There's only one way to do this, Yuri decides as he sits on his bed and looks around his old room. Put in his earbuds, get a few more trash bags, and throw everything out.

He nods to himself. All of his important stuff is in St. Petersburg. Anything in this room is disposable at this point. So he picks the most energetic playlist he has, one with some epic guitar shreds, and goes to work.

He doesn't work in any particular order. He just throws away anything in his line of sight. The comforter goes on top of a skating poster, which is on top of an old video game system. It's disorganized, but it's getting the job done.

And man, does Yuri want to be done with this. He's ready to leave this apartment and never, ever look back.

Things will be better when he gets back to St. Petersburg. That's what he keeps telling himself. Things will be back to normal in St. Petersburg. His grandfather wasn't part of his life there before, save for a phone call once or twice a week. He'll be happy again when there aren't so many memories around.

And after St. Petersburg, well… don't think about that.

He loses himself for a few hours, caught up in the music and his work. And then Yuuri and Victor have to come in and ruin it all.

Victor is behind him when he tugs the earbuds out of Yuri's ears, scaring him half to death. Yuri yelps and spins to face him. "Why did you do that, idiot?"

"We're done with the living room." Victor beams at their accomplishment. "We thought we'd help you in here."

"This place looks like a tornado hit it," Yuuri observes.

Glancing around the room, Yuri realizes he's right. He just shrugs. "Doesn't matter," he says, and hands them each a trash bag. "Here. Just start wherever."

Victor wades through the clutter on the floor, looking around the room. "Anything we should be on the lookout for, that you want to take with you?"

"Nyet."

Yuuri peeks into the lone box in the middle of the room, the one with the few clothing items he'd decided to save yesterday. "Is this all you're keeping?"

Yuri keeps his eyes on the poster he's tearing off the wall, for some band he hasn't listened to in months. "Da."

"Okay…" There's hesitancy in Yuuri's voice, but he starts working anyway.

And everything is fine, for a little while. Yuri is about to put his earbuds back in when a high-pitched, girlish squee fills the room.

"Yurio!" Victor exclaims. "Are these what I think they are?"

Turning, Yuri sees a tiny, battered pair of white ice skates in Victor's hands. Well, they used to be white. Now they're gray from overuse and age.

Yuri looks up at the ceiling. Lord, help him. Victor has found his childhood ice skates.

Yuuri is at Victor's side in an instant. "Oh, my god, Yurio, is this your first pair of skates?"

"Yeah." Yuri straightens and crosses his arms rebelliously. "So?"

The two fawn over them, squealing things like, "They're so little," and "Look how cute." Yuri can practically feel bile rise in his throat as he watches in disgust.

"Enough," he finally cuts them off. "Throw them away and get back to work."

Victor gasps dramatically and clutches the skates close to his chest. "Yurio, these are your first skates! We can't just throw them out!"

"Why not?"

Yuuri motions to the skates. "These skates mark the start of something amazing! They shouldn't be in your toy box, they should be… I don't know, in a trophy case somewhere."

Yuri rolls his eyes. "My trophy case is for my medals, not some smelly old skates."

Victor turns to Yuuri. "We'll keep them in ours, then. We still have some room next to my Grand Prix gold from 2012." Yuuri nods and picks up an empty box.

"What are you doing?" Yuri growls. "Don't put my skates on display in your house!"

"Why not?" Yuuri asks. "You already said you don't want them anymore. We want them." Victor waits for Yuuri to write 'For Victor and Yuuri's Apartment 333' in Sharpie on the box before he places them inside.

"You guys are so creepy."

It isn't long until they find a picture of Yuri skating when he was just seven, eliciting the same sounds of excitement that the skates did. Shortly after that, they find a ribbon from Yuri's very first skating competition, a local charity event when he was nine.

Soon, there is talk of creating an entire Yuri shelf in their trophy case. Their box is more full than Yuri's.

"Pathetic," Yuri mutters. But he allows himself a half-smile when they're not looking.

After a while, Yuuri and Victor excuse themselves to get in some practice time at the rink. Yuri frowns as they say goodbye, unhappy to be banned from training, even though he wasn't productive yesterday.

"Will you be alright finishing up here by yourself?" Yuuri looks protective as his eyes shift down the hall, where Yuri's mother and uncle are still muddling through their father's room.

"Yeah, I'll be done in an hour or so."

"Yakov's at the hotel, video chatting with Mila," Victor says. "Head straight there when you're done."

"I will."

When they leave, the room is drearier, more gray. Before, it was his childhood bedroom. Now, without Yuuri and Victor's cheerful presence and with his stuff in varying stages of disarray, the bedroom is cold and impersonal. He puts his earbuds back in and works as quickly as he can.

He doesn't add much to his box, but after watching Yuuri and Victor be overly sentimental with his stuff, he ends up taking a few things. A worn stuffed cat, his favorite toy after his mother left him. An old favorite book to be read from before bed. A few small toys that diligently guarded the top his dresser, making him smile when he opened the pajama drawer. He doesn't feel much attachment to the objects at the moment, but he feels like he should, so he keeps them out of the trash bag.

Exhaling, Yuri ties off his last bag and takes his earbuds out. He looks around his old room one last time. All that's left is his naked bed and his few pieces of furniture, to be disposed of whenever they get a truck to haul all the big items away.

He doesn't linger too much longer. He's stared at this room too much over the last couple days. He just lugs his trash bags to the growing pile in the living room and drops his box off by the front door.

He can't put off seeing his grandpa's room any longer. He has to tell his mother he's leaving. He trudges down the hall, giving himself time to prepare. It's just a room, he reminds himself. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

He's relieved to see the room is nearly unidentifiable to the one he remembers. Trash bags litter the floor. There are some holes in the walls where pictures used to hang. His grandfather's old bible that was always beside his bed is absent.

Uncle Andrei is in the closet, rustling through the clothes, and Yuri's mother sits cross legged on the floor, surrounded by a few shoeboxes and a glass of clear liquid.

As Yuri walks over to her, he notices the shoeboxes are filled with mail. Mail that looks pretty old. Mail with funny little stamps that look a bit familiar…

Yuri watches in horror as his mother destroys an envelope to get to the contents inside. She flips the letter over quickly, then discards the papers into a pile next to her.

When she hears Yuri's angry approach, she looks up. "Oh, Yuri. You wrote these letters, didn't you? Save me some time and tell me if there might be money in any of them?" She slurs her words slightly.

Yuri is trembling in fury as he picks up a tattered envelope. He looks at the neatly torn edge, from when his grandfather carefully used his letter opener. He eyes a letter, the creases still crisp where his grandfather had refolded it and slid it perfectly back into its envelope before filing it in the shoebox with the others.

Yuri had written his grandfather sporadically for years, ever since he'd moved to St Petersburg. And it looks like his grandfather had saved every piece of mail Yuri had sent him. Now, the letters lay open and crumpled, the envelopes marred by jagged rips.

Yuri almost loses his cool right then and there. It's the closest he's come to consciously crying through this whole ordeal. His grandfather apparently loved receiving his letters, and now, Yuri would never write another one to him again.

But he doesn't focus on that right now. He focuses on his mother, destroying something that Yuri shared with his grandfather, on the off-chance that there may be some money hidden away. She couldn't just open the letters nicely, could she? It isn't worth the extra few seconds per letter, even though this is something that may be important to her son. Or, just as likely, she doesn't possess the coordination to handle the papers without ripping them.

Yuri is welling up, but they're angry tears. They sting at the corners of his eyes.

"How could you?" he hisses. "How could you possibly think you had the right to go through something so personal?"

Irena looks up at him. "Someone has to go through my father's things, Yuri. You didn't seem too eager to volunteer." Her voice drips with cruelty.

"That doesn't mean you get to destroy something that belongs to me!" Yuri yells. He drops to the floor and starts gathering the discarded letters as fast as he can. In his haste, he probably makes some of the damage worse, but he can't worry about that now.

Irena doesn't make a move to stop him, but she is angry. "I can do anything I want! We inherited everything in this apartment, including your stupid letters."

"What's going on in here?" Uncle Andrei emerges from the closet. "Is the delinquent causing trouble? Try to have some respect here, Yuri. We're mourning."

Yuri whips his head up so fast he almost gets whiplash. "What the hell does that mean? That I'm not?"

"I find it hard to believe," Andrei says. There's more than a hint of condescension in his voice. "You don't seem to care very much. Your grandfather took you in, loved you, and you left him first chance you got."

There's a rustling sound, and it takes Yuri a moment to realize it's the letters in his shaking hands. "I didn't leave him—"

"When was the last time you even saw him? How many months? Where were you when he was dying in the hospital?"

Yuri's voice cracks and he sounds like a small child. "I didn't know—"

"Didn't know? Or didn't care?"

"Didn't KNOW!" Yuri shoves the letters into one of the shoeboxes and piles them into his arms before he loses control and punches his uncle in the face. "Don't you dare say I didn't care about Grandpa. I'd have been at his side in a heartbeat if someone had told me. But no one did, and now it's too late!"

He gasps in horror as his mouth says the words that his brain has refused to think. He turns and runs out of the room before the confrontation gets any worse. It's a good thing he left his box of things by the front door, or he may have forgotten them altogether. He drops the shoeboxes inside and escapes the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

It's not until he's hailing a cab that he realizes he'll never see the apartment he grew up in again.

Yuri is dangerously close to having another panic attack. He can feel it lurking. The cab driver keeps shooting him concerned looks in the rear view mirror.

He leans forward and grabs his head in his hands. Even though Yuuri isn't here, Yuri can still hear his instructions.

Deep breaths. Okay.

I can calm down now. I'm safe.

Deep breaths.

Don't think about The Thing, don't think about The Thing…

Eventually, his breathing evens out and the tears are gone from his eyes. He still doesn't feel too great emotionally, but at least he's got his body back under control.

Standing outside the hotel room, Yuri can hear Yakov talking to someone on the phone, so he knocks loudly. It sounds like Yakov says goodbye and the door swings open.

"Yuri," Yakov greets him. And, an instant later, "What's wrong?"

There are too many answers to that question, so Yuri just says, "I don't know."

Yakov steps aside to let him in. Yuri sets his box down next to his suitcase.

"Was it Irena?" Yakov asks when Yuri sits on the edge of the bed.

Yuri shakes his head, then nods. "And my uncle."

Yakov curses. "What did they say to you?"

Yuri shrugs. "It doesn't matter." His head adds 'They were right', but he doesn't say it.

"Yakov," Yuri starts, and cringes when his voice shakes. He studies a spot on the carpet. "Can you tell me how it happened? Like, who called you, and stuff?"

He's still not sure he should be thinking about The Thing, but his uncle's words have stirred up all his feelings. He feels incredibly guilty. If his grandfather had been ill, then Yuri should have never gone to New York.

Yakov sighs and sits down on his bed, across from Yuri. "Lilia got the call, since her number was the one on file. She called me immediately, so I could get to work changing our flight.

"Lilia was told that it was sudden. A heart attack, and he was gone by the time he got to the hospital. He didn't suffer."

So Uncle Andrei had lied, then. There weren't hours spent at the hospital, holding Grandpa's hand while he slowly died. There was no one last goodbye. Andrei and Yuri's mother may have shown up at their father's apartment just an hour before Yuri did, for all he knows.

But that doesn't change the fact that Yuri hadn't seen his grandfather in months. Their weekly phone calls were so mundane that Yuri can't even remember what they talked about the last time. The last time Yuri would ever hear his grandfather's voice, and he can't remember it.

Yuri wrenches his mind away from that thought before it consumes him. He desperately grasps for something—anything—else that he can think of to distract himself, working through the smaller details of what Yakov told him instead.

"You called the airline right after you talked to Lilia?"

Yakov looks surprised. "Of course."

"But you weren't on the phone after my free skate. I didn't see you on the phone during my free skate either!" Yuri furrows his brows, thinking back to that day. He snaps his eyes up to meet Yakov's. "But you were in the hall for a long time when I was stretching!" His words turn accusing.

"Da…" Yakov looks ashamed. "I got the call before you performed."

Yuri shoots to his feet. "What?"

"Just listen, Yura. I couldn't have told you before the free skate."

"Why?" Yuri demands. "Because I wouldn't have won gold? Because then it would have reflected badly on you?"

Yakov rises from his bed, a head taller than Yuri. "No, because it would have looked badly on you! I'm your coach. I wasn't going to let you ruin your career over news that could be shared an hour later."

"I had a right to know!" Yuri feels hot with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "If I had—"

"You would have flubbed up your free skate, just like you did in practice yesterday." Yakov tries to catch Yuri's eye, but Yuri looks away. "This way, you still have a choice, Yuri. You can pull out of the Grand Prix Final, if that's what you feel is best, and I'll support you. It's okay to take some time off."

Yuri's shaking his head. Yakov puts a hand on his shoulder and goes on. "I just wanted to make sure your options stayed open. If you didn't make it to the Grand Prix Final, I wanted it to be because you decided not to go, not because you didn't qualify."

Everything Yakov is saying makes sense, in a way, but Yuri can't bring himself to forgive him. If it hadn't been for all this stupid skating in the first place, he would have been around when his grandfather needed him. His grandfather wouldn't have been alone. Yakov brought him to America when he should have been in Moscow.

"I had a right to know!" Yuri's too outraged to form a coherent argument, so he just repeats the phrase. He makes eye contact with Yakov, glaring daggers. "You should have told me."

Yakov gets defensive. He's always had a short temper, and Yuri knows how to press his buttons. "I did the right thing," he says. "One day you'll thank me for it."

"Thank you for what, old man? For forbidding me from skating a week before the Grand Prix Final? For spending all your time in the hotel room, coaching Mila? Why are you even here? Victor and Yuuri have been around more than you."

Yakov's face grows red. "Do you have any idea how much I'm sacrificing to be here? How much rescheduling I've had to do?"

"Well, don't do me any favors. If you want to leave, then go!"

"I don't want to, but maybe I should. Since I haven't been helping all that much."

Yakov is mocking him, and it infuriates Yuri. His hands are shaking and he can hear his heart beating in his ears. "Don't say it like that!" he yells. "You haven't helped! None of you have. None of you understand what I'm going through. I wish you'd all just leave me the hell alone!" Yuri turns to storm out the door.

Yakov is breathing hard, clearly still angry, but he reaches out for Yuri before he can turn to leave. "Wait. Yurochka, stop."

Yuri spins around and slaps Yakov's hand away. "Stop calling me that!" he roars. Yakov looks shocked at the reaction, but Yuri doesn't care. He never wants to hear that nickname again. He squeezes his eyes tight. "Don't you dare call me that."

He turns his back to Yakov and walks out the door.

Yuri fumes as he storms through the halls of the hotel. Eventually, he finds himself at the hotel gym. He's holding onto his anger with a viselike grip, because that wall that's holding all his other feelings back is close to breaking.

He jumps on a treadmill, frustrated that his earbuds are back in his box in Yakov's room. He could really go for some ear-splittingly loud music right now.

Instead, he turns the treadmill up to a quick jog, even though he's not dressed for it. Remembering the way he fell on the ice yesterday, he clips the emergency line to his shirt.

The rhythmic pounding of his feet ground him. He chants along to the beat in his head. I'm safe, I'm safe, I'm safe.

He was irrationally spiteful to Yakov, Yuri knows, but he can't help the way he feels. No matter how Yakov tries to justify it, Yuri should have been told the minute there was news that something was wrong.

He thinks back to that day, how he was so at peace when he skated. He was elated with his score at the kiss and cry. He was thrilled that Otabek made it to the Grand Prix Final with him.

He had been so happy, so free, so caught up in his victory. All the while, his grandfather had been dead.

Dead.

Yuri makes a pained sound between panting breaths. Stop thinking about The Thing! He pushes the speed on the treadmill higher until the only possible thing he can think about is keeping up.

And it helps, for a while. His muscles burn and his lungs gasp for air. He's in survival mode. His phone buzzes, propped up next to the speed display on the treadmill. A call from Yakov. He ignores it.

Soon, exhaustion catches up with him and the treadmill is going a little too fast. He lags just slightly behind the conveyor belt, but it's enough to tug the emergency cord out of its slot. All momentum suddenly stops. Yuri overcorrects, trying to keep his balance, but accidentally trips and takes a few steps backwards.

He's about to fall flat on his ass, but instead a pair of strong arms catch him by the elbows. "Whoa!" Victor says in his ear. He steadies Yuri, spinning him around. "Are you okay?"

Yuri hadn't even heard Victor come in. He nods, out of breath from sprinting.

Victor looks at him sadly and pushes a matted lock of Yuri's hair out of his eyes. "Oh, Yura," he says woefully. "You're drenched. What were you thinking?" He looks Yuri up and down. "Don't you know running in skinny jeans is bad for your fertility?"

Victor brings him up to his and Yuuri's hotel room, which, Yuri notices, is much bigger than the room he had shared with Yakov. It's a suite, complete with kitchenette. Big double doors separate the bedroom from the living area. Yuuri is nowhere to be found when Victor pushes Yuri into the shower, but by the time Yuri comes out, he can hear both of their voices. He also sees that his suitcase is in the bathroom, so somebody must have retrieved it from Yakov's room.

A shower and a change of clothes make Yuri feel a lot better. He's back to safely avoiding The Thing, although he's still upset at Yakov. He won't be apologizing anytime soon.

There's a few text messages from Otabek on his phone. Yuri stays in the steamy bathroom a minute longer so he can answer.

OA: Hey, you there?
OA: Victor called and said you were missing

Yuri rolls his eyes. Victor is such a stalker. He types back:

YP: It's fine. They found me

He pushes send, then gathers his suitcase and leaves the bathroom.

"Hey, Yurio!" Yuuri greets him when he finally emerges. "We ordered room service."

There's a whole feast spread out on the coffee table. Yuri perches himself awkwardly on the couch while Yuuri and Victor sit on the floor, cross-legged, on the other side of the coffee table. The last thing Yuri wants is for them to try and force-feed him again, so he does his best to eat enough to satisfy their scrutinizing stares.

Another text comes from Otabek and Yuri keys out a quick response.

OA: Are you ok?
YP: Yep. Victor overreacted

"So," Yuuri says when Yuri puts down his phone, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nyet."

Victor and Yuuri exchange a look. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Yuri shoots them a glare.

Yuuri puts down his fork. "It's just that… you haven't really talked to anyone about this. It's not healthy."

Both of them are looking at Yuri now. Expecting something. Yuri suspects that they are just about done with giving him his space. Maybe Yakov told them what he had said. None of you understand what I'm going through. But really, isn't that the most "teenager" thing to say ever? They shouldn't be taking it so seriously.

"I don't need to talk about it," he says, concentrating stubbornly on his plate. "I'm fine."

"You just nearly killed yourself with a treadmill," Victor deadpans.

Yuuri chuckles, not unkindly. "Good thing we were already on the way home from the rink when Yakov called us and told us to look for you. Otherwise it may have been too late!" His expression sobers. "We were really afraid you'd left the hotel, though."

Yuri doesn't know what he was supposed to say to that, so he just says, "Nope."

"I don't know, I've done some pretty crazy things after fighting with Yakov," Victor says, leaning back to rest on the heels of his hands. "If I were you, I'd be halfway to the airport right now. Book a ticket on whatever flight was leaving next, meet a boy at the airport bar, and take him with me." Yuuri shoots him a puzzled look, and Victor hastily adds, "It was before we met! Long, long before."

"Anyway," Yuuri says, shaking his head as he turns back to Yuri. "Will you at least tell us what happened after we left the apartment? Yakov said there was some drama with your mom and uncle, and if we're going to have to see them at the funeral tomorrow, I'd like to know what they said."

"Yes," Victor adds, leaning forward again in interest. "Tell us, so we know how mad to be."

But Yuri doesn't register his joke. Yuuri's casual words shoot straight through him like bullets, first the mention of the still-raw fight with his relatives, and then the impending funeral, which Yuri has done a great job of ignoring up until now.

"It doesn't matter." Yuri picks up his phone to signal that he's done talking. "They're assholes."

Otabek's latest message is just a half-frowning face.

YP: They're trying to get me to open up.

He adds a barfing-face emoji and sends the text.

"We already know that!" Victor is saying. "But what specifically happened today?"

Yuri's phone immediately dings with a text from Otabek.

OA: Talk to them!

Yuri rolls his eyes and doesn't answer Otabek. He looks instead to Yuuri and Victor, waiting patiently.

"I just don't want to talk about it," he says, almost helplessly.

Yuuri looks defeated. "Okay, Yurio. Just tell us one thing. Did they hurt you?"

"No, no!" Yuri says quickly. "Nothing like that."

"Okay, okay!" Yuuri puts his hands up defensively. "We were sure you'd be safe, which is why we left you alone with them, but then when you came back so upset, we were worried…"

"It wasn't like that," he says again. Yuri can see why they would jump to that conclusion, and deep down he feels a little touched that they look so wildly possessive of him right now. But neither his mother nor his uncle had ever laid a hand on him. Thank god for that.

Victor nods. "Okay. Good." He glances at Yuuri, then starts gathering their plates. Yuri thinks the conversation is over until Victor glances down his illuminated phone. "Yakov made it to the airport."

So he really did leave. Yuri waits to feel something, anything, about this news that will clue him into his true feelings about the situation. But he still doesn't really know whether he's okay with Yakov missing the funeral. He decides to stick to his guns. "Good."

Yuuri is studying him. "I understand why you're mad at him, you know," he says quietly. Victor had been trying to fit all the plates back on the room service trays, but he pauses when Yuri says this. "I've been mulling it over for days, and I still don't know what the right decision would have been."

Victor straightens, a tray in his hands. "Yakov made the right choice. He would have done you a great disservice if he had told you before your free skate."

As Victor wrestles the dirty dishes outside their room's door, Yuuri shakes his head. "We don't agree on this one."

Yuri's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

Victor returns to the living room. "Let me just explain what would have happened." Yuri's surprised to see Victor reasoning with Yuuri, as if they're alone in the room, without Yuri listening in. "Yurio was already in a high-stress environment. You saw how he reacted to the news after the competition. Now imagine if he found out right before. Yakov would have had to ask Yuri whether he would have wanted to go on with the free skate or not. You can't give someone life-changing news and then ask them to make a career-altering decision right after."

Yuuri makes an exhausted noise. "We've been over this. There was no way to know how Yurio would have reacted. For all Yakov knew, he may have been able to skate. He may have been able to compartmentalize things, or use his emotions in his program."

"He's sixteen!" Victor practically yells. He doesn't seem angry, just tired. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Yakov is the coach. He handled it the right way, if you ask me. Besides, it doesn't matter now. What's done is done."

When Victor retreats to the bedroom, Yuuri stands up and tells Yuri, "I'll admit that I understand Yakov's motives, and, to be fair, he didn't have very long to think about it. He did the best with what he had." Yuuri shrugs. "But I'm with you. I would have wanted to know."

It had been oddly fascinating to witness an argument between the power couple, but Yuri's kind of glad he did. It makes them seem a little more human to him, a little more real, instead of the gushy love-struck schoolboys they normally are.

Besides, it feels good to have an ally. Yuri affords Yuuri a small grateful smile.

Yuuri grins back at him, then picks up a stack of linens. "We got these from housekeeping," Yuuri informs him, putting the pillow on one end of the couch. He unfolds the comforter and drapes it affectionately over Yuri's head, wrapping him up until only his face is free. "If you need anything or you feel like you want to talk later, come wake us up. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"Okay," Yuri says quietly. Yuuri leaves him alone, closing the double doors to his and Victor's room.

Yuri sighs, feeling very heavy in his new cocoon of warmth. It's been a long day, maybe even longer than the last few. He's definitely touched on every possible emotion at one point or another. Now, he just feels empty.

It's nice to just feel empty. It's safe.

But all his worries are gnawing away at the wall in the back of his brain, vying for his attention. The funeral tomorrow. Facing Yakov again back in St. Petersburg. Whether he'll be able to skate in the Grand Prix Final. What will happen to him when his season is over.

Quickly, Yuri whips out his cell phone and texts Otabek again.

YP: You still up?
OA: Yeah, did you talk to them?
YP: A little. Kinda tired of talking, tbh
OA: Anything I can do?
YP: Text me?
OA: lol, already am
YP: Send me some cat gifs, then

For once, he and Otabek talk well into the night. After cat gifs they switch to prank videos, and then Otabek sends some footage of a recent DJing gig he'd had. Later, Yuri would never be entirely sure which one of them drifted off first.

A/N: I just wanted to take a quick moment and thank everyone who's reviewed. It seriously brightens up my day whenever I see that someone is enjoying what I've written. :)

Next week, I'll be uploading both Chapter 6 and the epilogue, so that means next Sunday the story will be completed! Yay!