A/N: Welcome to my final reverb, based on the amazing art and concept created by piercelovewonton on tumblr. Thank you to lunar, laura, along with my artist, Tiff, for looking over the whole thing, and to Kat and Sahra for looking at the earlier chapters, and Bendu for making some very important early suggestions. I appreciate all of you. This wouldn't be the same without you.
Cover art is by piercelovewonton, and you can find the rest of fantastic pieces she created linked on my tumblr page.
WARNING: This fic contains both semi-explicit sexual content and graphic violence. Read at your own risk.
It's mid-shift and the cafe is packed to the rafters as it usually is in the afternoon. Already tired from a grueling morning of midterms, Maka would love to take her break. It's so crowded, though, that they need her on register, so she greets the next customer in line, barely able to keep the plastic smile on her lips.
"Welcome to DC Cafe, can I help you?"
"Uhhhhh."
She's so used to orders being barked at her by busy business people and frazzled college students that the hesitation gives her pause. She looks at the guy in front of her, really looks, and notices startling red eyes beneath a shock of somewhat messy white hair that he runs his hand through almost nervously, his eyes darting between the counter and the rest of the room.
"You want coffee?" she prods helpfully.
"Yeah." He scratches at the back of his neck, and Maka uses his averted gaze as a chance to inspect him more closely. He just seems so familiar somehow. Though she's sure she's never seen him before-she'd definitely remember a guy with white hair and red eyes-she still feels like she should recognize him. It's strange, and she's not quite sure what to make of him as he looks up at the menu like he's trying to read Attic Greek.
"Tall-house blend-cream and sugar, maybe?" she helpfully supplies the most common order.
"Uh, no." He squints up at the board, eliciting a chorus of huffs and groans from the line behind him. "Americano. Gigante, I guess. Thanks."
"Oh-kaaaaaay. Name?"
"Soul."
"Seriously?" Maka scoffs, unable to stop herself. She's seen a lot of ridiculousness in the name department in her time at the the cafe-Jack Hoff, Fah Que, Mike Hunt, the list is long-but this is a new one.
"As a heart attack." He meets her gaze for the first time and holds it and she feels-something. Something warm and strange in her chest that she wants to stifle and let die, that she wants to fan and make burn bright, that she just doesn't understand.
Tearing her eyes away to the register, she forces out, "That'll be five-fifty."
"Seriously?" It's his turn to scoff.
"As the zombie apocalypse."
He laughs and shakes his head as he hands over a ten. "Pfft, you're terrible at this." His voice is deep but warm, and she likes the way it rumbles through her even from a few feet away, the way she can practically feel it in her bones. It still seems so much like she knows him from somewhere, his face, his voice, but she doesn't, and it's nagging at her like an itch she can't quite scratch.
"You can pick up your drink at the other side of the counter-have a nice day!" Maka calls out to his back with forced cheer as he makes his way to the pick up area. She tries to track where he goes, but it's so busy that she loses sight of him as she helps other customers until she finally gives up and forgets what had been so interesting about him to begin with.
She remembers an hour later when she drops down into the only empty table in the shop, sighing with relief at getting off her feet before she notices him in the little booth near her. He's looking intently at the paper on the table, scribbling furiously. The paper is lined oddly, and Maka thinks she recognizes it as music, but she doesn't know enough about it to be sure
It's strange, watching him with his brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration. She's overwhelmed with that same odd familiarity, like she's watched him a thousand times before, but she doesn't know him. Death City isn't that big, just a college town in the middle of the desert. She grew up here-knows all the locals by name, most of the college kids by sight-and she's sure she's never seen him, familiarity be damned. This is stupid.
Unwrapping her egg salad sandwich, Maka takes a disgruntled bite as she opens the novel in front of her and stares it down. She's got reading for school this week she needs to do, yet as her eyes keep straying from her novel to his familiar-unfamiliar face, she sighs, because it's rude to stare and this is ridiculous anyway. He looks up suddenly, meeting her gaze before she quickly averts it.
Caught staring. Her mama would have given her an earful if she could see her now.
She focuses on her book again, ignoring how hot her face feels as she tears into the egg salad.
"That lunch looks sad," Maka hears a voice say and she recognizes the deep timbre of it from his order earlier. "Got some sushi earlier if you want some."
Looking up from her book in spite of the heat in her cheeks, she makes a face. "Gross, no thanks."
The stranger had been grinning as he met her gaze but looks suddenly crestfallen, and Maka feels a pang of regret hit her forcefully. "Buuuuut I could sit with you if you want," she adds. "It's crowded and would free up a table. I mean-" she colors again "-if you don't mind."
"Nah, don't mind."
And that's how she finds herself sitting across from this boy named Soul that she knows but doesn't, trying to read her English assignment as she munches on egg salad and failing miserably. Instead, she looks up and he's looking at her contemplatively as he chews his own mess of fish yuck. He colors when she does and quickly casts his eyes back down, but Maka soldiers on.
"So, um, I thought I knew all the regulars, but I've never seen you around. Are you a transfer student or…?"
"Something like that." He flicks his gaze back up nervously and grabs another piece of nigiri to dip in his little plastic tray of sauce then shovel into his mouth. "Don't get out much either," he adds as he swallows roughly.
"Oh, that's-um-okay... My name is Maka, by the way." She's about to hold a hand across the table to shake but thinks better of it as he wipes his own sauced fingers on a napkin, so she waves awkwardly instead.
"Yeah, I know."
Her brow furrows in confusion, so he nods his chin in her direction. "Name tag. And I'm Soul, which I'm sure you remember, seeing as you didn't believe me when I said it."
"It's just-an unusual name is all!" she retorts indignantly.
"And Maka isn't?" His eyebrows go up.
Maka shrugs. "I'm half Japanese and my parents were hippies-my dad actually renamed himself Spirit before he met my mom." Her eyeroll is epic.
"Same. Not the Spirit part or the Japanese part, just the hippy parents bit. My parents made a try at being boho before they regained their socialite aesthetic." His own eyeroll is, perhaps, even more exaggerated than hers had been and they both laugh.
They fall into an easy conversation for the rest of Maka's break. She tells him about her time in school, working so she can keep a small apartment with her roommate and good friend Tsubaki, keeping a strict study schedule while trying to have a social life. When she admits that sometimes 'social life' entails going to the library to study with friends, Soul laughs and calls her a nerd. Their time together goes that way; she talks and he makes little comments and asks questions and it's comfortable, it's nice. The familiarity haunting her from the moment they first spoke remains, and it feels like they've known each other forever instead of just an hour. Then it's over and she realizes somehow she's done most of the talking and Maka knows no more about him, really, than his name.
With regret, she says goodbye and returns to her shift, thanking him for the company. Soul laughs and says, "Anytime," and a part of her really hopes he means it.
It's still busy as she reclaims the register-the day is rainy, dreary for the first time in well over a month as they hit late winter monsoon season, and people are flocking in for a warm pick me up. Another hour later, Maka excuses herself when there is a lull, claiming the door is sticking again-it is-but she also needs air. Walking past where she'd sat with Soul earlier, she notices he's gone. She'd expected that, but still can't help but be stupidly, irrationally disappointed.
Opening the door to go outside, she catches a flash of white. It's him, he must have just left, and she's tempted, so very tempted, to call out to him and so they can talk just a little longer, but she doesn't, just watches his back retreat into the gloom before oiling the hinges to the door. She almost feels like he glows, like she can see his aura, but of course that's silly. There's no such thing as auras, and whatever she sees must be a trick of the light.
Part of her wonders if she'll ever see Soul again, if she seems as familiar to him as he feels to her, part of her wonders why she cares since she hardly knows him, knows little more than his name, and plus, he's just another guy, just another person too likely to let her down.
Maka shoves down both parts as she goes back into the coffee shop and gets back to work.
The next day is a Thursday, so Maka is off work; she's always off on Thursdays, though her other day off varies. She's decided to go to the library to catch up on studying and finds a quiet table on a study floor, but when Blake comes in with an armful of books and plops down next to her with a loud, "Hey, Maks!" there's no stopping him. For the barest instant, she considers packing up and moving to another part of the library, but she quickly realizes he'd just follow her, so it would be wasted effort. Instead, she focuses on reading the novel she had tried to start yesterday during lunch, and for a little while, Blake is blissfully, uncharacteristically silent. Since her childhood friend and perpetual thorn in her side is not known for his patience or volume control, with his hair dyed a bright, eye searing blue, his loud slogan-prone muscle shirts, and his even louder voice, Maka counts her blessings and focuses on getting through more of Sense and Sensibility.
This companionable silence lasts all of five minutes before Blake whoops out a loud, "YUS!" and slams the book he had been looking through pages down on the table with an audible smack.
Groaning audibly herself, Maka tears her eyes from the assigned reading to glare at her friend.
"It's a library," she hisses. "People are trying to study, shut up!"
"And I am studying, nerd brain! Just found the coolest shit for the comic book I'm working on. I'm gonna make bank with this one! It's gonna be my big break!"
Maka rolls her eyes. Blake Barrett is a Phys Ed major with an Art minor who aspires to be greater than Stan Lee. His last big idea had been about a superhero named Black Star, PE teacher by day and masked vigilante by night, and had been alternately scoffed at and laughed out of the room.
"Alright, I'll bite, what is it this time? Black Star, football coach slash ace detective?"
"Pshaw, no, that's just dumb. But picture this, Maka! Black Star, lone warlock, last of his kind who were wiped out centuries ago in the great magic war. Hunters have exterminated the other surviving warlocks and are after him, so Star has to fend off his enemies while trying to fight crime. Cool, right?"
"That's actually-pretty good. Where'd you get the idea?"
Blake pushes over the book he'd slammed down earlier, a thick leather bound volume with gold lettering that declares the title to be Warlock History. Maka grabs it to flip through, and while the title reads "History," it is clearly a book of myths and legends about these title wizard types over time. Skimming through, the "war" Blake has spoken of is at the center of the mythology.
Frowning thoughtfully, she turns to Blake. "That's all fine and good, I guess, but it's plagiarism. You'd better credit this and get permission; this isn't exactly an original idea."
"Shyeah, like anyone is reading some obscure ass book from-" he flips to the title page "-1902. I think I'll be okay."
"Even if no one actually notices, it would be wrong to-"
"Yeah, yeah, let me handle the comic shit, pigtails. I'm a comic God, the man who will surpass Stan Lee, after all."
"Whaaaaaatever." Maka rolls her eyes, not for the first time, before returning them to her book. "It's your lawsuit," she mutters under her breath, and just like that, the conversation is over, Blake scooping up his newest find to sprint out of the library and do the gods knew what.
For her part, Maka finds her focus shot. She's haunted by the idea of a race wiped out so brutally, of the few survivors hiding and struggling in a hostile world. She wonders what it would be like, to be so alone in the world, and thinks it would be very hard. Even with her long gone Mama and deadbeat, womanizing Papa, she is very far from alone.
Maka tries to blame her suddenly bleak mood on the season, the second day in a row of drizzly, depressing rain, but part of her knows better. It may just be a myth, but it strikes a chord within her that she doesn't understand, one that nonetheless shadows her in a veil of uncharacteristic sadness for the remainder of the afternoon.
Working again on Friday, she feels more tired than usual. It's just so dreary, and the idea of lone warlock genocide survivors wandering the world, hunted and afraid, has haunted her dreams. Still, she brushes them off as she brushes so much off and focuses on the task at hand, in this case, taking orders. At least there had been no class that morning, thank whoever invented the Monday and Wednesday only course schedule; Maka'd had plenty of time to catch up on school work, even if it had been a bit of a slog, her head just not quit in the game.
Somehow, she's managed not to think of the stranger she'd gotten to know on Wednesday at all since then, but then she spots red eyes beneath a hoodie two hours into her shift. His smile seems genuine as he greets her and orders the same Americano as two days before. Her own smile is equally genuine. It's nice to see him again, even if it's just to take his coffee order, and when she tells him to have a nice day and please come again, she means it.
An hour after that, it's her break, and the urge to join him is strong. Instead, she takes a booth nearby, letting out a breath and quashing the silly longing to talk to him like she's some wide eyed thirteen year old with a schoolgirl crush. Maka should probably be surprised he's apparently waited around just for her-somehow she's not, and the realization that she had subconsciously been certain he would wait surprises her. The feeling like she knows him, really knows him, returns, and she feels breathless. But she doesn't know him, she reminds herself again; Soul is just some random guy and she needs to get a grip already.
"Mind if I join you?" She's startled by his deep voice a few moments later, and before she can even think to answer, he's sliding into the booth across from her.
She scoffs. "I didn't say yes."
His face is carefully neutral as he shrugs. "I'll go if you want."
She wants to scream yes and no all at once. Her head says yes, leave, go. The way she's drawn to him is dangerous, she sees it, she should run far and fast. But her heart screams yes, the traitor, and her mouth forgets how to form words in the chaos of it all.
"You like this place that much?" Maka finally manages before taking a bite of egg. She'd been so tired and wrapped up in school work this morning that she hadn't even packed a lunch, so she's got a protein box and a chai latte instead. At least she gets her shift meal half price.
"Good coffee." He shrugs and then his face splits into a wide grin. "Service sucks, though."
"Just remember who makes your drink." She can't help but smile back, sweet and dangerous as she pegs his forehead with a grape from her meager lunch,
Though Soul yelps out, "Hey!" he doesn't seem too put out as he grabs the fruit that had bounced back to the table and pops it into his mouth, following it up with a bite from the oversized orange scone on his plate he must have bought as she went on break. Apparently, he'd chosen to go with cafe food as well, not a hint of raw fish in sight. Her stomach silently thanks him.
"So, you a music major or something?" she gestures with a flip of the hand to the sheet music he's gathered haphazardly in front of him, scrawled all along the staff lines with a flurry of little, hastily written notes. Maka wishes she weren't entirely musically illiterate so she could maybe get a meaningful sense of something from the page, but it may as well be in ancient Farsi for all she can make sense of it.
"Or something," Soul agrees, grabbing the papers to shove back into his bag. "Not really very good, but sometimes I can't get a song out of my head if I don't put it on a page."
Maka tilts her head, thoughtful. "Hm, yeah, I feel that way about words sometimes. I'm not much of a poet, but sometimes the words just have to come out my head feels so full of them."
His own nod is also thoughtful, along with the hum, before his face splits into another grin. It's more shit eating than menacing in spite of a mouth full of too sharp teeth. "Poetry though? Figures. Pegged you for a nerd from day one."
"What gave it away? The uniform or the fake customer service cheer?"
He laughs, and Maka finds she likes the sound. It's deep and rich and makes her feel warm. The urge to kick herself is strong because the last thing she needs in her life is a boy who can make her pulse race with a simple laugh. "Might have been the thick book you were reading, but really, I'm gonna go with the pigtails."
"Hey! What's wrong with pigtails?" Her huff expresses far more annoyance than she really feels; she knows they're silly, childish even, but they are also practical and cute and she's worn them since her mama left, and so what if a small part of her fears her mom won't recognize her anymore without them?
"Nothing if you're eight." Soul looks as though he might be considering something profound for a second, tapping his chin and tilting his head before his grin widens. "You're not actually eight, are you?"
Her only response is to peg him in the forehead with a second grape and take another rough, indignant bite of her day old hard boiled egg.
It's strange how comfortable it feels, this banter, and in spite of the reservations screaming through her head, when she has to get up after several more minutes of teasing and talking, a part of her still wishes she could blow off work and just be, just spend time with this odd, snarky not-quite-stranger.
But Maka has a job to do, so she says, "See you later," and he says the same, and when she checks over an hour later, he's gone again. Her head rejoices, but in her heart, she hopes it's not for good.
It turns out it isn't.
Soul comes back the next day and the next-and each time she somehow ends up eating lunch with him, however reluctantly. And in spite of every resistance she tries to make, in spite of telling herself how stupid it all is, every time is better than the last, their banter teasing and friendly. Maka marvels again how it's like they've known each other for ages, it's so comfortable, and as much as she is loath to admit it, their lunches quickly become the highlight of her days. She tries to remind herself, tries so hard, that he's a stranger, that she hardly knows him, that he could just stop showing up at anytime. It doesn't work; she still looks for him each day, and her heart soars to see that little smile he greets her with, the one he quickly covers in the mask of apathy she's come to notice he wears for most of the world. She doesn't know him, but at the same time she does, and it's strange and scary and maybe a little thrilling.
Day four, Maka complains about the weather. "This monsoon season is so bad," she groans before taking a bite of the turkey sandwich she's packed. Soul just raises an eyebrow so she continues. "I mean, there's always late winter rains, but usually we get some sun between-lots of sun between-but seven days straight of just wet? This is the desert. It's just wrong."
He responds with a shrug. "I sort of like it."
"Really?" It's her turn to raise eyebrows. "But it's so-I don't know-dismal. I miss the sun when I never see it."
"Mm, sure, but the rains also change things. It'll bring out flowers-lets you appreciate things you can't see otherwise."
It's an odd answer, and he quickly hides the wistful smile that threatens as he gives it.
"I guess," she agrees with the slightest pout. "I do like how pretty the flowers are in the spring."
That ghost of a smile haunts her for a moment, like an unspoken secret, but it is quickly enough forgotten as their lunch continues along with the rain.
The day he stays until far after her break surprises her. Everytime she looks his way towards the back of the cafe, Soul is scribbling furiously at his staff paper but for the few times he's looking her way, smiling with a strange mix of cocky shyness when she catches his eye before looking back down. She finds she likes his presence, likes having him just there, and when he's still there as her shift ends, Maka is more pleased than she cares to admit.
He waits for her near the exit, his bag slung over one shoulder, opening the door for her as she leaves.
"You're still here," she says as they fall into step on the sidewalk.
Soul raises an eyebrow her way as he responds. "You said you got off at four and had class at five. Thought I'd walk you-" he pauses, stopping mid step, brow furrowed. She has to backpedal and spin quickly to catch him "-wait, I don't have to walk you. I guess it was sort of fucked up of me to just assume you'd-"
"No." Maka raises a hand, cutting him off, and his face falls. He's about to say something, but she hurries to finish, realizing what he must think. "No, it's fine!" she blurts. "I'd-I'd like you to walk me." She can feel the heat on her cheeks, but ignores it, soldiering on. "If, I mean-if you want to walk me. Because you-"
"I want to walk you." Distress has quickly been overtaken by a smile, wide and genuine. "Be pretty stupid of me to hang out this long if I didn't, right?"
"Yeah-right." The sigh she breathes is relief, ridiculous and utterly vital. It's awkward, new, and Maka feels a nervous flutter at the idea that he's waited just to walk with her. It makes her feel stupid and silly and a bit giddy. Alarm bells blare in her head-this is dangerous and she knows it, letting him into more of her life than just her lunch break. "Let's-go then?"
"Yeah…" Soul agrees, and they fall into step again.
"So-" she ventures after a short time just walking "-you have class tonight, too? Monday is a pretty popular day for night classes."
"Huh?" Soul looks startled for the barest instant, but then, his face fades into habitual boredom. "Ah, nah, I'm going home after. Just thought the walk would be nice."
"Oh, okay." She nods slightly, wondering when he does have class. Maka has never seen him on campus, and she would think their schedules were very different but for that he's generally around when she's working, so he can't be in class then, which means they must be on campus at the same time sometimes. Still, it's not a tiny school and he's a music major-it would be easy enough to miss him. "Did you have class earlier, then?"
There's a pause, far too pregnant, and Maka flicks her eyes towards him as they keep walking. His hand runs through the back of his hair and he clears his throat slightly. "Not-exactly." He sighs. "Truthfully, I'm not really a student."
This time she's the one stopping, surprised. "Really? But I thought-"
"I-my-I mean-" Soul stammers, shakes his head. "Some-uh-family has a place here, and I needed to-figure some things out, I guess, so I came here. That's all."
"Oh," she breathes out. "Yeah, some people have vacation homes here for whatever reason." The laugh is only a little forced. "I don't get it, though. I'd much rather go to the beach, or somewhere green, or something."
It's Soul's turn to laugh, shaking his head ruefully. "Yeah, wasn't my first choice either, but it was available and I needed a place, so."
"Ah, yeah, makes sense." It reminds her of how very little she really knows about him, and Maka wonders for far from the first time why she keeps talking to him. It's stupid, so stupid, to befriend him, to like him.
Too late to take it back now, she decides to simply enjoy his companionship as they meander their way to campus so she can go to class.
It becomes another habit, another thing Maka finds herself anticipating giddily that she shouldn't. She casually lets slip details about her schedule, and Soul just as casually hangs around until she's off. Some days, he just walks her to school, but when she has no class-well, since they're both free, why not grab a bite to eat together? Or hey, isn't that new movie out now? Or there's this great little band playing at the club down the street. For the next two weeks, wet, drizzly, gray weeks, he occupies most of her afternoons. School work is relegated to the late evenings, and she's getting less sleep, but she can't say she minds. In truth, she's never been more happy, loves spending time with him. Maka never realized how lonely she was until now, until she had something to compare it with. She has friends, plenty of friends, but not like this, not a best friend who is always around, not someone who-who makes her feel this warm.
It's exhilarating, which is also terrifying, but she shoves that down. She knows him, knows he has a brother now, knows he'd come cross country to find himself, knows he's a musician, that he plays piano though she's never heard him, knows he's thought about going to college to study music but just isn't sure who he is anymore. He reveals his soul in bits and scraps, and sometimes, she thinks maybe she can help him find himself, accept himself even, because she sees who he is and what she sees leaves her breathless.
Of course, there are other things, too, consequences for her new friendship. Tsubaki has been unrelenting with her questions, which means Liz and Patti and even Blake have been the same, but when it spills over into work, Maka has had enough.
She's closing tonight, and Soul is outside waiting to walk her home, standing with his umbrella in the drizzle under a streetlamp, looking content as he taps his foot to whatever music is coming to him from his headphones. She sees that light about him again she sometimes catches from a distance and shakes away the thought that it's somehow otherworldly.
"He's cute," Kim says with a smack of her gum and another spray of disinfectant on the counter. "'Bout time you got yourself a boyfriend, too."
Slapping down the stack of twenties she'd been counting, Maka turns bodily to her coworker. "He's not my boyfriend. We're friends."
"With benefits!" Patti pipes up from somewhere in back, and Maka lets out a frustrated little screech, before shaking her head.
"You already know that's not true, Pat. You and Liz interrogated me last weekend, remember?"
"Lots can happen in a few daaaays," she sings out from wherever she is and Maka just huffs out a sigh.
"Nothing happened in a few days. He walked me to class, we saw a movie, we ate dinner. Same stuff I do with you and Liz and Tsu and Blake."
"Except it wasn't with any of us." Patti finally comes from the back with a mop and bucket. She dips and slaps and splatters them all with soapy water, causing a few groans. "And you don't hang out with any of us that long, ever."
Maka shrugs and takes up a pile of tens to count.
"Admit it, you liiiike him," Kim says with a grin and a nudge to the ribs, pink hair swaying with the motion.
"Nope." Maka keeps counting.
"He's waited for you every shift this week. He's here every break. You sure he's not stalking you?"
"Psh, no," Maka scoffs. "Like I said, friends. And he doesn't have many friends from what I can tell-he's not from here-so just-"
"Could we all go out?" Patti bounds closer with the mop. "I mean, if you're gonna hang out with him this much, shouldn't we all-"
"No!" Maka responds too loudly, then reddens. Her eyes stray to where he's still waiting. "I mean-he-maybe? Soon? He's just-he's sort of shy, and I don't-"
"Well," Hiro says flatly. "I think you should stay away from him. The way he's always around, it's weird. He could be dangerous or something, you just met him."
She knows it's the truth, has thought it herself, but she knows him. In her gut, she knows him, and the defensiveness isn't quite fair, but she feels it to her bones. "He's not dangerous," Maka responds curtly. "And quite frankly? It's none of your damned business who I spend my time with after work. Now, if you'll excuse me, the till is set and I'm going to clock out. Soul and I are going to dinner."
"This late?" Kim raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, shove it!" Maka snaps, and then she's in the back, changing, and then she's out the door without a second glance. Soul grins widely at her when she nudges him for attention, but quickly frowns.
"I'm fine," she sighs. "Just a long night."
"Nothing a good greasy diner burger can't cure?" His little inquisitive grin is so sweet, she can't help but grin back.
"That sounds perfect."
"Well, then, shall we?" He holds out an arm for her to take in mock gentlemanly fashion and she takes it like the lady she isn't, sticking out her tongue at her staring co-workers.
And Maka realizes with sudden force as she holds his arm, his skin warm even through his jacket, that though they are just friends, though they've never crossed any line that goes beyond friendship, she wouldn't mind if they did. Since day one, she's felt so connected, and now, hard as she'd fought against the pull in the beginning, as much as she's tried to resist the sheer gravity of being near him, it's become difficult to imagine her life without him. She likes him-really, really likes him-and the fact that thought makes her so giddy scares her most of all.