"Goodbye," you waved your hand: Chapter 1 - part 2

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Although Seiichi had returned to his apartment, he soon headed out again. On days when he felt unsettled, there was nothing better than causing a ruckus with friends. At a club near Shibuya Station called "Piffle," there was always someone from his circle hanging out. He was probably a little too old to be frequenting clubs, but the owner knew him well, so he could run a tab, and the clientele was carefully selected—no obnoxious kids. It was a comfortable spot.

But tonight, of all nights, no one he knew was there. Alone at the counter, he sipped his beer. Even after a few calls on his cell phone, he couldn't get ahold of anyone. He clicked his tongue in frustration, drawing the bartender’s attention. “Ashiya-san,” the bartender called out, “your girl’s here.”

He hurriedly turned his gaze in the direction the bartender pointed. Sitting in the back was his current favorite, Mari Sakura. And Mari was with a depressingly dull-looking guy. Dull, but wearing flashy, high-end brands. He had the air of a clueless rich kid. No doubt, Mari only saw him as a walking wallet. Otherwise, a stunning beauty like her would never be seen with such a pathetic guy.

Seiichi left his beer on the counter and weaved through the crowd toward her. Mari noticed him halfway, tilting her head with a displeased expression. Among the sea of brown-haired girls, her sleek, shiny black hair stood out wherever she went. She often wore revealing outfits, but on her, it never looked vulgar. It was thanks to her incredibly well-proportioned figure, and her face, which, despite its stunning beauty, had a certain childishness to it. Yet, there was something sly in her gaze—a coquettish aura that hinted at a wicked streak. That contrast made her irresistible, his ideal type.

“It’s been a while. How’ve you been?” he asked. Her slightly upturned nose and soft, full lips caught his eye. The dull-looking man next to her glared at Seiichi, but he ignored it, smiling politely in return. It was obvious that he looked far better than the other guy.

“I saw you just last week, remember?” she replied.

“Did you? It felt like a month without seeing you,” Seiichi said smoothly, not embarrassed in the least. Lines like that were as routine for him as a morning greeting. Mari shrugged and laughed quietly, a secretive smile on her lips.

“I saw you today,” she said suddenly.

“Oh? Where was that?” A sense of unease settled over him.

“I was driving near the airport when I passed a flashy convertible. I thought it might be you, and when I looked closer, it was. Who was that in the passenger seat—your friend?”

Embarrassment prickled his forehead with sweat at the thought that Mari had seen him with Keisuke, looking his absolute worst. The man next to Mari asked, “Does he have a girlfriend or something?” and she gave a slight shrug of her delicate shoulders.

“The guy in the car was dressed so stylishly. I'd rather die than walk through town with someone like that.”

The guy next to her shook with laughter, seeming to pick up on her sarcasm. Seiichi bit his lip and looked down, his face growing hot. Yet, Mari’s gaze remained fixed on him, a mocking glint in her eyes.

“I didn’t know you had such awful taste in friends,” she teased.

“He’s my cousin. He just came up from the countryside, and I went to pick him up. I hadn’t seen him in ten years, and I had no idea he’d end up looking like that. But since I was already there, I couldn’t exactly tell him not to get in the car…”

Seiichi tried to regain his footing by tearing Keisuke down, but Mari’s look of disdain didn’t change.

“If you were that embarrassed, you should have just left him behind. You’re such an idiot,” she said.

Seiichi spotted someone he knew entering the club. Grateful for the excuse, he quickly escaped from Mari, pretending he had been waiting for them. Even while talking to his acquaintance, all he could think about was how Mari and that pathetic guy were likely mocking him behind his back. Instead of cheering himself up, he felt even more miserable. Leaving the club earlier than usual, Seiichi stopped by a convenience store, bought a bunch of alcohol, and headed back to his apartment for a solo drinking session.

In the darkness of his apartment, the answering machine’s message light blinked brightly. When he pressed play, the tape clicked, and a single message began to play. His mother’s shrill voice rang out, grating on his ears.

“Honestly, what’s wrong with you?! Making poor Keisuke wait for four hours—what were you thinking?! You told him there was an accident, but you probably just overslept, didn’t you? You can never keep your promises. You’re so unreliable!”

Seiichi’s headache worsened. And at the end of the message came the dreaded command from hell.

“Make sure you’re not late tomorrow! If you’re not here by ten a.m. sharp to pick him up, I’ll contact your company and have them deduct the 300,000 yen you owe me directly from your paycheck!”

...And she sounded like she’d really do it.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Seiichi usually spent Saturday nights partying and didn’t wake up on Sundays until the afternoon. But this morning, he stopped the alarm at 8:30 a.m. After a quick breakfast of just coffee, he washed his face and carefully picked out his clothes. He settled on a casual suit without a tie and styled his hair to match. His naturally wavy hair always stuck out in the back, so he tamed it with mousse. Satisfied with his look, he was ready by 9:15. It was still early to leave, but he grabbed his car keys anyway. He didn’t want to be late—not just because of his mother’s annoying message, but also because he realized that the sooner Keisuke found a place to live, the less he’d have to deal with him.

Seiichi arrived at his parents’ house just before 10 a.m., only to be shocked at the sight of Keisuke, sitting in the living room watching a fishing show with his father. He was wearing the same jeans as yesterday, along with a loud shirt—white with red stripes, the kind only fast-food employees wear. Worse, it was a style with a tiny collar and long hem that had been popular back when they were students. Seiichi knew that if he told Keisuke to change clothes, his mother would get mad, so he kept quiet inside the house. Luckily, even after getting in the car, Keisuke didn’t ask any clueless questions like, "Where are we going?" So Seiichi took him to his own apartment first, where Keisuke looked around curiously before Seiichi got straight to the point.

"I don’t know how to say this…" he began, but held nothing back.

"That outfit is just not going to work."

Keisuke blinked in confusion, slowly looking down at himself, gently pinching the hem of his shirt.

"I ironed it and everything…"

Keisuke clearly had no idea what Seiichi meant.

"It’s not about whether it’s ironed. It’s that the clothes themselves are outdated and ugly. Wear whatever you want at home, but today we’re going to a real estate agency. People judge you by your appearance. If you look bad, they’ll only show you bad properties."

"Oh... I see. Yeah, I’ll change."

Keisuke opened his fake-brand bag and started rummaging through his clothes. Seiichi caught a glimpse of the contents out of the corner of his eye—everything in there looked awful, the kind of stuff that wouldn’t even make a good rag. The piece Keisuke pulled out was a poorly made dark navy suit, the kind sold at bargain prices. As soon as Seiichi saw it, he bolted to his wardrobe. He grabbed a gray suit for work and paired it with a pale pink shirt. Just as Keisuke was about to ask, "How about this suit?" Seiichi cut him off with a loud voice.

"Here, wear this."

He shoved the suit in front of Keisuke, who stared at it in surprise.

"I can’t just borrow your clothes. That’s too much."

"For the love of God, just spare me from having to see you in your own suit."

Keisuke looked troubled, but finally accepted the clothes with a grateful "Thank you." Seiichi hurried him along, saying, "Just get changed already." As Keisuke changed, Seiichi kept his back turned, asking about the location of the hotel he’d be working at and how much rent he was hoping to pay. Walking distance would be ideal, Seiichi thought.

"Well, somewhere near the station, with good sunlight, a bath, and toilet, for about 40,000 yen," Keisuke said.

Seiichi turned around in shock.

"This isn’t the countryside you’re used to. There’s no way you’ll find a decent place for 40,000 yen. You’re looking at at least 70,000."

Keisuke, buttoning up the pale pink shirt, lifted his head and gave Seiichi a soft, wandering glance before nodding lightly.

"Okay, 70,000 it is."

His easy acceptance, as if he hadn’t thought it through at all, irritated Seiichi, but he couldn’t be bothered to argue.

Just by dressing Keisuke in a slightly more stylish suit, he looked much more put-together. He wasn’t bad-looking to begin with, and if he got a decent haircut and different glasses, he’d clean up nicely. But Seiichi wasn’t going to spend more time on him than necessary. There was no reason or obligation to go that far. After Keisuke finished changing, Seiichi drove him to a convenience store to buy a housing magazine. In the car, they found a place that matched Keisuke’s criteria and went straight to the real estate agency. They were scheduled to view three properties, but Keisuke decided on the first one without hesitation. The rent was decent, and it had good sunlight, but Seiichi was taken aback by how quickly he made up his mind.

Seiichi couldn’t help but feel impressed watching Keisuke pay the security deposit, key money, and two months’ rent in cash. Since Keisuke had come to Tokyo to study with the eventual goal of taking over his family’s inn, his parents were probably supporting him generously. Being the only son of a rural inn owner, it made sense that he had some financial flexibility. For someone like Seiichi, who was always broke and barely scraping by, it was something to envy.

With the room secured, Keisuke was able to move in immediately. By 3 p.m., Seiichi felt a sense of relief wash over him, knowing his duty was done. As he was about to leave with a casual "See you," Keisuke hesitantly spoke up.

"I hate to trouble you, but… if you have some time, could you come with me to one more place? Oh, I mean, only if you’re not busy… I just need to buy a futon."

It was true—sleeping without a futon would be tough. Keisuke didn’t know his way around this new area, and on top of that, he had a terrible sense of direction. Begrudgingly, Seiichi agreed, letting Keisuke back into the car. They managed to buy the futon, but same-day delivery wasn’t available, so they had to stuff it into the back seat. The only saving grace was that the convertible’s top hid it from view, but the very thought of a futon in his precious car soured Seiichi’s mood.

By the time they finally said goodbye in front of Keisuke’s new apartment, Seiichi felt a rare sense of liberation. Keisuke had offered to buy dinner as a thank-you, but Seiichi, with his paycheck freshly deposited and no desire to spend more time with Keisuke, politely declined. Now, he could finally be done with him for good.

...Or so he thought. It wasn’t until he got back to his apartment that he noticed it—a large, fake-brand bag sitting abandoned in the corner of the room. Keisuke must’ve brought it in when he changed clothes and then forgotten it. Seiichi’s first instinct was to ignore it, thinking, It’s his fault for leaving it behind, so I’m under no obligation to return it. But out of curiosity, he peeked inside. Pajamas, underwear, socks, and other personal items were stuffed in, and Seiichi immediately regretted looking.

Keisuke’s apartment was near the station, and they both lived on the same train line. Taking the bag to him wasn’t something Seiichi wanted to do, but it was only a fifteen-minute ride. Still, he thought, At the very least, I’ll make him come to the station to pick it up. Reaching for his phone, he realized he didn’t have Keisuke’s number. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if Keisuke had a mobile phone at all.

If it’s important, he’ll probably contact me, Seiichi thought. But then he remembered—it wasn’t clear whether Keisuke even had his apartment’s phone number. If Keisuke needed to reach him, he’d probably ask his mother for Seiichi’s number. And if that happened, there was no doubt that his mother would tell him, "Take the bag over to him yourself."

“So, no matter how this plays out, I’m stuck delivering it, huh?”

Frustrated, Seiichi kicked the fake-brand bag with all his might.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Seiichi slung the damn fake-brand bag over his shoulder and rang the doorbell with irritation. The light in the small window facing the hallway was on, and he could hear noises inside, but no one came out. After pressing the bell again, there was a flurry of footsteps, and finally, the door opened.

Keisuke, his cousin whom he had only just parted from, tilted his head and muttered, "Oh?" Seeing the bag Seiichi silently thrust toward him, Keisuke seemed to understand the situation and smiled.

"So I did leave it at your place after all. I managed to buy some underwear nearby, but I was thinking I'd have to sleep in just my underwear tonight since I didn’t have any pajamas. Thanks for going out of your way."

Seiichi turned his back and started to walk away, signaling that his job was done. From behind him, Keisuke’s voice called out.

"I’ll get the clothes I borrowed cleaned and return them later, okay?"

Seiichi had forgotten all about lending him clothes. If Keisuke was going to have them cleaned, that meant he’d either have to come back here to pick up the suit or bring it to Seiichi’s apartment. Seiichi turned on his heel and walked back to the door.

"I’ll take the clothes back now. Go change."

Keisuke was still wearing Seiichi’s suit, as he hadn’t brought anything else to wear.

"I’ll get it cleaned. Please, let me do that at least."

"It’s too much hassle to come back here or have you come to me. I’m in a hurry, so just change already."

Pushed by Seiichi’s urgency, Keisuke hurried inside. A moment later, he came back and opened the door again.

"It feels awkward to make you wait outside. Please, come in and sit for a bit."

Standing there like an idiot in the doorway wasn’t appealing, so Seiichi stepped inside. The small kitchen was about two tatami mats in size, and the main room, a six-tatami mat space, was empty except for a neatly folded, brand-new futon in the corner. Keisuke, seemingly unconcerned about being watched, slid out of the suit without hesitation. For a brief moment, Seiichi was struck by the pale, almost translucent quality of Keisuke’s skin under the harsh fluorescent light, but it was quickly covered by a faded green set of pajamas. Keisuke carefully folded the suit he had just taken off. As Seiichi watched, he noticed something—the tatami mats, which had looked a bit dusty earlier, now shone as if freshly cleaned.

"Did you clean this place?"

"Yeah. It looked clean, but it was actually pretty dirty."

Realizing that Keisuke had probably cleaned the apartment while still wearing Seiichi’s suit, Seiichi felt a flash of anger. He roughly grabbed the bag of folded clothes Keisuke handed him. Keisuke, sensing Seiichi’s mood, hesitated before adding, "I didn’t get the suit dirty."

"Yeah, don’t worry about it. It’s cheap, anyway."

Even though Seiichi said not to worry, there was an edge to his words. He regretted lending out his Armani spring collection suit more than ever.

"I really didn’t get it dirty. I didn’t wear it while cleaning."

Such an obvious lie. The blood rushed to Seiichi’s head, and before he knew it, he was shouting.

"So what, you cleaned in the nude?"

"...I was in my underwear," Keisuke muttered softly.

"Huh?" Seiichi asked, bewildered.

"When I realized I’d left my bag at your place, I figured it was too late to call, so I planned to get it tomorrow. But I needed to lay out the futon, and I didn’t want to get your borrowed clothes dirty, so I cleaned in my underwear."

The image of Keisuke cleaning the room in nothing but his underwear flashed through Seiichi’s mind, and he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

"You don’t even have curtains up yet. I bet anyone outside could see right in."

"So what? It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose."

Keisuke said it so matter-of-factly. That reminded Seiichi—Keisuke had always been indifferent about how others saw him. He could be meticulous about things like keeping his clothes wrinkle-free, yet didn’t care at all about how mismatched his shirt, pants, and jacket might be.

"You haven’t changed a bit, have you?"

"Really?"

Keisuke tilted his head slightly, a gesture so familiar it pulled Seiichi back to the past.

"It’s impressive you managed to clean the place so well without any proper tools."

"All you need is a rag for cleaning," Keisuke replied casually. "Besides, I’m used to it. At the inn, cleaning was part of my daily routine."

For the first time since they reunited, Seiichi felt comfortable talking to Keisuke, without the tension or awkwardness that had hung between them.

"After you left, I took a walk around to scout the area. Just a five-minute walk, and there’s a supermarket across the street. I did some shopping there. I have beer if you want some? It might be a bit warm since I don’t have a fridge yet, though," Keisuke offered, then quickly muttered, "Oh, but you’re in a hurry, right? Sorry. And you can’t drink if you’re driving."

Seiichi glanced at his watch. He hadn’t actually been in a hurry; that was just an excuse. Still, he added a bit of cover for the lie.

"Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m not rushing anymore. Just give me the beer. One can doesn’t even count as drinking for me."

He sat cross-legged on the tatami as he spoke. Keisuke hesitated, tapping his lips with a finger, before saying, "Just one, then," and handed over a 350-milliliter (roughly 11oz) can of beer. He sat across from Seiichi, knees pulled up to his chest, apologizing, "Sorry, I don’t have any snacks," while sipping his beer like it was the best thing in the world.

Ten years ago, the two of them had drunk Pepsi together. Maybe it was because Seiichi was thirsty, but he finished his beer in no time and, still unsatisfied, shook the empty can and asked, "Got another?"

Keisuke’s pale cheeks were faintly flushed from the alcohol. "Are you sure you should be drinking that much?" he murmured, handing over another can.

"Aren’t the cops pretty strict around here?"

"You’re the one who offered it, and now you’re saying that?"

"I’m just trying to be a responsible adult," Keisuke said with a soft laugh, opening a second can for himself. Every time he took a sip, his ill-fitting glasses wobbled between his brow and nose.

"You didn’t wear glasses before, did you?"

Keisuke placed the half-empty can on the tatami and nodded. "Yeah, my eyesight got worse after high school."

He took off the glasses and wiped the lenses lightly with his pajama sleeve. After checking them against the light to make sure they were clean, he put them back on.

"You’d look way better in contacts."

"Putting lenses in your eyes sounds painful. Besides, these glasses work just fine."

Seiichi clicked his tongue lightly. "Wearing glasses is fine, but black frames? Come on, they look weird. Try something in silver, or frameless, or at least think about balancing them with your face."

Keisuke chuckled softly. "It’s not like my face is anything special, so these are good enough."

Without asking for permission, Seiichi leaned forward and snatched the glasses from his face. Keisuke’s eyes widened in surprise, and he blinked rapidly. With the glasses gone, his features suddenly seemed much more refined. He had an inherently elegant face, and with a decent haircut and some proper clothes, he’d have no trouble attracting women based on looks alone.

"My eyesight’s really bad. I can’t see a thing. Give me the glasses back."

Keisuke’s words were backed by the way he fumbled blindly for the glasses, his hands reaching out in the dark. Seiichi leaned in closer.

"Can you see my face?"

"Not really. I can tell there’s a face there, though."

As the distance between them closed, they were less than ten centimeters apart when Keisuke finally said, "Now I can see you clearly."

Keisuke smiled, his eyes slightly glazed over, and his half-parted lips glistened, red and moist, as if waiting for a kiss. Without thinking, Seiichi gave him a light, bird-like kiss. Keisuke’s eyes flew wide open in surprise, but then he smiled softly.

"What, are you drunk already from just that much?"

Seiichi kissed him again. This time, Keisuke didn’t smile. He closed his eyes softly as their gazes met. Taking advantage of the lack of resistance, Seiichi slipped his arm around Keisuke’s back and pulled him close. Keisuke’s soft, pale body didn’t reject him at all—just like that summer day ten years ago.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Keisuke’s warm body smelled of summer grass. The tight space he entered was the hottest part of him, hotter than anywhere else. As Seiichi had sex with Keisuke, memories long forgotten came flooding back, each one vivid and clear.

Keisuke had never been particularly talkative. It was always Seiichi who did most of the talking, with Keisuke usually just listening. Because of that, Keisuke probably knew everything about him back then. Seiichi had even told him about the time his girlfriend left him for a friend. When he admitted, "It really hurt," Keisuke had gently hugged him, stroked his head, and comforted him as best he could. That tenderness had felt good, and Seiichi had clung to it, indulging in the attention. His friends in the city had mocked him for getting dumped, never offering any comfort.

Unlike Seiichi, Keisuke never complained, except for that one time. He had mentioned once, almost in passing, that his father, who had collapsed in the spring, would never walk again, and that because of that, he probably wouldn’t be able to go to college since he’d have to help with the family inn. Keisuke’s face had looked so sad, so lonely. Seiichi had tried to comfort him then, but he couldn’t even remember what he had said.

Three days after returning to the city, Seiichi had gotten back together with his girlfriend, and his shattered pride had quickly been restored. He had sex with her, spent time with his old friends, and slowly, the version of himself that had existed in the countryside started to feel embarrassing. The idea of turning to a man just because a woman had dumped him was something he found humiliating. His time with Keisuke became one of those memories he most wanted to forget.

But Keisuke didn’t let go that easily. He sent letters once a month, regularly. Seiichi had replied to the first one with a postcard, but after that, he stopped responding. Eventually, he started throwing the letters away unopened. After Seiichi graduated high school, the letters stopped coming. Earlier this year, he’d heard that Keisuke’s father—his uncle—had passed away, but the funeral was on a weekday, and Seiichi couldn’t attend because of work.

"Keisuke’s grown up too, you know. He’s your age, but still single," his mother had said after returning from the funeral. That’s how Seiichi found out Keisuke was still alone. It hadn’t stirred any emotions in him. As he’d wished, he had almost completely forgotten about Keisuke.

Seiichi had been tracing his fingers along the smooth curve of Keisuke’s back while sucking gently on a small nub when, all of a sudden, a deep sense of guilt washed over him. He pulled away, letting go of the body he had been clinging to and reached for his discarded jacket, pulling out a cigarette. Using an empty beer can as an ashtray, he lit it. The light from a streetlamp outside shone through the window, which had no curtains, casting a clear view of the room. He heard the rustle of a futon next to him and glanced back to see Keisuke’s pale back shifting slightly under the covers. Keisuke let out a soft sigh, propping himself up on his elbows while lying on his stomach. Brushing his hair back, Keisuke looked over his shoulder at Seiichi. Their eyes met, and his lips started to move as if he was about to say something. The moment made Seiichi inexplicably tense.

"Can I have a cigarette too?" Keisuke asked.

"Oh... yeah."

Keisuke reached into the case in front of Seiichi, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with practiced ease. After taking a drag, he slipped out of the futon and sat against the wall, still naked. He fanned his face with his hand, as if the heat under the covers had gotten to him. He didn’t bother covering himself, sitting there casually with his groin exposed, smoking a cigarette.

They smoked in silence, their twin trails of smoke merging and lingering under the ceiling. Seiichi tried to act nonchalant, but his heart was racing, and he felt like a condemned man waiting for judgment. If Keisuke asked why he had done it, what would he say? Blaming it on Keisuke’s lack of resistance would sound like an excuse, and claiming he was drunk wouldn't hold up—he hadn’t been that far gone. He didn’t have the nerve to lie and say it was love, and being brutally honest—admitting it was pure lust—felt even worse.

Keisuke stubbed out his cigarette in the can and shifted his position slightly before muttering, “Ouch.”

“Guess it’s been a while, huh? It kind of hurt,” he said, giving Seiichi a wry smile. Seiichi couldn’t smile back—he was, after all, the one responsible for the pain.

"Sorry for being rough," Seiichi muttered, feeling a cold sweat run down his back.

"Oh, but it’s nothing compared to the pain from my gallbladder inflammation."

"You were sick?"

“About six months ago, my stomach suddenly hurt so badly that I broke out in a cold sweat. I had to call an ambulance and go to the hospital. At first, I thought it was a stomach ulcer, but they said it was cholecystitis. After a couple of weeks in the hospital and some medication, I got better.”

“Really...” Seiichi responded, noting how out of place this conversation felt after what they had just experienced.

“Even my mom thought it was weird,” Keisuke continued, chuckling softly. “She said, ‘You’re way too laid-back to get an ulcer.’”

As trivial as the conversation was, it was far better than being blamed or confronted.

“Yeah, I guess gallbladder inflammation is more fitting for you than an ulcer,” Seiichi joked.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Gallbladder attacks hurt too, you know,” Keisuke said, pretending to look serious.

“It just… suits you,” Seiichi replied with a grin.

“How can you say a disease suits someone?” Keisuke said, chuckling softly. His thin shoulders shook, and his pale skin seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. Even though Seiichi had just ravaged this body—though it was a man’s—at this distance, it seemed almost untouchably beautiful.

The urge to touch him again stirred within Seiichi. He’d been too afraid to speak, worried about being blamed, but when he realized Keisuke wasn’t harboring any resentment, he found himself slipping out from under the futon. Carefully, he moved closer, watching Keisuke’s reaction. Keisuke showed no sign of resistance and didn’t pull away even when Seiichi nuzzled against him.

“You’ve grown up,” Seiichi said quietly.

“We both have, haven’t we? I was surprised by how handsome you’ve become, Seiichi.”

It felt good to hear those words, and Seiichi couldn’t help but let a small smile slip.

“Pretty good-looking, right?” he whispered close to Keisuke’s ear. Keisuke shrugged slightly, looking a bit ticklish, and stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette in the can.

“Yeah, you’ve really turned into quite a good-looking guy,” Keisuke said.

Seiichi pressed his lips to those straightforward, gentle ones and let his hand find its way to the quiet, still form beneath. He felt the slightest gasp escape from Keisuke's lips as they kissed.

“I’m glad you came here,” Seiichi murmured, and Keisuke smiled in response. The smile drew him in, and he caught Keisuke’s tongue with his own, tasting the lingering bitterness of tobacco.

Keisuke had grown up. He no longer dug up the awkward past or forced meaningless words. He had become a man who could simply accept pleasure and enjoy it for what it was.

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