard time identifying the things he needed to communicate to his friend.
“We spoke. Well, he actually threatened to punch me, so it’s just like when we were kids,” he grinned.
“Ah yes, your love language: threats,” he teased.
“Oda! It’s not funny when you’re the one teasing me!” he cried.
“You’re the one who brought this up.”
“Well, if trying to make conversation with a friend is a crime, then arrest me!”
“A for effort on changing the subject, but it won’t work with me,” he grinned, softly. “You started talking about this for a reason, Osamu. So, what are you gonna do?” He positioned a bowl of ramen in front of the younger bow, who started immediately eating.
“Ignore him? He’s so tiny, maybe he’ll disappear with time,” he said, but as soon as he felt the heavy look of Odasaku, he sighed. “What can I possibly do? He’s angry, which I get , but there’s not much I can do to fix it.”
“I think that’s where you’re wrong. Why not apologize?”
Dazai poked at the noodles with his chopsticks. “I don’t know how to do that. And… I’m pretty sure Chuuya would just break my nose. Besides, why are you so hung up on getting us close again? Some people just drift apart.”
“I know that, I just don’t think that’s the case with you two. You both care too much. ”
“You’re reading too much into it,” he mumbled.
“Maybe you’re reading too little,” he spoke softly, but his tone was honest.
“He’s probably better off without me anyway,” Dazai added, quieter this time. “He’s angry because I disappeared. But even back then I knew; he doesn’t need me,” he passed his hands through his hair. “Ah, this is getting too depressing, how will I ever eat my noodles now?”
“Dazai,” he began. He was serious now, his voice sounder firmer. Oda was hardly this rough when talking to Dazai, but maybe this was a special occasion. “Do the right thing for yourself, just this once. I know you’re used to this ‘self-sabotaging’ thing you got going on, but I think you’re gonna regret it later.”
The boy didn’t say anything else, but he looked like he was contemplating it. The boy didn’t say anything else, but he looked like he was contemplating it. Something in his eyes shifted, it was almost unnoticeable. It wasn’t exactly a promise, but it was enough to make Oda believe he’d at least try.
***
The rest of the week went smoothly. Chuuya got to know some of his classmates. Fyodor being one of them, a Russian boy that came to Japan as an exchange student. He was… weird , to say the least, but he was very smart and had a charming accent. Dazai seemed to hate him, for some reason.
Ah, and Dazai. That mackerel was still there, bugging him. But as much as Chuuya wanted to stay pissed —maybe forever— he couldn’t. Because ignoring how much he’d missed him was not an option. Clearly, he wasn’t planning on sharing that with him, but still.
They started to build their friendship up once again, Chuuya had decided to give it a chance. They informed the other on their lives. He told Dazai about Paul moving to France, that he was getting married, and he was honestly happy for him.
Dazai looked happy too—though probably because he’d never gotten along with Paul in the first place, so him living in France was good news.
“You started living with your stepfather?” Chuuya asked, surprised by the casual revelation.
“Former stepfather,” Dazai corrected. “They got divorced. Isn’t life crazy?”
“Is he nice?” Chuuya asked, quieter now.
Dazai’s eyes lit up.
That was the Chuuya he remembered. The one who would always worried about his well-being.
“He’s nice. And I’m very grateful to him,” Dazai said, nodding. And this time, he meant every word.
“I’m glad,” he says, and it’s honest. What he doesn’t say is I missed you, and I wish you never had to move away.
That way, they would’ve never lost what they had. Chuuya could distinctly remember the times they spent together, he could narrate them from memory.
“Leave me alone, shitty mackerel. I’m really not in the mood,” fourteen-year-old Chuuya had said, looking away from his taller friend, his face marked by a frown that seemed too deep to ever fade.
He was sitting down at a bench in the park, he had gone far away from his house to be left alone and had his own grieving time, ‘cause sometimes a boy just needs to be sad without being watched.
But of course his annoying, intruding, smart little friend found him.
“But Chuuya promised to go out with me today, so I don’t get bored,” he insisted. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
He denied with his head. “It’s not that, alright? It’s just—”
Dazai was looking at him with a preoccupied stare, one he rarely showed. Chuuya would give him shit about it if he didn’t feel like he was one breath away from crying. Still, he held on. He had a rule against crying in front of people.
“Did someone hurt you?”
“Why, are you worried?” Chuuya meant to make it sound like a tease, but his voice came out flat.
“I just need to know if I need to avenge my Chibi. I’m the only one who gets to upset Chuuya. Who was it? I will fight them.”
“You can’t fight for shit, Dazai. Stick to what you know,” Chuuya answered, rolling his eyes as typically. “Really, I’m okay, ‘just feel a little down.”
Dazai sat down next to him, both of them just facing the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
“Is it because it’s the anniversary of your parents’ death?” He asked, like it was nothing. Chuuya turned to look at him, rattled.
“If you knew, why did you ask?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I wanted to see if Chuuya would tell me about it, since it’s so personal. But it is that, right?
He sighed and nodded. “It’s dumb, I know. Don’t make fun of me or I’ll punch you.”
“As much as I’d like you to punch me,” he joked and then continued, wearing a tiny smile on his lips, “I would never make fun of Chuuya for being sad.”