//TW: swearing, self-harm, date-rape drugs, domestic abuse, and implications of rape\\

How to write 101:

Make your characters suffer.

Alexander

I clutched onto my phone, staring down at the empty lock screen that seemed to mock my very being. I forced myself to take a deep breath in an attempt to ease the worry sitting heavy in my stomach like a stone, but it did little good. And it's not like there was any point trying to immerse myself in the movie, not when the rest of the world was crumbling around me. It would just be another betrayal to go ahead and ignore the worry pulling at my very being, twisting my heart into a knot.

The others noticed. How could they not?

"You're not really worried about Thomas?" Hercules asked. "Don't worry, Alex. He'll be fine."

"He should be back by now!" I exclaimed, pulling my hair out of the ponytail it was in and putting it back in. "He should have been back an hour ago!"

"Alexander, don't worry," John said, trying his best to be soothing.

"How can I not worry?" I exclaimed.

"He's not a child, Alexander," John shot back, the attempt to be comforting disappearing at once. "You've got to stop treating him like one. Does he need your constant surveillance?"

"I—no."

"Then relax, would you? Thomas is going to be fine."

Lafayette remained silent, his jaw clenching as he stared at the screen. Staring, but not watching. Not absorbing. He checked his phone, frowned, and tossed his head back, as if whispering a quiet prayer.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the dozen messages I had sent him in the past fifteen minutes alone. They had all gone unanswered, unacknowledged. Leaving me to fear the worst.

I shook my head, as if that could purge the sudden violent images from my mind. Images that would be much better forgotten, if such horrid thoughts ever could truly die. Forcing myself to breathe, I tried texting him one more time.

Alexander: hey baby please answer me

Alexander: please where are you ??

Alexander: Thomas please you know how much I worry about you just call me ok ??

I waited. And waited. And no response ever came.

The walls around me pressed inwards, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I tried to hold on as the world began to spin violently, like a carousel ride out of control with its flashing lights and seemingly innocuous colors bleeding into each other, but there was nothing to grab onto and nothing made any kind of sense at all.

"Hold on, guys," I said, standing up and scrolling through my contacts until I found the one I was looking for. "I'm sorry."

John sighed. "Want us to pause it?"

"You don't have to," I said, hardly hearing the question in the first place. I stepped away from them until I managed to take a tiny bit of solace in the silence in the kitchenette, then pressed the call button. The dial tone filled the air, until eventually, the voice on the other end picked up.

"Hello?" I asked, trying to press down the worry that had risen to my voice. It made my speech garbled, my tone rushed and unfairly loud.

"Uh, I'm sorry, who is this?" asked the woman on the other end.

"Hi, I'm sorry, I'm a friend of Thomas? The boy who teaches your daughter violin?"

"Oh, yes! How can I help you?"

"Uh is—is he still there?"

"No," she said, and I could visualize her frown with the way her voice slowed. "I'm sorry, he left about an hour and a half ago."

"Oh. Do you know where he went?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't. Why? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah!" I lied, absolutely despising how my voice cracked and let the truth bleed into the statement. "Uh, shit—I mean, I'm so sorry. I should go. Thank you so much!" I hung up, gasped for the breath that fled my lungs with every passing second, and returned to the three of them waiting for me.

"No luck?"

"He's not there! I have no fucking clue—"

"Alexander, I'm sure it's okay—"

"Thomas has a routine!" I snapped, running my fingers though my hair. "He has a pattern! He's always home by now! And if he wasn't going to be, he would fucking tell me! He wouldn't just fucking drop off the grid without saying anything, okay?"

"Alexander, I understand that you're worried, but you've gotta calm down," John began. "I'm sure Thomas is fine, okay? Please just relax?"

Lafayette was furiously mumbling under his breath, tapping on his phone with so much force I worried he was going to break the screen. But the light it exuded caught in his eyes and just a second before I looked away, I noticed the way they glistened, ripe with fresh tears that had not yet fallen but were dangling precariously over the edge of doing so.

"Do you want us to go look for him?" Hercules asked softly.

"No! I—" I gasped for breath. John grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me back down so I was sitting on the couch, then placed his hand on my shoulder. Something inside of me warmed at the familiar touch, but whatever it was, it didn't last long.

"What do you want to do?" he asked calmly. How he could stay so calm, I'll never know. Especially when every part of me felt like I was going to die, like the ground would surge upwards and drag me down, burying me as dirt filled my lungs.

"I don't—I don't know—! He isn't responding or—"

"Do you want to try calling the police?"

My hands shook at the thought. My mouth went dry, and any answer I could have given him died as it did.

"Yeah, yeah, maybe we should. I don't—John, what if something bad happened?" I could hardly speak in anything more than a whisper, in fear that letting myself acknowledge it aloud would only make it more real. The devil doesn't come until his name is chanted, why should this be any different?

The pressure built up inside of me and I could practically feel the tears as they worked their way to my eyes, desperate to break free, desperate to make themselves known. I did everything I could to keep them back—I could not cry in front of John—but they were simply stronger. I turned away, so he didn't have to see my weakness.

My failure.

"It's going to be okay, Alexander," Hercules said, sitting next to me and placing a hand on my back. "I promise. I'm sure he's out with Aaron, probably nerding out over something stupid."

"Like a musical!" John said, a hint of cheerfulness touching his tone, but it was so obviously fake. "You know how much those two love talking about musicals."

"He would tell me—and he would respond!"

"Maybe his phone died?" John suggested, nudging me lightly with his shoulder. It almost worked. It almost alleviated the pain. I cast him a small, grateful smile. "You wanna get back to watching the movie? I can make more popcorn...!"

I forced myself to laugh, my chest aching as I did so. Why did it feel so much like a betrayal? Like cruel and unrelenting irony?

Lafayette said nothing at all, just gazed down at his phone. Maybe I had imagined his tears, for now, there was nothing to his hard stare but the smoldering embers of determination, a flash in the growing darkness.

John played the movie, neither him nor Hercules moving from my side. Eventually, Lafayette moved to squeeze in between John and me, took my hand in his, and gave me a reassuring smile. He said nothing, but he didn't need to, and it was just nice to have somebody who understood the prickles of anxiety in my stomach. I guess when it came down to it, I was just lucky to have the three of them with me. The movie played on, but I hardly processed any of it, far too wrapped up in my own, awful imaginings to care whatever life lesson it came to impart on me.

I didn't have to wait that much longer anyway.

The door opened.

The worry inside my stomach dissipated the second I heard the gentle click, the near-silent way he opened the door as if he was doing everything he could to pass through this world unseen. It still made my heart leap in my chest, just to know my boy was only a few inches away and soon I could hold him and kiss him and wonder why I had ever worried in the first place, and I allowed myself a smile.

"Oh, thank God," I said, perking up as the door slowly creaked open. "You don't know how worried I was, Thomas! You really—" But my eyes tracked up to the door, and the words withered and died on the tip of my tongue. The air around me went still, cold.

Aaron met my gaze, innate panic scorching the look in his eyes. Something inside of me tightened as he pulled the taller boy into the apartment, setting down the violin case he had slung over his shoulder as gently as if it was something precious.

I would have given the world to see Thomas's smile. To see that warm look in his gaze or that quiet reservedness whenever he thought the world wasn't watching. The passion as he went on and on about the book he was reading. The gentleness as he whispered millions of tiny secrets just for the two of us when neither of us could quite sleep. The determination, the love for which he treated his violin and his music, and the wonder he viewed the world with, even if it wasn't quite as beautiful as he always made it seem.

But there was nothing.

His face was obscured by the hood of his sweater, pulled so tight I couldn't make out anything but the old, mostly faded gray of the cloth. Perhaps nothing was wrong. Perhaps it was just a joke. A funny, little, harmless joke.

But we all knew it wasn't. Not with the way the world caved in around me, shattering like fragile glass. Spilling nothing but blood and water onto the cracked, tile floor.

"T-Thomas?" I asked.

He said nothing. Aaron gripped him a fraction tighter, closing the door softly behind him. I had never seen Aaron look so terrified before, so absolutely disgusted by what the world had handed him.

And Thomas was as distant as starlight.

"What's going on?" Lafayette demanded, rising to his feet.

Aaron shook his head as if warning him to stop. But it didn't matter. Thomas didn't move, didn't even flinch. If it weren't for the violent way with which he was shaking, as though he'd topple right over without Aaron keeping him standing, I was so sure he was nothing more than a statue of the boy I dreamed about, the boy I adored.

"Come on," Aaron said softly, guiding Thomas forwards. "L-let's get you to your room."

"What happened?" John asked, but the sound of his voice was drowned out as I rushed forwards to meet them, reaching for Thomas but stopping at the fierce, angry look that Aaron cast me. A warning only barely concealing the fear in his eyes. The same fear I had experienced thousands of times before, the same fear rapidly corrupting every inch of happiness I had ever known as we spoke.

"Thomas, please, what happened?" I demanded instead, practically pleading to hear his voice. "Are you okay? What's wrong? I—"

But just as I spoke, Lafayette, Hercules, and John joined in, yelling and demanding and needing to know what had happened to him. I didn't blame them.

"Guys, enough," Aaron said, his voice barely above a hissed out whisper. "Can't you see you're bothering him?"

"What the fuck happened?" Lafayette demanded, spinning on him. There was that fire again, fierce and protectively violent. Perhaps he thought that if maybe he brought the entire world down to its knees, he could protect Thomas. I doubt it would ever be enough.

"I—I found him outside...outside his old dorm building. I don't—I don't know what happened—" Aaron stuttered, trying to cling tighter to the boy at his side.

And in response, almost as if the mere mention of that awful, dark place was too much, Thomas pushed himself away from us, almost tripping over himself. He said nothing, just continued shaking, and Aaron had to hold onto him even tighter just to keep him from falling. But as Thomas momentarily stumbled, the hood of his sweater fell backwards, revealing his face.

Oh.

Oh, God, no. It was far worse than I could have ever imagined, ever pictured.

Blood caked the side of his face, spilling from a cut embedded just above his right eye, like a crack in an old, porcelain doll. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth; his other eye had gained a violet tint haloing its shape. His throat and face was covered in bruises just beginning to turn into the rainbow of colors they always took on, marring the warm brown of his flesh. His gaze was unfocused, almost as if lost in a daze, and tears rolled down the side of his face relentlessly, sticking to his cheeks. His hair was knotted, his eyes red and puffy.

He looked as though he had watched the entire world crumble before him.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my voice failing me when I needed it the most. I reached forwards to him, but he flinched away from me before I could even let my hand brush against his sleeve, and it broke me.

"Th-Thomas," I breathed. "Oh, oh God."

Thomas shuddered, shaking his head as he stepped backwards and wormed his way out of Aaron's grasp as if it burned him. He grabbed at his arms, tearing at the vulnerable skin still prominent with scar tissue. He was going to hurt himself right in front of me and there was abso-fucking-lutetly nothing I could do without hurting him more. His mouth began to move, but no words spilled out. I didn't have to hear him speak to know what he was saying, however.

Please, please, please, please.

Over and over again, as if it was he last thing he'd ever know how to say.

"Thomas," Lafayette murmured breathlessly, the heartbreak in his voice so painfully clear. He stepped forward, hesitantly. "Oh G-god. Let me help, okay?"

Thomas slid to the ground, hardly drinking in the world around him like his body was just an empty husk devoid of him, devoid of Thomas. He kept trembling as he tried to shut everything out, including me.

It hit me long before I could stop it. They came without warning, and before I had any hope of combatting them, sobs bursted from my mouth. Too pressed to be ashamed of it, I slid to the ground next to him and hesitantly reached forwards, trying to touch him, trying to find my sense of solace. But there was nothing but an empty, gaping hole where his warmth should have been.

Thomas's eyes met mine, and for the briefest of seconds, his pupils dilated in recognition. And then, the second passed, the light faded, and his hands flew to his mouth as if to cover a scream. Or perhaps something else.

"John—?" Hercules began frantically, turning to him.

"I'm looking it up, okay?" John snapped in return, then softened and mumbled an apology. His fingers worked quickly as he tapped something out on his phone.

Lafayette offered me a damp towel that he had retrieved from the kitchen. I offered him a soft thanks and turned towards Thomas, whose eyes were shut tightly as if that could block out the world threatening to drown him in its impossible weight.

"Thomas?" I whispered. "Thomas, please let me see."

He shook his head furiously, hiding his face behind his hand. His body convulsed.

"Please, love, please! I just want to help, okay?I'm not going to hurt you, I'd never hurt you. But baby, you have to work with me."

I reached for the hand covering his face, which he gently allowed me to take. I slid it down, revealing the cuts and bruises once more, unable to hide their awful truths any longer.

Sighing, I set to work, cleaning up the blood. I kept myself as far back from him as I could, but there was only so much space I could put between us. Thomas trembled against me but did his best to stay still, even as he flinched every time I touched one of the cuts in an effort to wipe away the blood. My progress was slim, however; the more I cleaned, the more that seemed to stain his skin.

"Shh," I soothed as Aaron sat down next to him, rubbing circles into his arm. Thomas kept himself away from us, however, despite all of our trying. "Everything's okay, love. Everything's okay. I promise."

"Alexander—" John said suddenly, his voice cracking as it handled my name. "Oh, fuck, Alexander—"

"I'm a little busy right now, John," I snapped.

"Alexander, this could be very bad."

"What is it?"

"I-I looked it up. Whatever's going on with him. Alexander, you have got to take a look at this," he almost whispered.

I froze, stepped away from Thomas, who had hardly moved. It was almost like he didn't hear it all. Lafayette filled the space I had left, taking the towel from me and cleaning up what I had messily started.

John showed me the site he had gone too, his voice quivering with abject horror as he tried to explain it all to me in a whisper. I drank in the text on the screen, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to understand.

"You think he's—what?" I demanded, my fists tightening. "You think he's, like...high or something?"

John shook his head, his eyes wide with the sudden, dawning realization. He slid his hand in front of his mouth, almost as though he was going to be sick. "I—no, uh...Alexander?"

"What?"

"Ketamine's a..." he swallowed, as if whatever he had to say was the worst thing possible. "Ketamine's a date-rape drug."

Oh.

And with those three words, my entire world came rushing down, brought to its knees by a single thought, a single, horrible, thought I couldn't have made up even in my nightmares.

I glanced over at Thomas. He met my gaze, tears glistening in the light, and pushed himself to his feet. Without warning, he slid away from Aaron and Lafayette and made his way towards the bathroom, trying to grab onto whatever he had to keep himself upwards.

"C-can you guys please leave?" I asked, hardly hearing my own voice. "Please?"

"And leave you alone with him?" Lafayette snapped, the tenderness from earlier nothing more than a vague memory. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

I glanced at Aaron, waiting for him to argue. But instead, he stepped forwards, and threw his arms around me. I went still, the touch from Aaron so foreign it left me speechless. "Please," he begged. "Please take care of him. I cannot lose him again."

Lafayette softened, turned away, and said nothing more.

They left, the four of them, a few seconds later, abandoning me to the silence. Laf stopped in the doorway, hesitating. I thought he would say something, but he never did, and that was it. They were gone. And I was alone with Thomas.

I gave myself no time to wait before dashing for the bathroom, my heart beating wildly in my chest as I attempted to reach him. When I got there and flung open the door, Thomas was on his knees, gripping onto the toilet bowl desperately, as if he was moments away from caving in. His eyes widened in horror, and before I knew it, he leaned over the toilet and began retching.

I paused in the doorway, the breath snatched away from me.

It took me a moment to find my courage, to needle out that little voice in my head condemning me, demanding to know what the hell was wrong with me. On shaky feet, I stepped towards him, dropped onto the ground, and pressed my hand against his back as he vomited into the toilet, spilling up whatever words he had left unsaid.

I stayed with him, refusing to move. Even long after there was nothing left for him to upend and he had wiped his mouth, I didn't dare take my hands off of him.

"Thomas?" I murmured. "Love, please talk to me."

But of course, he said nothing. Just stared down at his shaking hands.

Thomas slid backwards from the toilet, resting against the wall. I offered him my hand, and hesitantly, he took it. The second I had his grasp in mine, I pulled him up against my body until I could feel the unsteady staccato of his heartbeat thundering through his ribs. I pulled him closer, closer, until there was nothing left between us.

We sat there in silence, me clutching him as closely as I could in fear that he would slide right through my fingers if I didn't have him tight enough, if I let the world invade. Meanwhile, Thomas seemed like he wanted to disappear, to fade to nothingness, and of course, all I could do was promise myself that I would never let that happen.

Silence is weird, isn't it? Both of us are thinking about the exact same thing, but there is absolutely nothing to talk about, but there's everything to talk about. But talking could ruin everything, but at the same time, silence could ruin everything. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? What if I say something stupid and completely ruin everything? It has been known to happen.

"What did he do to you?" I hissed, and both of us knew who 'he' was.

Thomas broke.

He slid away from me, and his eyes met mine, and the sobs won their inner battle. He began to weep, a perfect contrast to the solid emptiness he had faced the world with earlier. But now that it was the two of us, sitting in the light of the fading sun as it drifted through the small, shower window, casting the world in an alien, orange hue, there were no walls left between us. Nothing left to overcome.

Thomas sobbed, covering his face with his hands. He sobbed, and the darkness pressed closer in on my vision, threatening to plunge me into an empty, unfounded abyss with nothing but that sharp bitter pang of failure. He sobbed, and everything that had once been good and beautiful and bright became the equivalent of nothingness, worse than any monster.

Thomas sobbed, and the entire world seemed to sob along with him, mourning the fall from grace, the defeat of good.

"Come on," I whispered, trying to strengthen my voice against the terror and sadness choking it out. I cupped his face in my hands to better dry away a tear. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Thomas clutched at his wrists, pulling himself away from me. He shook his head, absolutely refusing to meet my desperately searching eyes.

"Thomas, please," I murmured. "If you won't tell me what's wrong, you've gotta at least let me make sure I can help you." I slid forwards, taking his face in both my hands and forcing him to look at me. I needed to. I needed the sight of his beautiful brown eyes, alive with two swirling galaxies alight with millions of stars on me, just to better enforce the memory that he was here with me.

And for a very long moment, I feared that he would stay just out of reach, refusing to let me touch him, refusing to let me share the immense burden he had taken on. For a very long moment, I truly did think I was a breath closer to losing the single best thing that has ever happened to this pitiful world, the brightest star and the sweetest flower, and the softest melody that has ever existed wince the creation of music itself.

But finally, he caved, his eyes flicking downwards as he relaxed in my grasp. His sobs quieted, and although they didn't disappear, they weren't as heart wrenching, tearing me from the inside out. I tapped my fingers against his arm in some pitiful semblance of a song, and pulled him to his feet. I managed to grab the bandages and disinfectant from the cabinet right over the toilet, along with the towel I had used earlier. Thomas leaned on me for a support I was more than happy to provide as I led him to our bedroom.

I sat him down on the bed, brushing my fingers against the cut just barely cleaned up on his forehead. He flinched under my touch, letting go of my hand and clutching his body, keeping the shattered pieces together with the thinnest of threads. I winced, murmured an apology, and slid the hair out of his face just so I could take it all in.

"I'm sorry, love," I whispered. "This might hurt a little." I offered him my hand, promising he could grip it as tightly as he needed to. I'd happily take on any pain I could if it meant alleviating his just a little. "Ready?"

He nodded, and I sponged away the blood as carefully as I could, pausing whenever he winced or quivered. It didn't seem like enough, but it was all I could do: clean the blood, bandage the cuts.

When I was done, I set the bandages and towel down on the bedside table. I leaned forward, gently sliding my fingers under his chin and lifting it, just to better peer into his gaze. God, he looked as though it wouldn't take much more than the wind to carry him away, like delicate rose petals, subject to the ever-changing desires of a strong breeze.

"Can I get you anything?" I all but pleaded. "Water? Advil? Something to eat?"

Thomas shrugged, his eyes unfocusing. Lost in his own little world, his own little time. Well, wherever it was, I hope his refuge was far better than whatever this awful place had to offer.

What rendered me useless, I think, was his silence. Not even just the absence of his voice, though I ached for that like a dying man for some semblance of comfort, too. There was no half-hidden beat of his fingers against whatever surface he could find. There was no impatient tapping of his foot against the ground. And of course, no humming. No melody, nothing. How long would it be before I ever heard it again? I doubted I could survive without his music.

How can somebody crave destruction so much that they would be willing to destroy something so beautiful? How could someone hunger for nothing but the pain and suffering of others?

A fire lit within my chest, fueled by my anger and my overwhelming fear. If I ever saw that worthless mistake of a human again, I would kill him. I would make him feel every ounce of heartache and torture he inflicted upon my Thomas, and I would not fucking stop until there was nothing left to destroy.

"Please can you drink something?" I begged. "For me?"

Thomas's gaze finally met mine. He looked so tired, so defeated. After a moment of my silent pleading, he caved and nodded. I let out a breath of relief. "Okay, stay right here for me, love? I'll get you something to drink."

When I returned, I brought him a glass of ice-cold water and his violin. He was sitting in the same place he had been when I left him, holding his arms, head slightly ducked.

"Here," I said, offering him the glass. He took a small sip, set it down, then glanced at the violin case and back up at me. I practically thrusted it into his hands, unable to so much as speak.

"Play. Please, for me."

Thomas took a deep breath. He shakily pulled the instrument out of the case and slid it under his chin. After a few seconds, he let the bow slide against the strings.

His whole body seemed to relax as the melody drifted into the air. I'll admit it, even I felt a little more at ease.

But it was not his music.

His music was good. It was slow and soft and sweet, telling the story of a deep, sensual feeling similar to a relieving summer's rain, when the land relishes in all that it had lost. It showed me what it meant to fly, how it felt to fall. It was the song of blooming flowers, the song of a boy finally opening himself up to the love he deserves.

This was not that.

This was a ballad of all things that had been lost. An elegiac tune mourning the corruption and the murder of an entire forest, an entire ecosystem. This was an ode to heartache, plain and simple. There was nothing sweet, nothing good, about listening to Thomas as he played.

But I listened all the same, for it was something he created. It was a piece of him, the only way he dared express himself, for better or for worse, and it was all that I had. So I listened, and fought down my reservations and my slowly-crippling fears.

Suddenly, in the middle of the song, Thomas abruptly stopped and began to put the instrument away.

His gaze flickered downwards, incapable of keeping the music alive. I sighed, and he flinched at once, his eyes flickering with fear. I offered him the brightest smile I could and helped him put it away.

"That's fine, love. Feel a little bit better?"

He slid the case back under the bed and nodded. The second he returned to my side, I offered him my hand. Hesitantly, he took it, and squeezed.

I squeezed back.

A strong silence fell, drowning out everything I wanted to tell him and everything I needed him to know. After a minute, he sighed, his shoulders softening.

"Thomas? Is there anything I can do for you?"

He glanced back up at me, tapping two fingers against the back of my hand in a way that couldn't have been accidental. I froze, not understanding. He drifted a few inches closer for a second, then stopped, reconsidered, and widened the difference between us again.

"No!" I exclaimed too suddenly. "Thomas, whatever it is, please let me do it for you."

Sighing, he shifted closer and set his head against my chest. It was the most natural thing in the world, the way I wrapped my arms around him in turn and pulled him against me, shifting the two of us so I was leaning against the wall and pillows and he was resting on my chest, body pressed against mine, holding onto me as though he'd never see me again.

"Thomas, if you need anything, I'm right here. I'm here for you. I care about you. I will always be here for you if you need me. And if all you want to do is go to sleep," I murmured, "I'll be here for you when you wake up."

Thomas shifted his hand, finding mine and holding tightly with the unspoken promise that he would never let go. He turned, burying the side of his face in the cloth of my sweater. I dragged my fingers through his hair, gazing down at my beautiful boy. It didn't seem like it was enough, but holding him was the only thing I could offer. So I held him, as gently and as tightly as I could, my fingers resting on the warm, bare skin of his arms and face.

"You are amazing."

I pulled him closer to me.

"You are incredibly wonderful."

A sigh racked his body, but he only pressed himself closer.

"You are needed."

Warmth spread through my body where his touch lingered.

"You are wanted."

Tears trickled down my face as I wondered why he would possibly think he didn't deserve me.

"You are loved."

I tightened my grip on him.

"You are mine, I promise. I will never let anything bad happen to you again."

Eventually, Thomas's body relaxed against mine, his breathing becoming deep and rhythmic, finally succumbing to sleep. I held him closer, refusing to let go. Refusing to lose him.

I repeated it, my voice drifting through the darkening room, the only light coming from the window, and the sun was setting fast.

"I will never let anybody hurt you ever again, Thomas."