There was a bright light peaking through the cracks of his window, pouring its golden shade on Sanji, who had slept on the floor due to his whole fight with Zoro.

With a painful groan, he sat up. A sharp pain spread up his spine as he did so, since he had not slept on a hard surface in a very long time. Although he was still annoyed that he had to sleep on the floor due to the whole paralysis affect, he could not be completely upset with Zoro, who had only been provoked by his own words. Last night, something terrible had came over him. The sins of jealousy had overtook his personality and actions when he saw the happiness scribbled all over Zoro's face when he had been on the phone with Kuina. Perhaps Sanji envied the man, not exactly because he was with Kuina (though she was a very pretty lady), but because it seemed as though he had his whole entire life mapped out.

Sanji had to admit, he felt an uncanny connection between him and Zoro. The childish demeanor when it came to fighting, the subtle(lucid) hint of pride, and a passionate way of living- they were all something, yet their lives were so contrasting that it pained Sanji. Because Zoro, in many ways, was happy, liberated, and so damn at peace with life- unlike Sanji.

The blond pulled himself up to his feet and twisted his body around; even planted his hands on the ground by arching his back, so his shirt would reveal a small bit of his stomach. The stretch did not agitate his wrists, which caused him to realize that his wrists had completely healed.

With a crack of his back and a tiny grin on his face, Sanji headed towards the kitchen. The little doctor told him a week to heal, but he only took three days. He knew he had always been a fast healer, but damn, he was amazing!

His fingers itched with excitement because he had not cooked in so long. He wanted to create all sorts of things. Ooh, maybe I should go French today. Or, or, he should go fully American, with greasy bacon, a perfectly cooked sunny-side up egg, and fluffy pancakes with dribbles of homemade maple syrup on top. Of course, he would improvise along the way like a jazz musician on stage.

Zoro shouldn't matter in my life.

Dammit! That bastard should not impose on his thoughts.

Sanji exhaled in an agitated manner, craving a cigarette at the thought of how last night turned out.

Zoro should not matter though, for he was a total stranger who only stuck around out of his own guilty conscience. He should not matter because he was only an idiot who hardly displayed his emotions, except towards Kuina. He was only a cocky little shit who always liked to provoke Sanji's already short temper.

But, dammit, if he wasn't someone who he didn't respect...

The swordsman stomped out of Sanji's apartment in vexation.

He was not angry at Sanji, but more towards himself, for being a prissy bitch. All his life, he was taught that the sign of strength was not the ability to unleash anger but to hold it back; but instead, he struck the blond right below his chin. His sensei, Koshiro, had once told him the key to composure was also the key to the mastery of his swords. For he who cannot even control his emotions was not he who could control his swords beforehand. But he could not do it around the blond.

It was pathetic and pitiful.

Zoro drove to the 'usual place', which was an unpopular bar a few blocks from his house, called Blueno's Bar. A fine bar, in his own opinion, which was not too snobbishly sophisticated or wild. He hated bars that acted as clubs, with half dressed females and sex deprived males humping each other like feral animals.

He parked his own black convertible next to Kuina's, which was a blue convertible. He lightly grinned at the sweet recollections of his sixteenth birthday, when Koshiro had the two vehicles lined up outside of the dojo. At the sight of the two cars and the words, 'these are yours,' Kuina and he flipped their shits that day.

When the swordsman strolled into the bar, he found himself immediately surrounded by his group of friends.

A buff man with an electric personality and blue hair, spiked up with gel, named Franky; the raven haired brothers, both with sensitive good looks that women made a huge fuss over, Luffy and Ace; and Brook, a skinny yet gigantically tall pervert with an afro on his head. Indeed, his group was a strange mix of weirdos, but simultaneously, they were good people who turned everything into a party.

Zoro raised a brow when he saw that some were missing. "Where's Usopp and Chopper?" he asked.

Franky picked up the question with a loud 'OWW!' as he struck a pose. "Usopp is having a super time with Kaya, which I call a super date!" the spunky man said with a wink.

"Chopper has some emergency hospital thing with the old lady," Luffy cut in before his attention snapped onto a bypassing tray full of food. "Is that meat?"

The rest was filled in by Ace and Brook, about how the little man was treating a patient with critical injuries, and his boss refused to let him leave until the surgical procedures are fulfilled.

It's always that old hag, Zoro groaned, thinking about the witch who took Chopper under her wings. If Kureha were able to hear his thoughts, Zoro would have been kicked across the room by now.

The swordsman did not realize that his eyes were lingering until Ace interrupted him." Kuina's in the bathroom," the freckled faced man told him with a playful smile. "But anyways, where's that guy from the phone? I wanted to meet him. He sounded pretty... innocent." That playful smile turned impish as his eyebrows wiggled.

Zoro snorted in disbelief, "Innocent, my ass." But he did not continue on the topic of Sanji since his whole reason for coming to the bar was to forget his involvement with the blond.

"Yes, yours and his ass indeed," Ace mumbled with a dreamy smile.

Zoro narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?" Oh, but he knew exactly what this pervert was talking about.

"Nothing, now answer my damn question, why isn't he here?" he grumbled as he snapped out of his entranced expression.

So the swordsman told his friend about the blond, all the way from how they met to the vivid descriptions of their fight from a few hours ago. Initially, he planned on giving Ace only one part of the story, but his friend kept urging Zoro to give the full story in an excruciating detail from start to finish.

"He sounds like a prick," Franky spoke.

Zoro realized that his whole crew had gathered around him and had listened to the whole conversation between he and Ace, even Luffy, who usually didn't have the patience to hear a story for more than a minute unless they were adventurous.

Brook cut in, starting with the obnoxious laughter of his, "Yohohohoho, he certainly sounds like a gentleman."

"Gentleman? Which part?" Zoro scoffed, spitting out his gin.

The tall, skinny man explains, "It seems like he holds a deep respect for women."

"Hey, he sounds like someone I know!" Luffy spoke before taking a huge chunk out of his ribs, viciously chewing on them like he hadn't been eating for the last few days.

Before anyone could respond, Ace slammed his drink down, and the harsh clank caused everyone to stare in curiosity. In a drunken manner, he shouted, "It's your fault!"

"What the hell, Ace?"

Ace down his glass in one gulp. "Think about it. Who likes it when someone else is happy and prancing around when you're unhappy, you get me? He clearly has some downers in his life, and you're just rubbing in salt into his wounds with your own stupid happiness."

Some of his friends nodded in agreement.

Zoro glared at his friends.

In a calm and sensible tone of voice, Brook said, "Zoro-san, I think he envies in some ways. You are plenty content with your life, but the man named Sanji is lost. Perhaps he feels a connection with you, but since you are on the better end of the stick, he feels bitter about things."

Zoro raised a brow, "What are you trying to say, Brook?" His lips tightened around the rim of his glass.

Brook tapped his violin case, which he carried around everywhere, with his fingers. "I'm saying you shouldn't be so hard on him. He seems like a good person from your stories, and you obviously have a high interest in him. Perhaps, just like the most of us, he's simply trying to be a better person, but words sometimes jumble his thoughts and emotions. You should try to understand him better."

Damn.

There was something about this musician that separated him from the rest of his friends, and that was his old age. Even though, at times, this skeletal man would crack perverted jokes and lame puns, there were moments, such as these, that really proved him to be more experienced than the rest of the group.

"That's so touching," Franky wailed as he rubbed his watery eyes, "I take back my comment about him being a prick."

The swordsman huffed, "I don't want to pry into his business."

Brook grinned, "You might believe that you're prying, but no one actually minds being cared for, you know?"

There was a sudden flash of inspiration in the man's eyes, so he took his violin out of his case and began to pluck the strings. Some people in the bar began to cheer, for they all knew how addictive the sounds created by Brook was. The tall man with an afro stood up straight, with his strings all tuned, and began with a slow classical tune. His eyes were closed as he played the piece from his memories, before improvising, switching the genres from rock, jazz, then ending with swinging reggae.

While Brook performed for the whole bar, with everyone cheering at every bowing of his arms, Zoro continued to rack his brain about Sanji.

The two raven haired brothers were snoring next to him, both comically still holding cups in their hands. The barkeeper, seeing how they are always in the bar, was used to this strange occurrence, so he went about cleaning the inside of the cups with a clean white cloth.

Through experience, Zoro was not fond of the idea of someone prying into his business; however, as Ace implied, the cook seemed unhappy with his life. He wasn't blind. He remembered that red haired woman from Sanji's restaurant, as well as the subsequent empty smile of the cook's. It was clear that he loved her.

Speaking of some unrequited love, his eyes wandered to spot Kuina, whom had been the target of his unrequited love in the past.

There she was, sitting amid with buff strangers, doing a shot after shot, shouting, "ANOTHER!" after each gulp. As Zoro neared the round table, he could see that all the men surrounding her appeared tipsy, with strokes of blush on their cheeks. The only one who was still downing drinks was Kuina, who had that eager, competitive look on her face.

"Come on, sis, another one? All of us are already-" he hiccuped, "-wasted."

Kuina stood with a smug look, a look she always had after winning a competition. "Well, gentlemen, I guess I win. As we agreed from the beginning of our bet, you have to pay for my drinks." Then she took a one-eighty degrees turn before crashing into Zoro, who had been watching with amused eyes.

"Zoro!" she greeted. "You're awfully late, you bastard!"

The green haired man smirked, "Mind telling me what this is about?"

Kuina placed her forefinger on her bottom lip. "They came up to me, saying that if I win, I get free drinks; but if they win, they can take me out of a date, one by one. Since I was bored, I decided to play."

"Oh, and you won," he flatly stated, not surprised. He and Kuina both had competitive streaks, especially towards things like drinking and fighting.

She grinned, "Damn right."

Kuina wrapped her lean arms around Zoro's neck and leaned in for a soft kiss, in which they had both been deprived for days.

"Come on, sis! Ditch that guy!"

The buff guys booed while Zoro's group of friends cheered for them, whooping and whistling.

And through the passing night, Zoro and Kuina began a drinking contest of their own. A few of their friends entered, but soon dropped due to the abnormally high tolerance he and Kuina both owned. However, by the end of it all, Zoro felt a slight buzz in the back of his head and Kuina was appearing tipsy (but only because she had a head start).

Ten minutes before midnight, Zoro volunteered to drop most of his friends off, since he was the least wasted of them all. Then, after half an hour, after he dropped the last person off in front of their house, he was left alone in the car with Kuina, whose face was unusually bright.

"Zoro, come with me," she demanded when he parked his car in front of her dojo.

The invitation was undeniably tempting, but he was hesitant, for she was drunk and at an unusual state of mind. "Your father," he stated, as though the reason alone explained everything.

Kuina smirked mischievously, "My father's asleep, Zoro. What's wrong? You used to sleepover all the time when we were little kids."

But we aren't children anymore, he wanted to say.

This woman, woman of all women, was a damn seductress. A worthy woman, whom he hopelessly, foolishly, madly, clumsily, and painfully fell in love with. Of course, he wanted to make love to her. But tonight wasn't the night, and his temptations were a human instinct he had to control, much like his emotions.

He gently pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "Another night, I promise."

And even at that state of tipsiness, Kuina knowingly nodded, throwing a 'I love you' behind her shoulder, before stomping into the dojo.

The blond's dream was a dark abyss, where he was only half conscious that his body was laying somewhere, but the other half was dozing off to a place with blurry images and different shades of colors. Amid these bypassing pictures, he thought he saw a strange marimo with swords strapped to its side, but he was distracted due to a calling in the distance.

"Wake up," it called.

He felt stings on both sides of his cheeks as though someone was slapping him repeatedly; and with each hit, these images would tremble and disperse.

Who the hell?

Reflexively, as he jolted awake, he swung his foot up vertically and lifted a heavy body up into the air, which soon splattered on the floor with a loud thud. When he snapped his eyes open in shock, he saw that the green haired swordsman was on the floor, rubbing his tender head with his hands, in midst of the blond's jumbled half-awake state of mind.

"Dammit, what are you doing, Curly?"

The memories of last night rushed into his head like water that just broke a dam, pouring the memories of his wrongdoings and words of gratitude into his brain. Honestly, he felt genuinely relived that Zoro strolled back into his life, without the whole awkward, accidentally meeting on the street thing, but rather the deliberate attempt at mending this acquaintanceship, or this weird friendship that was happening between them. This green haired bastard really came back for him.

Damn. It's so uncool for being so happy over a dude.

"Marimo," he said, nonchalantly, as though he wasn't glad at all. "What are you doing here?"

Zoro confusedly raised his brow. "To keep my promise, you idiot, why else?"

But the blond did not understand.

"Why? We had a fight yesterday." He sat up and casually slicked his hair to his head, and untangled the messily ruffled blond strands.

The green haired man massaged the back of his neck with his hand and clicked his tongue, "Since we do that every single second, it was one of those things. I mean, it didn't matter to me, unless you decide to acknowledge that my punch was strong, then maybe I'll apologize." As usual, and as expected, Zoro devilishly smirked at the end of his sentence.

Sanji wanted to retort and let his hot-headed mind speak its words, but he bit his tongue. Instead, there were swells of guilt and, dammit, his manly feeling welling up in his eyes.

"Oi, oi, not crying, are you?" Zoro asked, a bit taken back, but a hint of sarcasm behind his tone.

Sanji swung his leg towards the man's head, "Hell no." But Zoro dodged his sporadic attack. It seemed that the green haired bastard was finally getting used to the blond's weird and random display of affection.

"Fuck you, blondie," he said with a grin. "I woke you up to see if you are late for work or not."

The blond glanced to the clock on the wall to check to see if he really was late for work. "Shit!" He was late for work. "I have to call my boss and tell him I can't come in today, then." He sighed. He already lost Baratie as a job, he couldn't possibly lose this one too. Sanji looked up at Zoro, who stood in between him and the door. "How did you get in here?"

The swordsman scratched his green head, "Uh... it was open?"

Sanji's left eye twitched. "You shitty bastard! You left it open last night?"

Then, the two were sparring again, legs against arms, fighting like an old married couple would because it felt so natural. Even though they had a fight yesterday, they were fighting again, but much more casual this time.

Sanji was bored afterwards since he was completely free the whole day, without a single job to work at. His boss was oddly lenient earlier, saying that although it was a short notice from Sanji, it was great that he was finally giving himself a break. And since Sanji was bored, he made an effort to teach the damn marimo his secret techniques behind making an omelet, but his hopes were raised too high. Zoro could not even batter the eggs without spilling its content everywhere.

The blond groaned.

At the end, there was a batch of scrambled eggs with some unevenly chopped scallions on top. Sanji was going to eat it, of course, for he was against wasting food, no matter how shitty it appeared or tasted. As long as it was edible, he'd eat it.

After breakfast, Zoro got another call from his girlfriend, whose call he took in the bathroom. While the swordsman took a million years talking in there, Sanji turned on the TV to watch "Best Thing I Ever Ate." He loved cooking shows, especially cooking competitive shows. He learned a ton of techniques alongside the amateur cooks shown on the screen.

"Hey, cook," Zoro called his name as he walked out of the bathroom. "If you're not doing anything, you wanna come and meet my friends?" He asked, snagging Sanji's attention away from the TV show.

"Kuina? Of course I would like to meet her again," Sanji exclaimed with a voice that was an octave higher than his usual pitch.

The green haired man wrinkled his forehead. "No, not Kuina. Only Ace, his brother, and our gang of friends," he trailed on, "Ace was talking nonstop about you last night, so I might as well bring you guys together."

Sanji's curiosity piqued. Ace sounded like a great guy.

"Okay, let me just get my pack of cigarettes," the blond told him before storming off into his bedroom cabinet to pull out the last pack of cigarettes he had.

Ace, you piece of shit.

His old freckled faced friend was being way overly friendly with Sanji as he completely ignored Zoro. It irked the swordsman to see that the blond was not disliking the sudden attention he was gaining from Ace either. It was completely unfair how Sanji had treated him like shit but treated Ace like he was his old friend.

Admittedly, he was slightly envious.

"Ace!" A jubilant shout rang throughout the house, which Zoro immediately recognized as Luffy's. "Ace! I'm hungry and bored! Let's fight and eat!"

The freckled face man smacked his forehead with his right palm, "Luffy, we are not doing that again. We'll eat first, and then have a fight." With a sudden gleam of interest in his eyes, he turned towards Sanji with a quizzical grin, "Are you good at fighting?"

"Hell yeah," the blond responded before squinting his eyes at Luffy in sudden recognition, "Luffy?"

The young boy's eyes, already wide and curious, expanded even further, and a goofy smile gave him childlike features. "SANJI!" he exclaimed as his long, lanky legs swung around the blond's waist. "My favorite chef!"

"How do you-" Zoro began with a slacked jaw.

Luffy's grin widened from ear to ear, "You know my friend, Nami?

"This red haired chick he met at his part time job," Ace filled in.

The younger brother nodded with enthusiasm, "She took me to this restaurant called Baratie and introduced me to Sanji." A hungry line of drool dripped out of the corner of his lips, "Are you going to cook for us today, Sanji?" he asked, intimately close to Sanji, since his whole body was wrapped the blond's lean figure like ropes.

"Luffy, maybe if you get off of him," Ace suggested before snapping his full attention back to Sanji again, "How come I've never seen you around before? I've been a regular customer at the Baratie ever since Luffy dragged me there once. The food is great there, by the way."

The cook smiled, clearly enjoying all the attention he was gaining. "I normally did shifts in the kitchen, sometimes waiter shit, but I got fired the other day." He shyly scratched the side of his head. His eyes darted towards the marimo, who glowered at him threateningly.

"So, are you going to cook for us?" Luffy asked again with expectant gleaming eyes.

Who could really resist Luffy's requests? Clearly it was not Sanji. "Lead me into the kitchen, then," the blond said.

The straw hat boy happily led the way.

.~.~.~.~.~.

Somehow his whole crew got the gist that Sanji was at Ace's house; so within that impending hour, the whole crew gathered and began a small party, acting foolish and singing songs way out of tune. Of course, the only person missing was his girlfriend, Kuina, whom he purposely did not invite because she did not like wild gatherings such as these.

Sanji, the guest, was acting awfully friendly with everyone. Scratch that, he was getting along freakishly well with all of his friends, as though they had always known each other. Especially with Chopper and Usopp, whom Zoro hadn't seen last night at the bar.

Zoro was drinking some heavy stuff, the familiar taste of the toxin burning all the way down. It was great. And that slightest buzz in the back of his head only indicated that he drank hell of a lot.

The blond plopped down next to him, "Damn, your friends are crazy, marimo." His porcelain features were flushed, as an indicator that Sanji also had a lot to drink.

"It seems you're having fun," Zoro replied,

Sanji closed his eyelids, "Yeah, I guess I am," he murmured softly.

The swordsman continued to take sips directly from the bottle, leaving visible lip stains on the aperture. He assumed Sanji had gone to sleep since the blond had stopped talking.

"Zoro?" The curly eyebrow man called him by his actual name instead of some shit like 'marimo' or 'mosshead'.

"Huh?"

Sanji grinned, almost as widely as Luffy's childish ones, "Thanks for coming back, I thought you weren't going to." His piercing gaze stared right into Zoro's, making the swordsman's chest pound harshly in his ears.

Then, after his soft whisper, his head fell onto Zoro's nap.

The green haired man did a spit take when his friends all turned their heads towards the intimate action occurring between him and Sanji. The blond, however, remained undisturbed by the little sprinkle of alcohol on his face.

"Man, I thought you weren't gay," Ace whined and cut the silence.

Bewildered, Zoro defensively retorted, "I'm not!" Especially, not for a blond douche like this one!

The cook softly snored (or breathed loudly), whichever it was, it made him appear so vulnerable. Zoro's chest continued to pound harshly in his ears as his vision zoomed in on the blond's symmetrical face.

"That's it, I'm bringing this curly home," he announced as he threw the cook's light body over his shoulder like a duffel bag.

The group nodded approvingly, except for Ace, who said, "Don't take his sweet innocent ass," before Zoro headed out the door.

The swordsman silently cursed at his friend for being so obnoxious.

It was much worse. Much, much worse than before.

He could feel his whole stomach caving in with hunger and dehydration, sucking his already unnaturally emaciated body dry. However, only his fear of disappearing remained, because his pain was no longer tangible; he was numb, with not a single sensation remaining. His hands subconsciously shifted to rest against his stomach, and an intense feeling of dread swelled over his chest when he felt nothing but dried up bones and a stretch of skin over them.

The small blond boy stood, shaky on his feet, swinging side to side in an unstable manner.

I need to escape.

The slow, even thumps of his chest pounded clamorously in his ears as his body swayed to his right, meeting the floor with a harsh thud. His head throbbed like a bitch, probing his brain from all ends, prickling as though someone was sticking needles in them.

As he remained immobilized on the floor, he realized himself draining away, his consciousness fading like statics from a broken television. Death was terribly near, he could feel it.

It was almost a tragedy, really. He was young, fruitful, and had a dream to fulfill- yet here he was, about to experience life as a human being for one last time; but he wasn't sad at all for leaving this cruel world behind, because death felt peaceful. He had gone through so much pain and suffering, so it was only right that his death felt so amicable like an old friend.

It was finally over.

Over...

That was the silent mantra drumming inside his head, until he heard an obnoxiously loud shout.

"Don't you fucking dare die on me, you shitty brat!"

Fuck you, the boy wanted to say. Why couldn't this world, even at the last second of his life, grant him a peaceful death? Why did the universe hate him so damn much? Why did it care that Sanji was about to die?

"Don't you die, Eggplant!"

.~.~.~.~.~.

When he awoke, he was in the hospital.

The sound of the electrocardiogram (as it was labeled), or heart rate monitor, was beeping next to his bed, steady rhythm just like the humdrum of his heartbeat. His hands, since it was a habit of his, shifted against his stomach. It was still thin, but he could feel the cool brush of his hands against his abdomen, the ticklish sensation of his skin beneath his palm.

I can feel again.

His eyes darted to the figure sprawled out on a chair on the other side of his bed, an old wrinkled man with an odd braided mustache, sleeping soundly; his hands clasped on top of the hand that wasn't against Sanji's abdomen.

He recognized this old man. He was one of the workers of that cruel man who had tortured Sanji night after night. A cold shudder ran through his spine after that recollection, causing the young blond boy to have a small fit. He snatched his small hands away from the old man's, fear speeding up the pace of his heartbeat. He finally acquired this freedom, how could he go back?

Sanji needed to get out of the bed but his body was not responding properly to his lethargic brain.

"Shitty brat, what are you freaking out for?" The old man grouched.

The boy's eyes widened. He was beginning to believe that the man had healed him just so Sanji could suffer all over again. Curse the fucking universe and his stupid fate for keeping him alive. He'd wished to die, so why was he still living?

The old man's expression softened at the boy's frightened features, "Eggplant, I'm not here to hurt you. I swear that you will never experience that pain ever again."

For the first time in months, Sanji heard his own voice, cracked but still piercing, "How am I supposed to trust you? You're one of my enemies!" His eyes began to blur and his dry throat clogged, obstructing anymore words from being spoken.

The man's honest eyes never faltered. "I knew your parents, they told me about you and your dream." Sanji's heart throbbed because he knew exactly what dream this man was talking about, the one everyone believed to be an imaginary place. "It's real, All Blue, it's my dream, too."

"Wha-"

His abandoned dream. Could he really chase it again? Could he really pick up the broken pieces of his passion and just go for it?

The old man grunted as he stood up, "I'll get some warm porridge and water for you."

Sanji began to panic. He did not want to be alone again. His hands unconsciously grabbed the hem of the old man's shirt, gripping it tightly until his knuckled turned ghostly white.

"Alright kid, I'll stay," the old man said with a tender smile.

The young boy relaxed again before the drowsiness took over, causing him to black out into a pit of blackness. But the warmth in his hand as he clutched the fabric of the old man's shirt reassured Sanji that he never had to feel alone ever again.

What the hell?

Zoro could not leave because the cook's grip on him was tight, and clung desperately onto the hem of his shirt, pulling it down so his chest was exposed. They would not even budge when he attempted to lift Sanji's fingers one by one.

He even tried shaking the blond awake, but none of his tactics worked. Sanji was surprisingly a very heavy sleeper.

Oh, well. Zoro felt tired anyways.

The swordsman laid next to the blond's balled up body and pulled the blanket over the two of them. The faint warmth of the cook's hand touching the small exposed part of his skin on his waist was all Zoro could concentrate on, and it soothed him to sleep.

AN: I could not keep them mad at each other for that long. But admittedly, the canon characters would not stay mad at each other (though they are both stubborn), I think they'd rather pretend nothing happened.

I enjoyed writing the relationship between Sanji and Zeff. I do not think I will go in depth about Sanji's past, but let's just say it was not pleasant. I will probably explain it fully in the AN later on~

Also, thank you so much for those who favorite, follow, or review on my story. I really appreciate every one of you guys! Thank you so much.