Anakin felt his heart race as his feet hit the pavement in a poorly matched percussive tempo, singing rhythm to the chaotic orchestra of his life. And at the moment it felt euphoric. He hadn't bothered to bring the speeder bike he borrowed from the temple with him for his late night venture. He didn't want the chance of being tracked. A short taxi ride got him right where he wanted to be.
It was an old route he and Padme used to run. One stretch of this particular block was lined with bars and clubs that they would hop, down the block then up two levels to circle back around. It was a well known go-to district for the sort of distraction he sought, among many others.
He and Padme used to run that block, night after night, week after week. Those were the days before the war. He had no doubt that she saved him back then, truly she had. And he regretted the way he spoke to her before he left, especially since they hardly had time to catch up since he procured the title of General. She stuck with him through thick and thin, and he was thankful to have a friend like her. But right now he didn't know how to sit and talk about the things that were tearing him up inside, the things that demanded to be drowned out by alcohol, pain and pleasure.
They were the things that Obi-wan did to him. Things that Obi-wan made him feel. And right now, the burning anger was beginning to alchemize to sadness while the shot he took before he left home started to wear off. He felt his chest start to cave again before he abruptly shook it off. He wasn't going to let himself give in to the depths of self pity, not yet. Right now wasn't time for that. Right now was time for anything else other than that.
And still, the feeling of Obi-wan pinning him against the cool durasteel, crashing into him, played over in his mind. It was unlike anything else. The way he tasted, the way it felt to have his hands on him, feeling him- it ravaged his soul. And right now the memory brought first a tug of sadness, with an all consuming rage slamming through his veins right after.
Obi-wan was so pathetic. He could feel it now, the honesty of it. He was too weak to take what he wanted, and Anakin would be damned if anyone tried to tell him Obi-wan didn't want him. He knew he did. That wasn't the point. The resolve he felt for it surged through him, egging him on. Go ahead and let Obi-wan want, wallowing in self pity. Anakin didn't have to let himself be pulled down by him. He didn't have to be miserable because Obi-wan was intent to be.
With a dark confidence in his step and a shine of vengeance in his eye Anakin cased down the street, a particular dance club catching his attention for no particular reason. It seemed as good a place as any to start his night. After all he was itching for another drink or two, and the gritty bass spilling out through its doors was intrinsically alluring.
Anakin made his way inside, immediately entering the fringe of the writhing mass of bodies that filled the dancefloor, all gleaming under shades of red from the strobe lights that danced on their skin. He pressed his way through the mindless worshipers, praising the hedonist rush of spice, sex and alcohol with the artful, passionate contortions of their bodies.
It was impossible to be unaffected by the overwhelming surge of flesh and wanting that surrounded him, and really that's why he gravitated towards places like this when he was hunting for distraction. Just being around it was intoxicating.
Eventually he navigated his way through the sea of bodies to the bar, nestled snugly against the back wall of the club. A charismatic, handsome young Pantoran woman leaned in across the bartop towards him.
"What are you drinking?" She asked loudly, cutting through the noise as the spark of a smile took hold on her face.
"Double shot of Corellian whiskey," Anakin shouted back, passing a generous sum of credits her way for the order. Nearly instantaneously she produced the sloshing glass of brown viscous liquid he sought after, sliding it back across the counter towards him.
Anakin took the glass in hand and tossed the whole thing back, relishing the bitter taste of release as it burned warm down his throat, spreading through his limbs. He turned in his seat to face the crowd, watching as it moved and pulsed in a sort of shared consciousness, slaving to the demanding beat that washed over them.
He felt a dark pleasurable wrath course through him, making the sorrow and heartache seem like some sort of distant memory. He let it consume him, relishing the way it felt, making him forget about the chasm in his soul. It transformed it, really, turning the emptiness into a well of dark resolve.
He didn't need Obi-wan. He felt the hidden truth inside of him sing out, wrapped in a bow of darkness. He had realized this epiphany once before, under the influence of alcohol and thoroughly steeped with pain. He didn't need Obi-wan. And ringing with even more truth- he wanted to hurt Obi-wan. He wanted the man to feel all the things he ever plagued him with.
To hell with what he wanted Obi-wan to feel, Anakin shifted his focus to his own wants of sensation. Things that he wanted to feel. He snickered to himself, remembering the Council trying to reach him earlier, wondering how many more times they must have tried to call him between then and now. It sparked a dark gratification that he savored joyfully.
Fuck the council and fuck their overreaching hand, Anakin thought, his eyes scanning over the crowd, searching for someone to catch his attention. As if in answer to his intent, a man grabbed the stool next to him. Anakin shifted his glance over slightly, keeping a careful disinterest on his face.
A shining swath of black hair fell into the man's eyes and past his ears, curling at the edges. His brown eyes looked black in the low light, piquing Anakin's interest. But really, those weren't the qualities that mattered. Anakin maintained the bored apathetic look as the man's mouth twisted into a sly smile, muted by a spark of something ravenous in his eyes that made a shiver dance down his spine.
"You look lonely." The man noted, his voice rich with a heavy core accent. Not quite the posh Coruscanti variety that he craved, but not bland, either. Anakin studied him without answer, eyeing the intricate tattoos that covered his neck and hands. It gave the man a feral edge that he didn't exactly dislike.
The Pantoran woman made her way back over, giving the man the same question she asked all her patrons.
"What are you drinking?"
"Two more of what he's having." The man answered, studying Anakin with rapt focus. He ignored him still, willfully looking out over the crowd. He wasn't uninterested, but he wasn't too interested, either. He had no obligations to anyone, no strings- and that was the point of hunting. It was all a game really, the trick was finding the right person to play with. He never liked the ones that felt too desperate, and tonight, he didn't feel like settling.
"I'm Quinn." The man said loudly above the noise, thrusting a drink forward into Anakin's palms.
Anakin didn't bother to look at Quinn as he shoved the drink back. "I'm not thirsty."
"No?" The man asked, challengingly, before slamming back the drink Anakin refused, his face immediately twisting with repulsion.
"Corellian whiskey? Really? You?" Quinn asked, setting the other shot down on the bar beside Anakin.
Truth was Anakin didn't have preference for any alcohol because he hated the way all of it tasted. But the taste wasn't what he was after. It was function, above all else, that lured him. Bail Organa had been the one to introduce him to the stuff during one of the few nights he dared to entertain the man's whims. For lack of anything better to torture his pallate with, he defaulted to it whenever he was inclined to order a drink.
"You don't know anything about me." Anakin answered dryly, taking the shot in hand and locking eyes with Quinn as he downed it, discarding the empty glass on the bar behind him.
The man's eyes sparkled brightly, as if there had been some sort of joke that only he was privy to. "Well then tell me your name." He suggested, cocking his head to the side, his eyes now boring through him. "I've already told you mine."
Anakin smiled now, for the first time, his eyes narrowed daringly. "I don't owe you anything." He felt a glow of power inside himself, one definitely helped along by the use of alcohol.
"Well then, let's play a game. I get three chances to guess your name. If I win, you leave with me." Quinn said boldly, getting straight to the point with his intentions.
"And If you lose?" Anakin asked. Quinn only smiled back at him, something dark in his eyes that was strangely unsettling.
"I can't lose." Quinn answered, all playfulness drained from his face, replaced with a predatory stare that Anakin nearly laughed at for the sheer absurd audacity of it.
A few spaces of silence passed between them, the writhing and pulsing of the crowd seeming to fall into the distance as the room started to spin. Anakin put a hand on the bar behind him, trying to ground himself as his stomach started to churn angrily. His body started to feel heavy, his chest rising and falling with quickening breath. He knew the effects alcohol had on him, but he hadn't had nearly enough to warrant what he was experiencing.
Quinn leaned in close, crooning wickedly in his ear. "If I had to guess, I'd say you look like an Anakin. But then again, I don't suppose it's a guess now, is it?"
With his mind suddenly starting to piece together his predicament through a slightly drunken, drugged haze, Anakin felt a jolt of panic hit him hard. He shoved himself up from the barstool, somehow managing not to fall over. His limbs felt like they were made of lead, nearly impossible to move as he struggled with every ounce of strength, calling on every bit of force he could to aid him as he turned and submerged himself into the sea of dancing bodies, desperately trying to break through to the other side. Quinn didn't seem in too much of a hurry to catch up to him, only just barely rising from his own seat by the time Anakin was deep enough in the crowd to lose sight of him.
The strobe lights played tricks on his eyes and he felt like he was drowning, gasping for air. It felt like a cruel joke, how quickly an illusion of power could crumble. He shoved the panic and unhelpful realizations to the back of his mind forcibly, struggling to collect himself as both gross and fine motor skills alike seemed to become more and more difficult.
His communicator, he remembered, with a stab of self loathing as he tried to find the power button with heavy, fuzzy feeling fingers. Deciding he was losing too much time and gaining not enough ground in the effort, he focused solely on getting out of the club and back onto the street. Finally after what felt like a small lifetime, he found the door. Gasping as he emerged into the cool night air he nearly fell flat on his face, clinging onto the force for dear life to keep him upright, moving towards the lift at the end of the block.
He didn't know what it was he had been drugged with, but it was quickly making everything seem impossible. Even his eyesight began to dim at the edges. He felt it pulling at the edges of his mind, wanting to swallow him whole. He refused to accept defeat. His mind didn't understand it.
"Anakin, wait up!" The seemingly innocuous voice called after him, filling him with certain dread. He reached through the force, calling his saber to his hand, from where he had hidden it in his boot.
He felt the force darkening all around him, warning and foreboding too late to do him any good. Anakin felt it ignore his desperate call, leaving him to realize the full scope of his helplessness as Quinn caught up to him, catching him in his arms just as his feet gave out beneath him.
Feeling it at all felt like failure in itself, the cold hands of terror wrenching him from the inside out as all words escaped him. Or maybe it was the drug, severing him from the force, making words seem impossible in his frozen terror, only matching that with the horror from his waking childhood nightmares. A shameful pleading to be spared came out as a whimper as Quinn hoisted him in his arms.
"Shh, don't try so hard," the man cooed, his black eyes glittering under neon signs that lit up like pretend stars above them. And Anakin thought for the breadth of a second that maybe, perhaps, none of this was real at all. But it was, and Quinn's words might as well have been imbued with the weight of force suggestion for the way Anakin felt it impossible to maintain consciousness, blinking out only seconds after.
….
Anakin's eyes flew open with a gasp as he came to, desperately clawing through the thick black tar of chemically induced unconsciousness that still seeped inside his skull. He felt the stuff dim his senses, keeping the force just out of his grasp. And he did try to reach out for it, his heart crashing with the little speck of burnt out hope the prospect had offered.
On top of that his head was pounding, pulsing with every beat of his racing heart as fear settled uneasily in his gut. He felt sick inside, feeling the stinging pull of slices in his flesh as his chest rose and fell, feeling the dull ache in his side that quickly turned into sharp stabbing as he tried to move. And beyond that, everything hurt.
And suddenly he was that little boy again, beaten to a pulp on the dusty tile floor of his mother's kitchen in the small hut they shared while she was brutalized in the next room. He felt so small, so helplessly small and powerless. And then he remembered again, his mother was dead. The realization crashed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. Or perhaps that was the more than likely broken ribs that stabbed him, reminding him of their presence.
When his mother died in his arms, all he felt was pure, unadulterated rage. It had been building there for a long time. It was the tar pit where all things that hurt went to fester and wait. He didn't know how to let go, not for lack of trying. Now as the thought of her death taunted him, all he felt was the helpless grief that weighed his soul with lead.
Anakin stifled a sob in his chest, feeling his throat painfully raw as he swallowed the cry in silence. He was lost, frozen with fear. His mind was racing, reminding him how easily he could be whittled down to a pathetic, vulnerable thing. Part of himself was still in denial, unwilling to believe any of it really happened.
Because how could he let this happen? He was careless, so horribly careless. He walked into the trap so willingly, without a rational thought. No, nothing about him was rational. Not after that last exchange with Obi-wan. That man was a plague, always bringing him down to the lowest version of himself. Scared. Powerless. Helpless.
Anakin forced himself to sit up on the sleeper, eyes straining against the darkness, gritting his teeth as his body screamed in pain. He felt the pull of dried bacta and bandages on his skin. Someone had bothered to patch him up, he thought with sick dread, wondering what their insidious intentions were for doing so. Just to keep him alive long enough? To do what? Something else he wouldn't remember with another dose of tranq in his system?
His skin crawled, his stomach turning to stone. He would be damned before he let himself get dosed again. Anakin forced himself to push past the overwhelming defenselessness that welled in his chest. He had to push harder even still as he realized he was completely unclothed, only covered by a thin sheet that he pulled over himself like a cowl before he reached out with a shaky arm, searching for a lamp or light switch.
He didn't know what he expected, certainly he shouldn't have been surprised. He had done this to himself. A sick twisted voice deep down inside himself snickered.
You deserved this.
He felt those words twist in his chest like knives through his soul. Did he? He had walked into the trap blindly, with no excuse other than his own untethered emotions. He had nothing viable to defend himself against the accusation. Not even inside his own mind.
Reaching out slowly still, Anakin found a bedside table. His fingers, still fuzzy and uncoordinated, crawled forward, finding the edge of a lamp. A little more fumbling and he was able to find the switch and promptly flipped it, casting the room in a dull glow.
His heart dropped as he quickly recognized the interior of his own bedroom, everything in its place. His lightsaber was precariously placed only inches away from his hand at the other end of the table.
Quinn knew his name. Did he take him here? Why would he leave his lightsaber there? Was it some sort of trap? Maybe he hadn't expected him to wake up so soon. Questions ran through Anakin's mind faster than he could fully comprehend them or even think of any reasonable answers. Of course there was the fact that however conscious he was, he was still heavily under the influence of whatever Quinn had given him. But he wasn't waiting around for someone to come to him. Passivity wasn't an option. Not even if he was terrified. Especially if that was the case.
Anakin took his saber in hand, gripping it hard in his sweaty palm as he forced himself out of bed, grabbing a pair of sleep pants from his chair and putting them on as quietly as possible. He heard footsteps in the main living space and another wave of fear crashed over him, making his core tremble.
Inside he felt the senseless fear grip him again. There was no reasoning with it, and it was not reassured by the lightsaber in his palms whatsoever. It reminded him of all the times he had been hurt, all the times he had been rendered powerless. If he had felt the force respond to his touch he might have felt some reprieve from it, but there was no such relief.
It was just him alone with his fears in their most primal forms. No powers to call upon to help him, no Master to slay his monsters for him. It was just him, with a weapon in his hands that would amount to nothing if he couldn't pull himself together.
Unable to abate the fear even slightly, Anakin took slow measured steps toward his bedroom door as if a monster might appear at any moment. Footsteps were nearing, he could hear them unmistakably, and he knew he was out of time.
Then like a gift from the force he felt a flash of rage crack inside of him, breaking through his fear for a moment. How dare someone touch him? It was a death sentence. And they knew his name, knew exactly who he was. How could they expect this to end any differently? They must have been suicidal to lay a hand on him. They were asking for death as much as Anakin deserved any of what they had done to him. If life was a series of cause and effect, this was the logical conclusion.
Anakin threw the door to his quarters open as soon as he heard footfall stop in front of it. Snarling, he keyed on his saber, slicing through the open doorway without a thought, tears of anger and shame leaking out the corners of his eyes. His saber met with substance and he heard the crashing of cups and plates shattering against the floor, a body stumbling backwards as hot liquid splattered the both of them.
Anakin hissed as the boiling hot liquid splashed over his bare torso, stinging on his wounds. He drew his saber back, angling for another quick swing at the fallen figure before his eyes recognized the man lying there, bringing him to a quick halt as his stomach began to feel sick all over again.
It would have been arguably better if it was Quinn staring up at him. Anakin's mind screamed for his death, wanting to dole out anything to make the man pay. No one made Anakin Skywalker a victim and lived to tell the tale. But instead of the begging, black, fearful eyes he wanted to see staring up at him, he saw Obi-wan, looking like he just saw a ghost.
Broken bits of teacups and plates lie scattered around him, the serving tray Anakin sliced in half strewn across the room. Obi-wan's clothes were soaked in the steaming hot liquid as he looked up at Anakin not with a trace of fear, but with shock.
Still trying to make sense of the situation, Anakin disengaged his saber and let it clatter to the floor, suddenly not possessing the strength to hold it any longer. His eyes registered blood on the man's robes, sending another wave of panic through his chest. Stumbling a few steps, feeling like he might collapse again, Anakin leaned up against the wall for support.
"Y-you're bleeding-" Anakin bit out, his stomach in knots, horrified at the thought that he might have just mortally wounded him. That would explain Obi-wan's ashen pallor and wordless daze. After all he was still quite inebriated and had no way of judging the efficacy of his strike.
Obi-wan's glassed over shock dimmed as he quickly shook his head, rising to stand. "No," he assured him in a steady voice, still looking a little ill. "You didn't get me, just the tea tray." Obi-wan added with the slightest glimmer of humor to his voice.
Anakin still studied him, seeing his robes covered in a rather large amount of blood, traces of it still clinging to the man's hands. There were too many questions, and Anakin's head was still spinning as he leaned against the wall even more to keep him from falling. His knees were weak, and he felt like he might throw up.
He was disoriented in more ways than one as he desperately tried to make sense of the progression of events. After righting himself Obi-wan moved to pick up Anakin's lightsaber. "Shall I put this back on your table?" He asked nearly casually, walking into his chamber and doing so without waiting for a yes or no to the question.
Emerging again Obi-wan hovered in the doorway. "You should get some rest..." he suggested, his eyes only briefly flickering over Anakin's many cuts and bruises. However quick the glance was, the guilt that settled on the man's face was much longer lasting.
"And I should go make more tea," Obi-wan suggested. "After I clean this up, of course," he gestured to the liquid and smashed porcelain on the ground.
Anakin watched him, still perched against the wall, his head slumped over to try and stop the spinning sensation. He saw Obi-wan fuss over multiple towels and broom, dusting up the bits and shards of broken dishes. It was all so disgustingly mundane, so horrendously menial. He looked down, swearing he saw a smear of blood on the man's face in the shape of a thumb with fingerprints on the side of his neck in crusting red flecks.
His hair was disheveled, and had been much longer than this incident. The longer Anakin looked at him, the more blood stains he found, like hidden images in a children's picture book.
Obi-wan was avoiding him, avoiding having to look at him. Avoiding the conversation that would inevitably ensue. Anakin's heart ached, looking at the painful display of normalcy the man was attempting, sopping up the tea and wringing the rags out only to go back to the floor with water and repeat the same process, swearing that in just a few more passes he would be able to get the whole place clean as if nothing had ever been amiss. It was infuriating.
"Stop it." Anakin said, pressing his forehead against the wall, his ribs aching for rest.
Obi-wan stopped for a moment, looked up with a measure of fear. He was afraid. Quickly his eyes went back to the floor under his palms as he continued the obsessive, self soothing ritual. "I've got to get this cleaned up." Obi-wan said, his voice dull, quiet, nearly a whisper to himself.
"Just stop." Anakin groaned, a headache splitting through his temples. His chest was caving again, his heart breaking. Obi-wan couldn't even look at him. Anakin didn't know what happened, but his body told him enough to know it wasn't pleasant, and actually quite violent. The way Obi-wan kept cleaning the same spot on the floor, over and over, was starting to make him afraid. And then there was the blood, scrubbed off of his hands and mostly out of his fingernails but it was all over him. In his hair, soaked through his clothes…
Anakin's head was full of questions he couldn't even think to ask. If not for his own sake, for Obi-wan's. His eyes were stinging with hot tears, his chest holding onto a trembling sob. Not because he felt sorry for himself, not because of whatever happened to him. It was for the one thing he always wanted, the one thing that always seemed to evade his grasp.
No matter what he did, no matter what accomplishments he achieved or battle he won, nothing would ever change the way Obi-wan saw him. He would never see him for who he really was- not as the warrior Jedi Knight, not even as the monster that slayed a village of tuskens out of sheer self serving anger. Most certainly never as an equal.
No. He was the poor slave boy rescued from the wretched filth of Tatooine. The Padawan, always too quick to respond with anger. A liability. The weakling that failed to fend off the Sith on Kraysiss. The pathetic sobbing mess that cowered under Zaann's scheme. Forever a victim in Obi-wan's eyes. Even now Anakin knew the man blamed himself for his state, for the violence that had befallen him. Obi-wan always managed to find a way to make everything his fault. It was his most damning masochistic quality.
"Fucking stop it!" Anakin screamed, his throat hoarse and painfully raw. He found himself unable to stop the sob that forced its way past his defenses as he huddled still, back leaned against the wall, too weak to support himself fully.
Obi-wan looked up from the sparkling clean spot he had just washed ten times over, his eyes horrified. He turned ashy pale again, like he had just seen something ghastly. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth of his leggings, looking up at his palms to see them come away a dingy brownish red.
"I'm sorry-" Obi-wan nearly whispered above the sound of Anakin's sobs.
Seeming to come out of his haze Obi-wan rose to his feet, trying to wipe his hands clean on his tunics again without success. Blood- Anakin saw him start to notice how he was covered in it. As if he hadn't been able to see it before.
Relenting to the filth he was covered in, Obi-wan reached out towards him. Anakin's sobs were slowing as he continued to lean against the wall. His knees were burning, his ribs were aching and he was so, so very tired. Even still he had enough energy to coil away from the man's touch.
"No!" Anakin snarled.
Obi-wan pulled back, frightened by the response.
Anakin was so angry, he felt it like acid in his veins, burning him from the inside out. Obi-wan would never see him. Not really. He would only see himself- his own fears. But never him. And this? This was just the nail in the coffin. He could see it in the man's eyes, glazed over with terror.
"Just don't-" Anakin snarled. The pity in Obi-wan's eyes was more than he could handle. "Don't look at me like that."
"What?" Obi-wan asked, hurt. Confused.
"You think I'm weak!" Anakin screamed, wrathful- a Padawan all over again. His emotions were untempered. They always were, but even the guise of control he held over them was slipping now. The rage, anger, confusion, shame. All of it boiled together in one mess inside of him.
"What? No-" Obi-wan started, ready to explain how Anakin was wrong, as if they had never missed a beat.
"Don't fucking lie to me!" Anakin growled, shoving Obi-wan hard- as hard as he could which wasn't very hard at all. He only succeeded in tripping himself and stumbling into the corner, barely keeping himself upright.
"That's not what I think." Obi-wan insisted seriously, a healthy color returning to his features.
"Fuck you." Anakin spat, dejected.
In a flash Obi-wan slammed his hands on either side of him, pinning him in. Something wild stared back at him. Not violent or threatening, but passionate and very, very angry, in only a way that his old Master could be. Obi-wan was trying to get his attention and he was exceedingly successful in that pursuit.
"Listen to me," Obi-wan said, his blue eyes boring through him.
"Not once have I ever thought you were weak." He said, his words crisp and clear. Obi-wan's expression softened while retaining that same stern, unrelenting stare.
"You never have been."
Then those eyes glossed over, a chord of pain striking though.
"If you were, you'd be dead."
Anakin was left speechless, pressed in the corner as Obi-wan still loomed over him, making sure his words settled firmly inside his skull. Somehow it just made everything hurt more. He felt like he was being ripped apart inside, like there was too much suddenly and he couldn't keep it locked away for even one more second.
Perhaps the drugs were partially to blame, and that very well could be. But what should have felt exonerating felt like counterfeit praise. And he couldn't stop the tears from falling and he didn't know why. He was just a child again, and all he felt was the raw heartache that resounded in every fiber of his being, reducing him to what he really was.
Anakin shook his head. He couldn't take it. Because he wasn't strong. He was weak. Anyone seeing him for anything else was buying something fake. Something that wasn't real. Everything that made him look like something else was distraction, trying to get himself to believe his own lies. No matter what battle he won or who he was able to save, he was empty inside. Carved out by dry rot from his earliest years, a silent disease killing him before he was ever even alive.
What else could he be? That emptiness was as much his destiny as any deluded prophecy about him and his cursed blood. Perhaps one of the most personal and intimate that he would ever have. If his life had been born to causes beyond his knowing, this one thing was his alone. The void he carried inside of him and the boulder of shame he felt for being the fraud he was.
Anakin's sobbing shook him from his core, wrenching his stomach into knots. His body hurt, and he felt like he could barely stand. Slowly Obi-wan moved to embrace him, purposefully giving him ample time to negate the attempt. Anakin pushed off the wall and towards him, feeling his body press into the man's robes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath as arms gently held him, carefully keeping him from falling without angering his wounds.
A hand softly tousled through his hair, soothing, consolingly. "Let's get you to bed, hm?" The man's voice rumbled in his chest, a lullaby in itself. Anakin could hardly find it in himself to protest. The tears and gut wrenching pain that consumed him couldn't hold against Obi-wan's tenderness. It was the only thing that made everything seem like it would be okay.