The bakery's door chime sounded gently as I was enveloped in a bubble of warmth. I'd been afraid the lighting would be too bright for me to handle, but the new recessed light fixtures made the pastel blue walls pleasant to look at. Puffs of tree foliage painted with an unsteady hand populated one side of the wall. I wrinkled my nose at the faint chemical smell of paint. Even the heavenly aroma of baked goods couldn't mask it. At least someone thought to neutralize the smell with charming potpourri arrangements that dotted the tables.

Behind the counter was a teen with a short afro fade. He looked up after sliding in fresh pastries into the display case. "Good morning--Oh. Hi Tai. What're you doing here?"

I'd met Vihan when we celebrated Nora's birthday at Canada's Wonderland last year. That was before the Moore family took over Hannah's business. With a new purpose in life, his demeanor seemed brighter now.

"Dropping off a resumé," I said, tentatively offering a sheet of paper with TIENNE VƯƠNG printed at the top. "Nora told me La Pâtissière Dans La Lune could be opening a second location closer to the GTA? My sister's a great baker. It would mean a lot for you to consider her."

Vihan scrunched up his face. "The second location's all talk for now. I'd hate to bring your hopes up."

Tienne had not heard back from any of the numerous and wonderful privately owned bakeries in Toronto. With Mom and Dad's connections, she should have a better chance of landing a position back home than all the way out in Aurora.

Honestly, I was here because apparently it was "the thought that counted." Besides, maybe what Tienne needed weren't people who knew her through our parents, but a fresh start. European desserts were her stronger suit too.

Behind him, the steel kitchen doors swung open to reveal his father, Emmanuel. He gave me a well-practised customer-service smile. "I'll keep your sister in mind, and I appreciate you taking the time to come up here. It must have been a long drive."

Sure was for Kimmy. For me, it wasn't long enough.

I nodded. "Thank you. Good luck with the renovations. And I'd take a slice of tarte tatin to go, please."

--

With me in the passenger seat, Kimmy peeled out of the parking lot and away from the honey-brick commercial buildings of downtown Aurora.

She turned down the car speakers. "You really think apple pie's going to be enough?"

"You said I should buy something!" I said.

After reading Nora's text replies, Kimmy had declared my girlfriend was definitely angry. "Yeah, 'cause a gesture's way better than nothing. 'Specially when you ghosted her on and off. Anyway, do you really have to visit her? Why now?"

I stared out the window. Gloomy clouds hung low overhead. "She's going to help me with animating lyric videos."

"And help you write some Vietnamese songs. Sure. Totally."

"She can't--Wait, you don't like her?"

Kimmy blew a bubble of gum out the side of her cheek. "If you needed actual help, we could've sat down together and been productive, y'know? Or Ba, if you prefer him over me."

Dad had his hands full with our grandparents, and Kimmy driving me to Nora's was a poorly veiled excuse to escape the demands of family.

"The re-opening's next week too," she continued. "You should be promoting it more on your Instagram!"

"I did! Like, three separate countdown posts!"

"Huh? I didn't see them. Anyway, avoiding your problem isn't going to help your performance."

"I don't know what to write."

She rolled her eyes. "They're disappointed in us already, Tai. Don't believe whatever Ông Ngoại told you--he's good at making you feel special. Just write something about how family is so great and important. They'll eat it up."

"Easy for you to say. You're the favourite," I said, steadying myself as she made a wide turn. She always drove a little too fast.

She snorted. "I didn't get this far by being genuine."

A moment passed, and I thought she'd turn up the car speakers so we could listen to music and hopefully jog my inspiration. Spotify was open on her phone and set to the playlist she shared with me. She loved modern pop songs, but for my benefit mixed in the sort of 90's music my parents liked, the genre that would appeal to our grandparents.

The more I'd researched though, the more nervous I became at trying to emulate its reminiscent atmosphere. I had never bothered to compose music with dan tranh, the dan nhị, or the bamboo xylophones--nevermind the struggle of finding an online software supporting these cultural instruments.

Plus, so much of Vietnamese 90's music was about growing up in Vietnam, love, or loss. It was a vulnerable genre. Sacred and not to be taken lightly. I couldn't use Kimmy's survival strategy and summon a fake persona to write those lyrics. That wouldn't be protecting myself; it would be a betrayal. Yet singing the truth?

What if I hurt their feelings? What if my truth wasn't the truth?

We pulled up at Nora's condo. Crap. I fumbled with the box of tarte tartin and prayed it wasn't all squished inside.

Kimmy switched off the ignition. "You can't possibly think your white girlfriend has all the answers to this."

"Did Mom send you to spy on me? You also dated white guys!"

"Uh huh, and you know the reason I broke up with them?"

I grunted. I had zero energy for this.

"It's 'cause they didn't know what it meant to be part of our family," she said. "They don't understand why I won't move out or why I can't prioritize them over our parents all the time. I tried to invite them to things, too. I'd be like, 'hey let's go to the dragon dance,' or 'hey let me teach you some Vietnamese,' or 'hey let's get some chè ba màu,' because that's important. But I'd see it in their eyes, that trying to understand us is just too much work. But I'm expected to do the same for them.

"I chatted with Nora during Christmas time, when you weren't paying attention. She's polite and all, but she doesn't have a clue about our traditions or anything Vietnamese asides from phở. When she didn't come with you on Lunar New Year, I had a feeling. Have you ever talked about this with her?"

"That's...Kimmy, don't stress me out with irrelevant stuff," I said irritably. "And Nora's an atheist."

"So she said no--?"

"I never asked her!" I snapped. "Lunar New Year is personal. And that doesn't matter!"

"Because love cures all, and she will magically understand what you need from her without talking about it."

I got out of the car and slammed the door. "You're just like Mom. You love to point out flaws and put people down. It doesn't help!"

"Good luck having her help you! I'll be back to-mor-row!" she sang behind me.

Family was suffocating. They saw through me like glass.

-----

@yummy.cha: I know - write a Vietnamese song!

@firechickenlord: Heck no, why would you write it in Vietnamese? How would English speakers understand? We live in Canada after all

@9th_muse: V pop is way too similar to K pop, no originality

@marrymetai894:I'm sure he can find a way around it. We believe in you!

@2giang4life:You're Vietnamese. We don't get that much representation in the media. You always include your culture in posts, AND you're fluent. You don't really have an excuse not to.

@_handjumpingback: Why are you only performing in Toronto? Like I'm happy for you but we've been your audience for so long. I was there at the beginning! Why are you ignoring us?

"Something's wrong. Isn't it?"

Tap-tap-tap.

The bed shifted as Nora scooted closer. Her pale face was illuminated by her drawing tablet's glow as my animated lyric video played on silent repeat in the dark. "Tai..."

Were these really my fans? The type of people who would show up at Quan's restaurant?

Nora's hand reached for my phone and I turned away. No matter how long I spent drafting responses, no matter how patient I'd been with the comment threads that had taken root and grown like weeds, I couldn't satisfy a single person.

Hey everyone. To address the comments in my previous post: I never promised to do a world-wide tour or anything like that. Toronto is close to my home, is the most convenient for me, and has a lot of people living in and around it. As for what my song will be--

The bedsprings lifted.

Nora stood at the doorway with her drawing tablet in hand. I couldn't see her expression in the darkness--only a rough cut-out silhouette blurring with furniture. There was a time when her room was minimalistic, organized. Now that her father had moved in, her most cherished belongings took up space like a tessellation of home decor.

She gazed in the direction of my diorama perched above her bed, above me. "I've helped you edit your lyric videos to match your vision exactly. I did my best to listen to your worries about this upcoming gig...but could you not spare time and listen to me?"

I debated following her into the living room, wondering if we'd wake up her father. That'd be inconsiderate. But then I heard the not-so-gentle sound of cutlery and decided to go.

Mr. McIntyre, fully dressed in his janitor scrubs, passed by me in the hallway and gave me a wink. "Don't mind her," he whispered. "She's been uptight because of me, not you."

I nodded. "Have a good shift, Mr--"

"Oh no, none of that. You can call me Andrew."

I forced a smile.

The atmosphere slackened after the door locked behind him. The sound of clinking dishes and running water resumed, mixed in with the TV's low volume. He hadn't turned it off.

In the kitchen I turned on the light. Nora was washing the coffee cups and plates left behind by her father. When she put the last dish on the rack, I said, "I've had a lot going on."

She wiped her hands with a towel and sighed. "He doesn't wash his plate. Would it kill him to clean after himself?"

"I never thought of music as a joke. But I've always relied on my parents for catching me when it hasn't worked. Tienne for reminding me to drink water and go outside. Monty for pulling me by the teeth when I'm not motivated to budget, and...you, for whenever I feel like I'm walking into the dark. I shouldn't be ashamed of relying on other people...but I can't help that I've let my parents down by not even thinking about their future."

"That's it?" she asked.

Any thoughts of sleep escaped me, replaced with the more immediate threat. A change. A challenge of Why do you care so much? "Of course it's been bothering me!" I said. "Look Nora, I can't respond to every text or call because I don't have that energy. For anyone, including myself! Let alone someone else! It's not being lazy, it's having a smaller battery. I thought I'd already established these boundaries."

She scoffed. "This isn't an issue about boundaries, it's--"

"So is the problem that I care? What, am I not supposed to? They're my family! I know they're not like yours. But in my culture, it's important. Very. It's hard for white people to wrap their heads around it, but..." I gestured to the couch littered with Mr. McIntyre's belongings. "I thought...I thought you'd understand."

Nora braced herself against the kitchen counter and leaned back, crossing her legs. A casual pose. A confident one, if you didn't count her white knuckles and the way she barely breathed.

"I'm needy. I know," she said quietly. "What I'm not going to accept, however, is A, how you're dead set on entertaining your faceless fans' complaints when I'm right next to you, and B, assuming caring for your parents is an exclusively Asian trait."

"I--I didn't--" I tripped on my own words. "But it is." Right?

She grabbed a couple glass cups, a plate, a fork, and a carton of orange juice. (I loved orange juice.) She also opened the oven to remove the warmed slice of tarte tartin, making me wonder if she was really mad, or not, because would a person who was mad at you accept your gift? Then she made her way towards the living room. Her condo was not meant for two long-term occupants. I didn't want to question the strange rearrangement of her furniture, but as she struggled to navigate the tight spaces meant for a skinny person, I began to understand.

I bit my lip and pushed and pulled furniture to make more room. Meanwhile, she hung Mr. McIntyre's various coats on a coat rack, removed two stained half-empty mugs, and pushed open the windows. The night air was cold, but I'd take cold over the smell of nicotine and alcohol attacking my nostrils any time.

Finally she invited me to sit on the cleared couch with her. She placed her drawing tablet between us. Even when her cat, Meabh, slinked onto her lap and eyed me suspiciously, I couldn't move a muscle. My eyes were glued to the coffee table, aware of the words I should take back but never did--and frowned at the collection of McDonald's KidsMeal toys, Disney Princess stickers, and Rainbow Magic books on the table's lower shelf.

"In his mind I'm still his little girl," Nora said.

"I'm sorry."

"At the same time, it's too much for him to wipe the table, or take out the trash, because he's--I'm sorry," she said, covering her face. "Don't apologize, Tai. He can do it himself. Go first," she insisted when I started to protest. "I don't want to overshadow your problems."

I stared blankly at the TV which bathed the furniture in bright, flickering colour. Nora had muted it but it didn't stop me from reading the subtitles of the latest Entertainment Tonight's report on Charu's interview. We sat like that, in silence, for a long time while I clenched and unclenched my fists, as if that helped to pump the irrationality out of my system. Nora curled up on the couch and daintily ate her tarte tartin--daintily, to not aggravate my olfactory pet peeve of chewing. Meabh licked her paws.

The anger from earlier had dissipated like wind from a hot air balloon. Kimmy was right. As usual.

Explaining took so long. Exhausting. Risky, because I couldn't predict Nora's reaction. All the relationship scaffolding, the months it took to carefully balance everything in place--it could come crashing down over one emotional incident.

Yet I came here. Why? So I could talk freely. She knew nothing, and that was refreshing.

"I'm glad I didn't join Hidden Stars. But I hate myself for it, too."

I fiddled with my bracelet, feeling Nora's questioning gaze on me. Did I tell her about Charu's email? Maybe not.

"It would've given me everything I wanted. Advice, equipment, networking, I would've had them all at my fingertips. I would have millions of listeners by now, and my career would be sustainable."

She put down her empty plate. "You're already obsessing over your modest audience--"

"Let me finish my thoughts! Please." I hated being interrupted. After I circled back to the beginning and filled her in on the family drama, I said, "I have one final chance to impress my grandparents and prove my parents' faith and patience wasn't wasted. I don't know what to write! What to sing! Charu and Hidden Stars would've hated this, I know, but the main--the terrible thing is--

"I've never thought about my parents' future," I said, letting the ugly truth sink in. "All this time, it was about my own."

Nora ran her knuckles along Meabh's fluffy black fur, who purred quietly. Finally, she said, "Good for you."

"Are you--Are you being sarcastic?"

"No. Good for you," she repeated. She turned off the TV when she noticed I was being distracted by it. "I'll be honest, you're a bit of a mess--"

"I know!"

"A lovable big mess," she said, turning to me, "but really, what's wrong with prioritizing yourself?" Her corporate confidence kicked in as she listed reasons. "First, you're from a middle-class family. I'm sure your lovely parents thought ahead and have retirement savings, and savings prepared for you. Secondly, you have so much time before things like that become relevant--"

"But you didn't," I said.

It didn't come as gently as I meant, because she looked stricken. "I...chose this."

"Why?"

"Because if I didn't..." she laughed nervously. "My dad would have nowhere to go."

Huh. We were on the same page with filial piety then. "I'd want the same for my parents. Because I love them."

"And?"

"I...I don't know if I would choose that," I whispered, like the walls were leaning in, listening. "I know it's not good to parentify myself, but now I feel like such an ungrateful son."

"Don't," Nora said sternly. Meabh's hairs raised and she jumped off her owner's lap. "Don't ever say 'ungrateful.' Who called you that? Your grandfather?"

"No. But he has a point. I should've..." I sighed and looked up at the popcorn ceiling. "I guess, along with that, I'm worried I can't communicate these feelings with the older generation. And how would I intertwine that with my main audience? What about in general? A lot of Asian kids feel this way, but a lot of them don't. I don't want my feelings to be interpreted against me or make someone feel like I'm diminishing their lived experiences."

"I understand...some of it," Nora said carefully. "We have such demanding clients sometimes. The worst are those who think we're their servants, not their business partners. The comments on your Instagram seem to reflect that mindset. But you are not entitled to their every whim."

"I know," I groaned. "That won't change how they'll react."

I wanted to throw up. I wanted it all to disappear. Yet here I was, making a problem out of the very thing I worked so hard for. An audience.

A pair of black cat ears appeared from under the couch. Meabh sniffed my socks with mild disinterest. After a while she began doing lazy figure-eights around our legs.

"Nora," I said, "did you really choose to have your father here?"

That small, nervous laugh again. It put me on edge. Why laugh when this wasn't funny? Why couldn't people speak their thoughts plainly?

Then again, I wasn't absolved of guilt. I wanted to ask, Is your dad a burden to you?

Mr. McIntyre lost his case in court, Nora explained. Her mother presented her situation as a poor woman with a good-for-nothing alcoholic husband who did not put in the work to keep their household afloat. She secured the majority of assets, and Mr. McIntyre was left with an inadequate financial cushion.

"He came to my door one day," Nora recalled, "begging me to help. Said he changed. I had done everything I could up to that point. I helped organize his case, I worked with his lawyer....You know, part of it failed because I could not show proof of her abuse towards him. I was the main recipient of her ire. But when I ran away, I didn't think of keeping photos, videos, or hard paper trails. I never thought we'd go to court. Besides, the case barely had to do with me at all. The only proof I have are vivid memories that refuse to fade."

She scrolled through her drawing tablet aimlessly. I admired her artwork in my lyric videos. She furrowed her brows. "I wanted to say no. Shut the door on him. What substantial fatherly things had he done for me in life? But my coworkers, they knew about my situation. It was hard to keep mum at work after my incident at the hospital, and Danielle--she's one of my coworkers--well, she was so nice. I suppose my mistake was telling them too much."

"What did they say?" I said, afraid of the answer.

"They believed I should give him a second chance. As his daughter, it was the right thing to do." She tapped irritably on the drawing tablet, partly distracted. Maybe that was her way of releasing steam. "I'm sure if I was a man...that conversation would've gone differently. Had I turned him away, as a man, no one would bat an eye. I'd be celebrated for holding my ground, expected even--because my destiny in life is to be independent. As a woman, I'd be small and mean to turn him away."

Sympathy for her father welled up in me and burst out like a dam. "I--" But I clamped my mouth shut. Come on, Tai, she listened to you nonestop. You can do the same for her.

Yet my ears roared. As men we had to be the breadwinners; anything else was a disgrace. Pathetic. A secret fear had unlocked in me when I observed how Nora talked about her dad. I wondered if she looked down on him on her corporate ladder, scorning him for being a janitor.

Because I had been in his position before. I'd been a janitor, and honestly? Aside from the pungent smells, I wished I'd kept the job for its methodic, mundane routine. A permanent full-time job with the right employer paid decently, more than people assumed. It'd been a shame I was fired over some very unclear instructions on their part.

She watched me carefully. Setting the tablet to the side, she unscrewed the carton of juice cap and started pouring it into her glass. "A man's destiny is to have it all. A woman's dream is to have enough, and should she become independent, she can do whatever she puts her mind to. Whatever others tell her to do." The juice stretched over the rim, taunt like a trampoline, and trembled.

I stopped her from tilting the carton any further. When certain objects broke, or moved in a certain way--I didn't know how to explain it, but I'd get anxious. That was my internal alarm system for you. "Double standards also apply to Autistic and other disabled people. Including those with mental illness."

I closed my eyes and inhaled the sharp scent of citrus that made my taste buds tingle. "I used to be a janitor. It's not the most prestigious job. Honestly, for my parents, in the beginning it was embarrassing. So I hope whatever's going on with you and your dad, that you don't look down on him because of that. There's nothing wrong with being broke and dependent on another person."

She stiffened. She crossed her arms and looked away. Maybe it was a little mean to deflect her point by inserting mine. What I said in of itself though, I'd defend.

I coughed. "I heard. What you said earlier. About the gender difference. I...I'm not ignoring it. It's...It's just..."

She gave an ill-mannered shrug. "It's hard to swallow. Same here."

"Umm..." I trailed off. "That doesn't give your dad a free pass to treat you unfairly. You know. Just...you should consider it. With the whole picture."

I stopped here, and thought about what she said. But I didn't want to start an argument when I was supposed to be comforting her. I was Autistic and I had limits, but caring for people I loved wasn't one of them. So I tucked that thought away for the future, and steered my remaining mental capacity back to the present.

"...tired of worrying what people think," Nora sighed, clasping her hands and squaring her shoulders. "I wished I hadn't let them influence my decision. I want to give him grace. He struggles with alcoholism and depression. I don't understand it very well, but that's separate from neglect, right? Oh, I don't know. I'm sure deep down he loves me, wholeheartedly, and not just in a shallow way. But that is my decision. So," she said pointedly at me, "it's not just an Asian trait to care for your parents. Okay?"

I looked down at my feet but the cat had disappeared. "Okay."

"Oh, Tai."

The orange juice had remained untouched. I could taste its sourness. Nora followed my gaze and carefully, carefully sipped the full glass so its surface didn't tremble with the threat of spillage.

"When you talked about your family, sometimes it sounded like you wanted to get rid of them. I think..." I was never good at proper apologies. The apologies for things I had actually done wrong. "I'm sorry if I had ever...made you...feel unheard when you ranted to me about your family. You're entitled to feel what you feel because they hurt you. I shouldn't blame you because sometimes you need to cut them off to survive. My fault was...I took it as a criticism of my own. Because even if my grandparents hurt my mom, even if they're two-faced manipulators...."

I took a deep breath. "For me, I don't want them to just disappear. I want them to get better. And I think that's why my mom tolerates them. Because she wants the same."

If I posted this on Instagram, I'd get cancelled so fast. For my girlfriend though, my heart was only galloping like racehorses.

Her shoulders relaxed. She sipped on some orange juice and her demeanor brightened a little. "Thank you, Tai. As long as you do what you think is right."

I thought about asking if she felt sad I didn't invite her to Lunar New Year (did she even know it passed?) or other deep stuff interracial couples should air out before it became a problem. Actually, shouldn't I invite her to Quan's? Or was it expected for her to bring it up first, to show her interest in it? All I could say though was, "As long as your dad treats you right. How long of a grace period are you going to give him?"

"I don't know. There's no recommended standards for these things," she mused. "I already told him to not put me in touch with my mother. But I should set more boundaries."

"I like to think I'm good at setting boundaries. I'll help you. After all, you helped me with animating lyric videos. Your art's beautiful."

She winced. "I appreciate it. Tai I didn't want to interrupt our talk, but speaking of the videos...I can't find them."

Huh?

I grabbed the drawing tablet from her and pressed on the software's tabs, searching. Two of the three videos were missing on the Cloud. "It should be downloaded. I downloaded the files after we finished--"

They weren't there. "This can't be right."

I searched through the device's recycle bin, its files, and checked if the animation software's autosaving feature caught anything that somehow slipped through. Yet nothing was there.

We spent so much time--Nora spent so much time on them! My memory for daily tasks sucked, but how could I forget about my lyric videos? Did I accidentally click the wrong button? When?

"You only used Chrome on my laptop for Googling right? Didn't open my coding game or other applications?"

"Don't you think you got away with deleting my files!"

"You should be promoting it more on your Instagram!"

"I did! Like, three separate countdown posts!"

"Huh? I didn't see them."

"My Instagram," I said. "Did I delete posts?"

"Yes," Nora said immediately, "you did. I thought it was because they had so many negative comments..."

Several posts were missing from my account. On a whim, I changed my password, but a sinking gut feeling told me the true cause.

It couldn't be.

Her voice sounded like it was underwater. "Tai? I'm worried about you. You were fixated on your social media profile, and I brought it up through text, but you never replied--"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't reply!"

"I'm over that--"

"But now your animations are gone!" My voice crept up an octave and became shrill. I stood up and my knee knocked into the coffee table; Nora caught her glass in time before it could shatter on the floor. She shooed away Meabh from the splattered drops of orange juice. Meanwhile I walked up and down the flat, out of control of my own body.

"You're right Nora. I'm a mess. I can't b-be performing at Quan's restaurant like this. What if more things started disappearing thanks to my own carelessness? I could barely pay attention today, I can't--"

I looked desperately at her. "I can't perform."

"Then don't," she said.

"But my grandparents. They flew out from California. I can't let my parents down."

"So a bad performance is better than none? You're exhausted. Burnt out. You need to set your own boundaries. Otherwise stress--Meabh!" she chided. With one arm she scooped up her cat who mreowled like this was the greatest crime in the world. With another, she dropped paper towels over the spill. "It's toxic to mischievous felines like you. Stop it."

Meabh indignantly watched her owner wipe the mess with her foot.

"But I have to," I said.

Nora opened her mouth. She set down her cat who scampered out of sight. I could see it, her mind wrestling with the inconceivable notion of caring so much for your family, you'd put them before yourself.

" Just...just help me brainstorm. Please. I'm out of ideas." I was on the ground now, curled in a ball, rocking myself. One of the few self-soothing and stimming techniques I could properly summon in times of crisis; better than say ripping down the curtains or yelling. Nora stared at me. Or something over my shoulder. Whatever. If she thought I was being childish, then so be it.

I didn't care. I didn't care.

I stubbornly kept my gaze on the floor and counted the number of Chevron parquets (which were small slanted wooden planks tiled at an angle) until Nora kneeled closer to me, holding another glass of juice. This one had two fingers' width of room at the top, and it wasn't stained with lipstick.

I looked away. "Go on. Say you don't understand and you want me to explain."

"We could telepathically communicate without words, but only with your permission. If that was possible."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." A superpower to communicate would've been so much better. Instead I got stuck with the power of running away.

Nora raises her eyebrows, knowing something I didn't. She turned the glass in her hand. "If you're going to go, at least tell your family what you've told me, and what you can't. The bridging between two generations is messy. Sometimes it never works. Connect your world and theirs, so in the future, it doesn't hurt as much."

"Thanks," I said hollowly.

She gestured to the glass of juice. "This is your love. For your music, your family--"

"And you."

"And all the things I don't know about you yet," she said. She tilted the glass ever so slightly so the juice touched the glass's rim. "And this space is for your breathing room."

"It's not a lot."

"So what do you do?" she asked. "Learn to breathe, no matter what?"

No, the answer was simpler than that. "I make more room. By accepting it."

I took the glass and took small, steady sips until it was done. I loved orange juice. A drop or two clung to the bottom, an orange crescent held by surface tension and delicate hydrogen bonds.