Notes: Sliding in for another (late) New Year's update. You know the drill: happy (belated) birthday Hinata, happy (belated) sixth (!) anniversary to this fic, and I'll spare the whining and moaning about my writing process and update speed.

I do want to point out that since the last chapter, I did write, ah, a certain missing scene from chapter 14. I'm not sure if it's very good, but if it's something you'd like to read, you can find the link in the end notes of the AO3 version of chapter 14.

Also, some content warnings as of this chapter for implied domestic violence and, like, canon-typical unhealthy relationships? But uhhh it's all consensual? I guess? You'll see haha.

Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

Waiting for Rainbows
Chapter 22: Perhaps we were just scared of realizing

Hinata had no idea what he was doing.

Well, no, he did know, obviously. There weren't many other reasons why he would be disguised in a wig and pacing nervously outside of the Japanese Embassy to Novoselic late on a Monday evening.

But still, he had no idea what he was doing.

He had spent two nights playing poker with his colleagues in the dorm lounge, polishing up his strategy but still struggling to put his finger on what sort of connection the game had to his previous aspirations. No matter how much he mulled it over, he just couldn't make any headway, and the games in the lounge were just too loose, too casual for him to feel that he'd be able to break through his buried memories and come to a satisfactory conclusion.

So, when he had left for work that morning, he had brought the wig in his shoulder bag and spent the entire day debating over whether he would actually be venturing into a yakuza-owned casino once his shift was done. It felt like a horribly inappropriate thing to be considering while in uniform, but if it came down to it, he could claim to be going on an undercover investigation.

He didn't have to dig very deep to admit that that was a bold-faced lie. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt any significant loyalty to the police force, and even if he had, Kuzuryu was right—he didn't have any authority under Novoselic law. Besides, from what Kuzuryu had told him, the Novoselic queen seemed to not only approve of the underground gambling arena, but actually found it exciting to be home to "real life Japanese mafia dealings."

In the end, Hinata hadn't come up with many compelling reasons not to at least stop in on the casino; he had no other plans for the evening anyway, since Kuzuryu was going to be busy with other work. So... that was that.

He sighed, running a hand through the long, dark hair that he still wasn't used to having around his face. The ribbon that Pekoyama had tied it with those few days earlier had come loose so he had tried his best to redo it, but he could tell that it was already falling apart again. Maybe that was reason enough to just give up on the ridiculous idea and head home. He didn't even know how to get into the basement of the building.

Just as he had that thought, he heard a car coming up to the building, puttering as it slowed to a stop. Hinata ducked behind an electrical pole in hopes that he wouldn't be seen. A man stepped out of the jet-black car, fairly well-dressed but obviously not an embassy worker putting in overtime hours, and started making his way towards the building.

Cautiously, putting on a façade that he knew exactly where he was going, he followed the man at a distance. Hinata watched as he walked to an exterior stairway leading below ground level and disappeared down them. Pausing for half a minute to put some more distance between them, Hinata approached the stairway himself, a bit worried when he found there was a gate at the top but relieved that it was left unlocked. He pulled the gate open, then hesitated, considering once again whether he would be better off just forgetting the whole thing and going home. This was his last chance to turn around.

He shook his head and sighed. He had already spent the train fare to get there, after all. Fully steeling himself, he walked down the stairway and opened the door to the casino.

Immediately Hinata was hit with what seemed like an impenetrable wall of cigarette fumes and he tried not to cough in response. It's what he should have expected from such a seedy place, of course, but it was still a bit much. The lighting was dim and orange, a stark difference from the bright streetlights outside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

It was nothing like the stereotypical Vegas casinos seen in movies; Kuzuryu certainly hadn't been downplaying it when he had described it as not much in general. Honestly, just going on appearances, it wasn't much different from what Hinata would see in the dorm's lounge, but, as he walked around slowly, observing the patrons and his surroundings, he could tell that the vibe alone was very different.

It might not have looked like much, but this was definitely a place for serious gamblers to gather.

"Hey." Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed Hinata by the shoulder, and he turned in alarm to see a man glaring him down—Hinata recognized him as a Kuzuryu Clan member—angry wrinkles marring his scarred brow. "You planning to actually play, or are you just gonna gawk like this is a fuckin' zoo, ah?!"

Hinata raised his hands defensively. "Ah, no, sorry, I was just..."

The gangster's fellow enforcer, standing to his side, widened his eyes. "Hey, fucktard!" He jabbed his partner in the gut forcefully. "Don't you recognize this guy's face?! That's the young master's...!"

The first enforcer peered at Hinata's eyes for a moment before recognition dawned in them, along with a not insignificant touch of fear. Suddenly Hinata was wishing that he had incorporated a mask and a pair of sunglasses into his disguise. "Sorry about that," the enforcer muttered, retracting his hand. "Didn't realize you... eh, y'know... Here, we'll give you some chips on the house..."

"Ahh, no, please don't!" Hinata hurriedly fished out his wallet. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I fully intend to pay for myself, don't get yourself into trouble by giving me handouts. Here." He took out a five thousand yen note—the amount that he had decided would be his budget beforehand, reasoning that he'd be perfectly fine if he never saw that money again. "I'll buy five thousand worth of chips."

Still looking somewhat cowed, the enforcers dutifully dealt out the appropriate amount of poker chips—a bit more than five thousand worth, if Hinata wasn't mistaken—and then quickly retreated to leave him to his own devices.

Hinata sighed, tucking back a strand of long hair before proceeding to toss the chips between his hands nervously. Well, if he even had chips now... he might as well join in on a game.

Quickly finding himself a place at the nearest table, he sat himself down and without even a word in his direction, he was dealt into the game. Of course—he couldn't really expect this to be the kind of place for small talk and friendly banter, could he? The thought was nearly laughable once it had occurred to him. Settling for a silent chuckle, he picked up his hand and took in the table in front of him.

The game was Texas Hold 'em, not the five card draw that he had been playing in the dorms—but that was fine. Logically speaking, it was probably the variation of poker that was more suited to trying to read others' cards. Beyond luck, the challenge would be learning to utilize his strategy without being caught by the keen-eyed opponents surrounding him, emanating a distinctly more malicious aura than his fellow officers.

Goosebumps prickled up Hinata's arms in excitement, while a strange calm settled upon his shoulders. It was a different environment—downright foreign—but somehow, Hinata found it more comforting than the lounge at his dorm. More challenge, and no one trying to engage him in conversation, leaving him free to stew in his own thoughts, to piece his mind together, to figure out the game and his own heart... Yeah. Perhaps coming to this place hadn't been such a bad idea, after all.

Hinata placed his bet, and the game began.

There were definite downsides to Hinata's new pastime, which became apparent after just the first night. First of all, the all- encompassing haze of cigarette smoke was impossible to avoid; it stuck stubbornly to his skin, his clothes, and, of course, the wig. The first two were no problem—a shower and a quick laundry run was all it took to be smelling normal again—but if there was a way to wash a wig, Hinata had no idea what it was. At a loss of anything else to do, he simply left it be, only to wake up in the morning and discover that the smell of tobacco had emanated off the mass of hair and spread through his entire room. Frustrated, he moved the wig into an airtight ziplock bag and left his dorm room window open to air out throughout the day, hoping that the weather would hold—there were still at least a few weeks until the rainy season officially began, but afternoon showers were gradually becoming more frequent. For the time being, he decided to keep the wig sealed until arriving at the closest station to the embassy, changing into his disguise at the station bathroom.

Another issue was timing. Leaving the casino in time to catch the last train of the night wouldn't leave him much time for poker, and he had had to take a taxi back to the dorms that first night. It was fine enough, but unless he made some huge winnings at the poker table the fares would quickly begin to add up.

He also hadn't been explaining the situation to Sakakura, for obvious reasons. He had dutifully let him know when he'd be returning after curfew—if only to ease his conscience and be able to claim he was still being a proper officer somehow—but he could tell that the dormitory supervisor was becoming more suspicious and more agitated with every call.

As refreshing as it was to have found an enriching, challenging way to spend his evenings, Hinata knew that he wouldn't be able to keep it up for long—not while maintaining the other aspects of his professional life. For that reason, he hoped that whatever discovery he was looking for would make itself known soon.

Fortunately, it did.

Hinata had sort of imagined that when he did figure out what the connection to poker had been, it would be some sort of dramatic bombshell, a sudden realization that would make everything clear again. In reality, it was a far less spectacular sort of realization, like a jigsaw puzzle slowly gaining clarity as it was completed piece by piece, gradual enough that one couldn't even tell the exact point when enough information had been gathered to see the full picture.

Even more disappointing, the answer didn't do much to help, either.

Poker was a game of more than just chance and luck; that had been obvious from the start, yes. But to excel at the game, one needed to keep a close eye on his opponents' expressions, to accurately read what they were feelling, how they were interpreting their hand—to look past whatever façade they might try to put up, to read through to whatever truth they may be trying to hide.

It was a skill that lended itself well to the courtroom, when asking questions of a witness during cross-examination, gauging if a client is being entirely truthful in their testimony. And that was why it had been such a hit in the law department.

It was an allegory that involved a world that no Hinata no longer had any connection to.

The realization actually hurt a bit, more than he might have expected.

Sighing, he finished up his last game and pushed away from the table. It seemed that the only real connection he had to poker, to the casino itself, was that it was part of Kuzuryu's life

—which was plenty for him, really, but still...

When he looked up, he noticed a man on the opposite side of the room, just entering the casino, and something about him caught his eye. Hinata had never seen him before—not that he had been at the casino for long himself, but in those three weekday nights he had mostly seen the same people each time. Not only was this man an unfamiliar face, but there was something about his very appearance that set him apart. Many of the patrons to the casino had a sort of darker atmosphere around them. This man, on the other hand, could be more accurately attributed to "light"—a cream-colored trenchcoat over a light gray suit; a pallid, drawn face; cloudlike white hair with only the palest hint of auburn at the roots—and suddenly Hinata remembered a name, or at least an alias, that he had heard in passing several days earlier.

The Ghost. The person who had sent the casino into chaos over the weekend.

From across the room, the man's pale gray eyes met Hinata's, and he realized he had made a mistake attributing this man to light. Going by physical appearance, yes, he adhered to a lighter color scheme, but even from a distance, Hinata felt the same darkness and malice as any other casino patron—possibly even moreso.

A shiver ran down his spine as the man started to make his way ever. They had yet to even exchange a single word, but as the stranger approached, any possible doubt had left Hinata's mind. This man was indeed the Ghost.

Hinata took careful steps away from the table he had been seated at, stuck between wanting to try to escape the Ghost's attention while also not wanting to give the impression of weakness, of fear. Regardless, though he might have wanted to avoid meeting, the Ghost seemed to be approaching him specifically. Great.

"Hello there," the Ghost offered as a greeting once he was within hearing distance, smiling amicably—but Hinata could see through the act. This man was not here for making friends, and he'd do best not to let down his guard.

"Good evening," he responded stiffly, keeping his expression hard and even. "Can I help you?"

The Ghost's eyes narrowed into crescent moons from the sheer serenity of his smile. "Oh, perhaps. You're with the Kuzuryu Clan, yes?"

"I might be," was the answer Hinata immediately settled on. No one had asked him that in his time at the casino—either they knew he was connected with Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu and made assumptions based on that, or simply didn't care one way or the other. The burden hadn't been on Hinata to decide whether to claim affiliation with the Kuzuryu Clan or not, and it wasn't the time for him to be debating that, either. There was a being of sheer malice in front of him that he had to contend with at the moment. "And you must be the Ghost?"

The man chuckled. "Ah, yes, that does seem to be what people are calling me. Let's sit down, shall we?" He gestured to one of the smaller tables with an abandoned pack of cards sitting on it. "Why don't you join me in a friendly game? No stakes—unless you'd like that? I'm only looking for a chat, myself."

Hinata watched, skeptical, as the Ghost sat himself down at the table, reluctant to join him immediately. "Why? I find it hard to believe you'd enter this place looking for conversation, let alone with someone you can't have known existed prior to a minute ago."

The ghost looked surprised for a moment, before returning to his easy smile. "Hmm. Yes, I wonder why?" He took the cards out of their slipcase and began to shuffle. "Should that be what we put on the line, then? For each game you win against me, I'll answer a question. Not exactly the stakes my mistress would like me to play with, but I won't tell if you won't."

Hinata had questions, all right, but he noted that the Ghost had conveniently neglected to mention the obvious other end of the bargain—that he would also have to answer this man's questions for each game Hinata lost. Still, there was the tempting thought that, if he played his cards right, Hinata could gather information from the Ghost. Information that could be helpful to Kuzuryu...

Reluctantly, he sat down in the chair opposite the pallid man, keeping a cautious eye on him through the curtain of dark hair. "Odd of you to be showing up in the middle of the week," Hinata found himself saying, if only to try easing the tense air between them on his own terms. "Weren't you last here on a Friday night?"

The Ghost glanced at him, silver eyes glinting with something between mirth and approval. "Oh, don't go breaking the rules before we've even started playing. You have to win before I answer a question." He chuckled, slender fingers working the cards in a swift riffle shuffle. "But, to be fair, you did just clarify one of my own questions. As I suspected, you are with the Kuzuryu Clan. Or you at least have an ear to the ground for their goings-on, hmm?"

Hinata said nothing, his gaze hardening further.

The Ghost chuckled again. "I suppose I can tell you a bit in exchange. These... errands that I run. They aren't strictly a weekend affair. I have a bit of a special skill, you see, and it all depends on my condition on a given day. Some days are good for gambling. Some are not." He placed the shuffled deck between them, in the precise middle of the table. "If my mistress and I determine that it's a good day for my skill, I'll head out—if it's not, I'd only be setting myself up for unimaginable failure. But if you want to hear more specifics, you'll have to beat me in a game first."

To be honest, Hinata wasn't the least bit interested in this man's supposed "skill," though there were other parts of his explanation that piqued his curiosity. "Let's just get started," he said evenly instead.

"Very well." The Ghost slid the deck of cards towards Hinata. "Since I shuffled, would you care to deal, ah..." He paused, smile growing almost imperceptibly. "Come to think of it, I haven't gotten your name yet, have I?"

Hinata's thoughts skidded to a stop, along with his hand hovering just above the deck. His name...

Noticing his hesitation, the Ghost chuckled. "I wouldn't dare ask without offering my own, of course." The man extended a hand across the table. "I'm Nagito Komaeda. And you are?"

Hinata stared for a brief moment, as if an offered handshake were a completely foreign concept. No one he had crossed paths with at the casino had asked for his name thus far. If they didn't recognize who he was, then they didn't care to hear a name; if they did recognize him for his connection to Kuzuryu, then "the young master's man" was all they cared to identify him as. But now he was being asked, and Hinata didn't have an answer prepared—as he had the distinct impression that revealing his true name wouldn't be the smartest move. "Ah," he started, purely as filler as he grasped the hand and tried to come up with an answer. Maybe he should just go for an alternate reading of the kanji in his name? "I'm Ka... muku..."

The Ghost—Komaeda—tilted his head, never letting the friendly smile waver. "Kamuku...?"

Shit, he couldn't just pull random alternate readings and make it sound like a real name! Well, "hajime" contained the "kura" radical, so...

"Kamukura," he settled on. "I'm Kamukura."

"Kamukura-kun," Komaeda repeated, apparently accepting the name, before his smile widened. "Ah, but I also gave you my first name, didn't I? I think it's only fair that you offer me the same courtesy."

Fucking hell, now what? With his mind firmly fully submerged in the depths of word association, Hinata reached out and landed on, of all things, a manga that he had read as a teenager. "Izuru," he said. "I'm Izuru Kamukura."

"Izuru Kamukura," Komaeda repeated, finally pulling his hand away. "I'll be sure to remember that, Kamukura-kun."

Whether he'd remember it or not, Hinata got the distinct impression that Komaeda knew it was an alias, but he wasn't going to push his luck further by continuing to speak on the matter. Without a word, Hinata picked up the deck, silently dealing out their hands.

He took a moment to check his cards—two fives, a seven, and two Jacks—before looking back at Komaeda, and immediately he realized that he might have made a mistake.

If there was one thing he could read about this man, it was that he couldn't read him at all. It seemed that, no matter what the situation, his paradoxical countenance of friendly maliciousness never wavered. With only two players, card counting was out the window, too.

Hinata fought back a grimace; he at least had a guaranteed two pair, but that probably wouldn't be enough against the Ghost. Hoping for a three of a kind, he discarded his seven, but only managed to draw a four. Two pair it was.

As they revealed their hands, he was sure he'd be forced into answering whatever Komaeda wanted to hear from him—a sacrifice he was willing to make once, just to see what he was up against—but what he saw instead had his eyebrows raising.

"Ah." Komaeda's smile never wavered in its serenity. "I only have a Queen high. Feel free to ask me whatever you like."

Hinata faltered—was this really the Ghost that had caused so much trouble just a few days earlier?—but for the moment he took the win at face value. "Are you... from a rival clan of some sort?" was the question he settled on.

Komaeda chuckled as he gathered their cards and began shuffling again. "Oh, nothing so grand as your own Kuzuryu Clan, I assure you. Not nearly as carefully organized, either. We're only a small group of individuals who have been collected in search of a comfortable way of life."

"Collected... by this 'mistress' of yours?"

Cocking an eyebrow, but smile still in place, Komaeda held out the shuffled deck. "That can be the question for your next victory."

The man's unflappability was quickly becoming frustrating, and Hinata's glare sharpened as he snatched the deck, dealing the cards and quickly identifying the win condition for his hand.

"King-high flush."

"Three of a kind." With his hands free of his cards, Komaeda steepled his fingers pleasantly. "So. What do you wish to know of my mistress, Kamukura-kun?"

Hinata's brow furrowed further. Something wasn't right, but... "Who is this 'mistress' of yours?"

"My mistress is my mistress, of course."

"That's not an answer."

"Hmm, perhaps not to you, but for me and the others, it's all that really matters." His gaze drifted off to some distant point beyond Hinata's shoulder, and he tilted his head as he shuffled the cards idly. The motion revealed a small cut high on Komaeda's cheek, previously obscured by the wavy tufts of hair framing his pale features. For whatever reason, Hinata couldn't keep his eye off the scabbed-over wound even as Komaeda continued. "My mistress, let's see... She's a very talented gambler, far more talented than myself. We can't possibly let her go out and waste her talents at any old gambling parlor, so we take it upon ourselves to find only the best places for her to visit."

Hinata dealt the cards for a third time, his eyes still glued to Komaeda's cheek. "The 'errands' that you mentioned before."

"I'm flattered you've paid such attention to the ramblings of someone like me. Yes, that's right." Komaeda accepted his hand, and though not in response to the cards he had yet to even look at, his expression finally changed, and Hinata was mildly horrified to recognize the bastardization of emotion on the man's face. "My mistress deserves only the best. It's the least we can do in exchange for the life that she has provided us."

Hinata wanted to throw up. The twisted version of love that Komaeda was exuding was clearly sick, wrong—and yet just reminiscent enough to how Kuzuryu looked at him that he couldn't possibly believe it was anything else. He didn't want to think about it, wanted to lead the discussion literally anywhere else, so without a second thought, he spat out, "What's that cut?"

Komaeda blinked, letting his sickening expression morph into mild surprise, before lifting a finger to the scabbed wound. "Ah, this?" He fell silent, glancing at Hinata enigmatically before smiling. "My mistress can get quite possessive over her belongings, you know."

Hinata raised an eyebrow at him, but Komaeda only turned his attention to his hand. "That wasn't an answer, either."

"It also wasn't a question you won the right to ask."

Hinata huffed, looking at his own hand. That wound was inflicted by Komaeda's so-called "mistress," then? The steadily shrinking part of himself that still held some devotion to the occupation of police officer wanted to reach out in some way, to offer help to someone who was apparently suffering some degree of domestic abuse, but if he wasn't misreading things, the relationship being described wasn't something so simple as that—and that even if it was, Komaeda was too far gone to even want that sort of assistance.

He may have only been speaking with him for a scant few minutes, but Hinata could tell that the man before him was far beyond rational understanding.

Irritated, and after revealing their hands—a three of a kind and a two pair, again in Hinata's favor—he decided to finally address the topic that bothered him the most. "Why did you approach me, anyway?"

"Ahh." Komaeda chuckled as he gathered up the deck. "Because I could tell that you and I were similar."

Hinata tried not to make it too obvious that the mere thought sent disgusted shivers down his spine. "I'll need you to be more specific."

Something shone in those silver eyes, and Hinata was sure it was something he didn't like. "You and I have the same scent," Komaeda said simply as he shuffled.

"Scent?" Hinata fought the urge to sniff at his sleeve; he already knew that he smelled like an ashtray, but the same went for anyone who so much as stepped foot in the casino. Komaeda had to be talking about something else.

"Yes. The scent of someone who is most loved."

Hinata fought to keep his face neutral even as it threatened to flare up.

"It's not exactly the same scent." Komaeda passed the shuffled deck to Hinata, then continued as if his analogy wasn't completely deranged. "In my case, I carry the scent of one who is most loved despite being far from worthy... mere trash being masked by the fragrance of affection. I would never go so far as to assume you as similarly lowly, Kamukura-kun."

"You're still saying that I smell similar to a mixture of perfume and trash."

"Heavens, no!" Komaeda placed a hand against his breast in a display of offense that didn't feel genuine at all. "No, my mistress treasures me more than all others only because I am useful to her. If it were not for my particular skill, she wouldn't deign to spare me a second glance, I'm sure. I sense that in your case, you are most loved for more than just your usefulness." He paused, picked up his dealt cards, then gave a smile that was only kind on the surface before continuing. "Or are you the exact inverse? Is it despite being of no use at all to the one who loves you?"

Hinata's fingers clenched, creasing the cards in his hand. He wanted to say something in retort—he had to—but nothing was coming to mind, no words that he could wrap his tongue around. He didn't need this stranger to be talking to him in such a way. To be telling Hinata why Kuzuryu loved him—or why he shouldn't.

If this Ghost, this Nagito Komaeda spoke in such a way to anyone after knowing them for mere minutes, then Hinata could completely understand why he had caused a brawl the weekend prior.

Suddenly Komaeda chuckled and returned his cards to the table face-down. "It seems that I may have overstayed my welcome. I'd hardly want to cause your fine establishment any problems again—and it seems that my skills aren't on my side tonight, after all. So if you have no further questions, I'll just fold and take my leave."

Hinata said nothing. He had nothing he wanted to say, no question to claim for that final victory, so he silently watched as Komaeda stood up from the table, give a low bow that carried the slightest tinge of mockery, and then exited the basement without having earned—or bet—a single yen. It was, from all angles, a visit that the Ghost hadn't benefitted from at all.

And yet, even beyond that, something didn't feel quite right. Hesitantly, Hinata placed his own cards back on the table, not bothering to pick up the bent-up ones that rolled off the edge onto the floor, because his attention was focused elsewhere.

Leaning over the table, Hinata flipped over Komaeda's final hand, the one that had been unlucky enough, after a string of sub-par hands, to cause him to fold and retreat.

True to form, it defied any rational explanation.

A royal flush.

-Uhhh, I just heard you've been going to the casino. Why? Stay the fuck away from there, dumbass.

Early the next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, Hinata turned on his phone to find that text message waiting for him from Kuzuryu. Sighing, he tapped out a reply before getting up to prepare for work.

-Don't worry. I'm never going back.

Notes: ...*nervous hiss* okay, you have no idea how scared I've been to start this part of the story. I actually spent literal years debating if Komaeda would even be alive in this AU, and that certainly wasn't the hardest part of writing this arc haha. I'll just have to try my best...!

Before anyone comes after me, I want to clarify that I like Komaeda just fine! But Hinata here certainly does not, and since he's the POV character, his distaste inevitably seeps into the narration. (I am, however, faaaar from confident in writing Komaeda himself, so if you have issues with my characterization of him... please be kind with your critique lmao. Like I said, I'm trying my best!)

By the way, the logic behind "Kamukura" that Hinata used is canon. The connection to "Izuru" is not, so far as I'm aware—it's a reference to the manga "Hi Izuru Tokoro no Tenshi" ("Emperor of the Land of the Rising Sun"), which is about the Japanese prince who authored Japan's first constitution and apparently also has some MLM themes? In any case, someone at my company said the manga was the first thing she thought of upon hearing that my dog's name is Izuru, so I figured I might as well reverse-engineer that...!

Anyway, at this point I have most of the rest of this fic drafted, save for a sizable chunk of the hardest-to-write chapter, so I'd love to say I can return to updating once a month now but I just can't say until I make more headway on that aforementioned chunk. I might have a side story for next month or something (I'm debating whether it belongs here or in On the Streets of Kibougaoka, because it's decidedly not kuzuhina), but otherwise, um... the next update will be whenever it's ready! Haha!