Chapter Text
I knew something had changed.
It started like all human things do. Slowly, quietly, like a storm building on the horizon while everyone pretends the sky is still blue. At first, there were just shifts. The mornings were off-rhythm. Fewer doors opening. Fewer voices. More silence.
Max had gone away before. That was normal. His life moved in fast circles, in loud places. Sometimes he’d be gone for days. A week. Maybe two. I hated it, but I’d learned to wait. I always knew he’d come back.
But this time… this time felt different.
This time, he stayed gone.
The apartment changed in small ways. His scent began to fade from his pillow, from the hallway, from the folded laundry. It made my ears twitch. My tail moved a little faster when I walked past his bedroom. I started sleeping near the windows again. Listening. Hoping.
Kelly tried to hold the space where he used to be. She still filled our bowls. She still said my name when I jumped onto the counter. Not mad, not soft, just tired. There was a weight behind her voice that hadn’t been there before. A sag in her shoulders. A smell in the air like rain that never comes.
Donut had already arrived by then. Small. Fluffy. Loud. He belonged to the little human, I knew that from the start. He followed her everywhere, mewing like the world owed him treats. He wasn't unpleasant, not exactly. Just... irrelevant.
He wasn’t ours. He wasn’t part of us. He didn’t smell like Max.
Jimmy adapted instantly. Of course he did. He’s built for it, a golden puddle of comfort and cuddles, content as long as he has warmth and someone to touch him. They tumbled through the flat together, curled up in sunbeams like a pair of decorative pillows. Jimmy never questioned anything. He never notices the ache of things missing. He only sees what’s still there.
But I felt it. Every day. Every night. Especially at night.
I stopped sleeping on the bed. It felt empty. Cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. Instead, I curled up in Max’s old hoodie, the one buried under the throw blankets on the couch. It barely smelled like him anymore. Just faint hints of laundry soap and something warm, something gone.
Still, I stayed there. Guarded it. Waited.
Days blurred into weeks.
And I started to worry, not just the low, cat-silent kind of worry, but a creeping fear that curled its claws around my ribs.
What if he wasn’t coming back?
What if this wasn’t a trip?
What if he’d left us?
And then one day, the door clicked.
It wasn’t loud, just the soft, ordinary sound of a key turning in the lock, but it sliced through the stillness like lightning.
I lifted my head from the arm of the couch, ears pricking forward before I even realized why.
Then I felt it.
Him.
The air shifted. Familiar in a way that was deeper than scent. It was rhythm, gravity, the pull of a presence I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined. My heart beat once, hard, under my ribs.
Jimmy was off the couch before I could blink. Of course he was. He bounded to the door, tail swishing like some idiot banner, already purring so loud I could hear it from where I lay.
Pathetic.
I stayed where I was.
I needed to see him first. Needed to know he was really there, not just some cruel trick of memory.
And then he spoke.
“Hey, boefje.”
His voice cracked a little around the edges. Like a door not opened in a long time.
I blinked, slowly, one eye at a time, as he crouched down and let Jimmy fall into him, all fur and eager paws and blind devotion. Max laughed softly, petting him, murmuring something low in Dutch that I couldn’t quite catch.
Then he looked up.
At me.
“Hi, Prinses.”
I didn’t move.
But my tail gave a flick.
He reached out a hand, tentative, as if waiting for my approval. I let him wait. I wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“Sassy.”
My name was a whisper. Not pleading. Not coaxing. Just real.
I didn’t move.
I watched him from the couch, ears pinned slightly back, tail curled tight against my side.
Was it him? Really him?
Or just a ghost I’d imagined into the sound of every passing car?
He didn’t reach for me. He didn’t rush.
He just looked. Like I was the answer to a question he hadn’t known he’d been asking every day he was gone.
So I stood.
I stretched. Slowly. My movements deliberate.
Then I jumped down, a quiet thud on the floor, and walked to him. Not close. Not at first. I stopped just out of reach, sniffed the air.
He still smelled like me.
And then, carefully, I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his.
Just once.
He exhaled like something in his chest finally let go.
“I missed you, Prinses,” he whispered, hand brushing over my back. “I’m so sorry.”
He smiled anyway. That same soft smile I remembered from quieter mornings, the ones when the world hadn’t started yet and it was just us. He leaned back on his heels and let his fingers run through Jimmy’s fur, never taking his eyes off me.
“I missed you too,” he said gently. “I’ll come get you in a few days, okay? We’re changing houses, but don’t worry, it’s a nice place. And there will be so many cuddles. And treats. And Charles will probably let you get away with anything.”
Charles .
I didn’t know what that meant, but it tasted new. New was suspicious. But Max’s voice was calm. Soft. The kind of soft he only used for us.
I allowed my eyes to close halfway.
Not trust. Not yet.
But something close.
Then the air tensed.
Footsteps, too sharp.
Kelly’s voice cut through the quiet like a cold wind.
“Wait.”
I opened my eyes fully now, ears swiveling.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Not angry. Not exactly. But something coiled tight beneath her skin.
“You’re taking them?”
Max didn’t rise. He kept one hand on Jimmy, who was now rolling belly-up like a fool.
“Yeah.”
I turned my gaze to her.
She still smelled like us. Like the food she served and the rooms we shared. But the scent was fading. Underneath it was something thinner, more brittle. Something that didn’t feel like home.
“You didn’t tell me that,” she said.
Max’s voice was careful. “I thought it was obvious.”
She looked at Jimmy. At me. Then back at Max.
“I just figured they’d stay here. They’re used to it. P loves having them around.”
He softened. “I know. And it’ll be a change. But I’m not leaving them, Kelly.”
There was silence.
Tense. Thick.
I shifted a bit, but I didn’t take my eyes off them. My tail curled tighter against my flank.
“They’re going to miss us,” she said.
I blinked slowly.
Us.
Funny word.
Max didn’t look away. “They’re my cats.”
That part I agreed with.
Then her voice changed. Sharper. “What about Donut?”
My ears flicked back.
Donut. The tiny one. All fluff and noise and far too comfortable being carried around like a baby possum. Not offensive, but definitely not family.
Max didn’t even hesitate. “Of course not. He’s P’s cat.”
Exactly.
She looked at the floor. Then at Max.
“I see.”
The words were flat. But her spine stayed stiff. Everything about her bristled with something she wasn’t saying.
Max sighed, rubbing his hand down his face.
“I’ll come back for them after Christmas,” he said. “I’m probably going to Belgium for a few days, and I don’t want to drag them around.”
Belgium. Another new word. More unknown.
But this time, I didn’t feel the usual ripple of fear. Not really.
Because he said he’d come back for us.
And I believed him.
This time, I believed him.
He didn’t stay long.
Just long enough to make the walls feel emptier.
I watched from the hallway as Max opened the closet door, dragging out his old suitcases. The grey ones with the sticky zippers he always cursed under his breath. He laid it open on the bed, its mouth gaping like it was hungry for his leaving.
I followed him, silent. Step for step.
He didn’t tell me to stop. He never does.
He moved slowly, like his limbs were heavier than usual. Pulling shirts from hangers, folding them with half the care he normally used. His drawer, the one I used to nap in when it was half-open, was now a mess of gaps and shifting edges. Things were vanishing.
My fur bristled.
This wasn’t pretend.
I jumped onto the bed, curling at the far edge while he zipped the suitcase shut. My tail flicked once. Twice.
He paused.
“Sassy,” he said, his voice lower than before, tired in that way only I ever seem to hear.
I looked at him without blinking.
He sat beside me, one leg on the floor, the other folded up under him like he used to do on quiet mornings with coffee and a blanket. He reached a hand toward me, palm up. An offering.
I didn’t move. But I didn’t pull away when his fingers brushed under my chin.
“I know you’re nervous,” he murmured, as if anyone else could possibly tell. “You feel everything, don’t you?” He smiled faintly. “Of course you do. You’re my clever girl.”
I gave him a slow blink.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, the spot he always finds.
“I have to go for just a little longer,” he said. “A few more days. Then I’ll come back, and we’ll leave together.”
I pressed my ears slightly back.
He saw it, he always sees it, and leaned forward until our foreheads were almost touching.
“It’s a new place, I know. But you’ll have me. Always.”
I shifted a little closer. Just a fraction.
“There’s another human, you already met him” he said. “His name’s Charles. He’s… good. He knows about treats and sun spots and not moving when someone’s sleeping on his lap.”
I gave a very unimpressed snort through my nose.
He chuckled. “You’ll see. He talks too much, but he’s soft where it matters.”
Then he scratched behind my ears.
“And you’ll sleep in my bed every night. Like before.”
I closed my eyes, but only for a second. I wouldn’t give in that easily. Not yet.
He stood, suitcases ready, and gave the room a slow glance. Then he looked back at us. At me and Jimmy, who was pretending to nap but had been watching from the doorway the whole time.
Max dropped to his knees once more, arms out. Jimmy leapt into them like a kitten.
I stayed where I was.
He held Jimmy, his nose buried in his fur, then turned to me.
“Just a few more days,” he said again, voice almost a whisper. “Trust me, Prinses.”
I didn’t move.
But when he leaned forward, I bumped my forehead gently into his.
Just once. A promise.
He exhaled.
Then he stood, rolled the suitcase behind him, and opened the door.
And then he was gone.
Again.
But this time, I stayed curled on the bed. Waiting. Not for nothing. For him. For always.
Donut left few days later. I watched from the top of the stairs, half-hidden in shadow, as the little human packed up his toys and favorite blanket. He trotted around the apartment like he had no idea what was happening, tail wagging, ears flopping, that same ridiculous meow he used whenever someone sneezed.
When the door opened, Kelly knelt to clip on his leash. Donut looked up at her, blinked, and then turned, just for a second, to glance in my direction.
I didn’t move.
But when he whined, soft and uncertain, I gave him a single blink.
Not a goodbye. A recognition. You were here. You existed. But you’re not mine. Then he was gone too.
The quiet that followed wasn’t like the usual kind. It was too full. Full of things not said, places not filled. No Max. No Kelly. No tiny human footsteps. Just the tick of the kitchen clock and the sigh of the old pipes in the wall.
Jimmy, of course, adapted in his usual pathetic way. He spent the first afternoon sprawled in a patch of sun by the window, belly up, looking like a damp sock left out to dry.
I stayed under the dining table. Watching. Listening. Waiting.
The catsitter came later that day.
It was someone we knew, she’d been around forever. Smelled like soap and hand sanitizer, and always wore those soft fleece sweaters that are perfect for kneading.
She called us by name. Poured the right amount of food. Sat on the floor and waited while we circled, like always.
She scratched Jimmy behind the ears and told him he was a good boy. He drooled on her leggings.
I let her think I wasn’t interested.
But I watched from the hallway.
She wasn’t him. And I didn’t need her.
That night, I curled up on Max’s old hoodie again. I’d dragged it off the chair earlier, it took effort, but it was worth it. It still held a whisper of him. Just enough to remember.
Jimmy snored on the couch.
And I waited.
The next day was the same. And the next.
And yet, I wasn’t afraid the way I had been, weeks ago. The fear now sat differently. Lower in the chest. Quieter. Not like panic, more like… anticipation. Like a breath held.
Because he said he’d come back.
Because he promised.
And when Max makes a promise, he keeps it.
So I kept waiting.
Not because I had to.
Because I chose to.
Because home wasn’t a place. It was a sound.
His voice. Saying my name.
It was early afternoon when the lock clicked again.
But this time… this time it felt different. There was weight behind it. Purpose. Not the sudden burst of joy like when Max had appeared after the long silence, but something slower. Heavier.
Change.
Jimmy was on his feet before the door even opened. Typical. Tail high, eyes bright. No dignity.
I stayed by the radiator, half-curled, watching through narrowed eyes as Max stepped inside.
He looked tired, but not like before. Not broken-tired. This was… moving-day-tired. Focused. Jaw tight, hands already reaching to hold the door for… Another human. Charles.
I knew him. I’d seen him before, in this house. He used to smell like visitor. Polite, temporary. But now, when he walked in behind Max, it was clear something had shifted.
He wasn’t here as a guest.
He was here as part of the we.
Jimmy trotted straight over to him, brushing his side shamelessly. Charles crouched a little, smiled, but didn’t reach out. Didn’t try to touch. Just let Jimmy decide.
I watched.
He looked at me briefly, gave the smallest nod, like a greeting.
Good. He knew his place.
Max was already moving. He dropped the flat boxes near the kitchen, then began opening closets. His movements were quick, familiar. This was his den. But he moved through it like it no longer belonged to him.
Charles followed, quiet. Helping.
Piece by piece, things began disappearing.
The coat from the hallway hook. The stack of shoes from near the door. The shelf where Max kept the strange silver bottles that clicked and hissed when he opened them.
“Do you really need all of these red bull shirts?” Charles asked from the bedroom.
“They’re not just shirts, they’re…” Max’s voice trailed off, then came back dry, “...very specific emotional supports.”
Charles laughed, a soft sound, not loud or jarring. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re judging my wardrobe. Again.”
“It’s part of the boyfriend job description.”
Max snorted, but I saw the corners of his mouth twitch up.
I followed them from room to room, but always at a distance. My tail flicked every time another drawer was emptied. Every time another part of Max's life vanished into a box.
And then came that moment.
They unplugged the thing. The weird throne Max always sat in, the one with the bright screens and humming wires and the special smell of focus. I never really understood what it was, it wasn’t warm, and it didn’t feed me, but it had weight. Energy. Whenever Max sat there, people talked about him differently. Reverently.
He wasn’t just Max, then. He was Max Verstappen.
And even I, who bows to no one, respected that thing.
When they lifted it, carefully, and started wrapping it up, I stood and followed them, ears back, uneasy.
“Careful,” Max murmured. “That cable’s fragile.”
“I’ve got it,” Charles replied. “Don’t worry.”
Max paused, watching as Charles adjusted his grip. “It feels weird,” he said quietly. “Packing this up. Like it’s not just the sim rig. It’s… everything.”
Charles looked at him, something soft flickering in his eyes. “It’s not your sim rig that made you who you are, Max.”
Max didn’t answer right away. Then he exhaled. “No. But it helped.”
Charles rested a hand briefly on Max’s shoulder, quick, light. “Then we’ll set it up again. Exactly the way you want it.”
My tail twitched.
I didn’t like how this house was disappearing. How the familiar was vanishing one drawer at a time.
But Max’s voice, steady, warm, full of that calm I hadn’t heard in weeks, kept me grounded.
He noticed me hovering near the hallway, eyes darting nervously as another box was taped shut.
“Sas,” he said gently, kneeling down.
I walked to him. Slowly. One step, then another.
He opened his arms, and I stepped in.
He didn’t even need to say it. I heard it in the way he touched the back of my head. In the way he pressed his cheek to my fur.
“I told you I’d come back, Prinses,” he murmured. “And I did.”
I let my eyes close.
“I know it’s scary,” he whispered. “But you’re coming with me. You and Jimmy. I’d never leave you.”
Behind us, Charles stayed quiet. I opened one eye. He was watching from the kitchen, still taping a box. He didn’t come closer. He didn’t interrupt.
Good.
He was learning.
I should’ve known.
The moment Max started folding our blankets into neat little stacks, my tail stiffened. The minute I saw him bring out the carriers, those horrid little boxes with grated doors and the smell of betrayal, I hissed under my breath and darted under the table.
Jimmy, traitor that he is, watched from the windowsill with mild curiosity. He hadn’t caught on yet.
Typical.
Max moved gently. He didn’t say much, but I watched him pack our things with care. My favorite toy mouse, the one missing one ear, was tucked beside the food bag. Our scratching pad was folded flat. Even our litter box, the big one with the dome, had been cleaned and set near the door. All of it.
The entire scent of home, shrunk into a few bags.
When he picked up my carrier and opened the little metal door, I froze.
“No,” I told him, clearly, decisively, with my eyes, my posture, and the low growl starting in my chest. “I am not going in that box.”
“Come on, Prinses,” Max said, voice coaxing. “It’s not forever.”
Liar.
I bolted across the room.
He didn’t chase me.
He never chases. That’s why he’s the only human I trust.
Instead, he sat on the floor and waited. “It’s just the ride. Then we’ll be there. The new place. Together.”
He said that word again, together, like it was a promise. Like it was a spell.
Charles was nearby, crouched beside Jimmy’s carrier. Jimmy, predictably, had wandered over and allowed himself to be scooped up with all the dignity of a towel. Purring. Of course.
Charles didn’t force him in. He just waited until Jimmy slunk inside on his own, and gently closed the door.
When Max finally reached for me again, I let him pick me up. I clung to his chest, eyes wide, ears back. My heart was pounding, tail tucked close. But I didn’t fight. I just pressed my face into his hoodie and tried to remember what safety smelled like.
“Goed zo,” Max whispered, lowering me into the carrier. “You’re so brave, Sas.”
I wasn’t brave. I was terrified.
But he kissed my head, and shut the door, and that helped a little.
The ride downstairs was awful. The carrier swung slightly with every step, and I let out a low, miserable yowl. Jimmy joined in two seconds later. His meow was much louder. Far less dignified.
Charles chuckled under his breath. “I see the complaints department has opened.”
Max didn’t smile. Not really. But he looked down at us and said, “They hate this part.”
“They’ll be okay,” Charles said quietly.
“I know,” Max replied. “But still.”
The car was already waiting, engine humming.
Charles slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirrors. Max opened the back door and climbed in without hesitation, settling between our carriers like he was boarding a plane.
One hand on my carrier. One hand on Jimmy’s.
“I’m here,” he said softly, leaning close to me. “You’re safe. We’re going home.”
I didn’t know what home meant anymore.
But his voice still worked like it always had, low and steady, just for me.
I pressed myself into the corner of the carrier and stayed very, very still. I didn’t trust cars. They moved too fast, and the ground felt wrong. Like falling, but with no end.
Jimmy continued wailing in sync with each turn. Charles tried turning on soft music.
Max leaned forward slightly between us, his shoulders curled around both carriers, like he could keep us anchored just by being near.
And I stared at him the entire way.
Even though the air tasted strange and the street smells made my nose twitch, I let myself believe him.
Just a little.
He said we were going together.
He said it wouldn’t be forever.
He said we’d sleep in the same bed again.
And Max didn’t lie.
Not to me.
The moment we stepped into the new house, I knew it wasn’t just a place.
It was someone else’s.
There was no noise, no sudden movements. But the air was full of messages. The floorboards, the couch, the curtains… they all carried a scent that wasn’t ours. Strong, warm, settled. Mostly Charles. His scent was everywhere. Wood and paper, something metallic, and that faint trace of human cologne that had sunk into the fabric of the apartment itself. He didn’t mark it loudly, but clearly: this was his territory.
And then there was the other smell.
Faint, animal, a little wild. Young. Dog. Not here now, but unmistakably present in some deeper way. As if the space still remembered him.
Max let us out one at a time. Jimmy came out first, cautious but curious, already nosing toward the edge of the kitchen. I stayed in the carrier, watching.
Waiting.
But this time, it didn’t feel like a trap.
Because Max was there.
His scent, the one I’ve known since forever, was scattered across the room like invisible breadcrumbs. On the blanket from our old couch, the hoodie tossed over the armrest, the half-unpacked boxes with his things. It wove through the air like a thread, guiding me.
So I stepped out.
One paw, then another. Jimmy had disappeared down the hallway already, but I stayed close to the walls, tail low. I sniffed at the rug, the corner of a bookcase, a shoebox still taped shut. Then I found the hoodie. Max’s hoodie. I climbed onto the sofa, pressed my face into it, and breathed.
Safe.
It didn’t feel like home, not yet, but it didn’t feel wrong either.
Charles walked past me. I froze.
He didn’t look directly at me. Didn’t reach out. Didn’t even slow down.
Good. He was learning.
He said something to Max in a low voice. “Do you think they’re okay?”
Max gave him a small smile, the kind he only uses when he’s trying to soothe something nervous and wild. “She’s exploring. That’s a good sign.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll keep my distance.”
Smart move.
Jimmy had already discovered the food bowls and was pretending to have never been fed in his life. Meanwhile, I curled into the hoodie and watched them quietly.
Charles sat cross-legged on the floor, at a respectful distance. “I’m picking Leo up tomorrow,” he said, glancing toward Max. “If all goes to plan, I’ll be back before noon.”
Max, who was still fussing with the litter box setup, nodded. “Okay. I’d rather get them settled before we introduce him.”
“I can wait longer if you want,” Charles offered, glancing briefly in my direction.
Max shook his head. “No, it’s time. Besides…” He smiled. “Sassy will hold her ground.”
He wasn’t wrong. I always do.
But still… I stayed right where I was. Watching. Listening. Breathing him in.
Even with Charles’ scent filling the space, even with the lingering ghost of a dog, Max’s presence pushed back the uncertainty.
He was here. He wanted us here.
That was enough to keep me still. Enough to stop me from bolting. Enough to let my eyes close, just for a moment, as I pressed my face deeper into the folds of that old hoodie and reminded myself:
Where Max is… I can be, too.
That first night, the apartment was too quiet.
I could hear the city outside, soft hums of traffic, the occasional faraway horn, but the silence inside was deep and unfamiliar. No creaks I knew, no fridge humming in the same way, no heater with the comforting cough from our old place. Just stillness.
Max tried to make it better. He laid out the blanket we used to sleep on. He scattered a few toys around, left the bedroom door wide open. I watched from the hallway as he moved through the space like someone trying to turn a stranger’s house into something resembling home.
Jimmy, unsurprisingly, adapted first. He’d already claimed a spot on the couch and was grooming himself like a show-off by the time Max called us in for the night.
I waited.
Waited until Max was under the blanket. Waited until he was still. Then I padded into the bedroom, cautious, ears high.
Charles was brushing his teeth. I could hear the water running.
I leapt silently onto the bed.
Max smiled at me in the dark, one hand reaching out. “Come here, Prinses.”
I didn’t go straight to him, that would’ve been too easy. I circled the bed once, inspected the pillow, sniffed his shoulder. Then, slowly, I curled up near his side, just close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, but far enough to remind him that I was still judging everything.
His fingers found my head in the dark, scratching gently behind my ears. I allowed it. Just for a moment.
When Charles came in, I lifted my head.
He froze in the doorway.
Then, wisely, he walked to his side of the bed without a word.
He didn’t even try to pet me.
Smart human.
I didn’t sleep much. I stayed curled near Max all night, eyes half-closed, ears twitching at every unfamiliar sound. But Max was calm. And that was enough.
For now.
The morning after the light came in through the wide windows in the living room, soft and golden. Max was already awake, padding around in socks, making coffee. Jimmy was winding around his legs like a vine. I stretched on the armrest of the couch, blinking slowly, still wrapped in the blanket Max had put out.
“Charles already left?” I heard Max mumble as he glanced at his phone.
He had. The other human had said something about going to his mother’s. Something about bringing Leo home. I knew that name now.
I’d never seen him, but I knew his scent. Faint and wild and canine. This was his home, too, whether I liked it or not.
Max came over and knelt beside me, his coffee mug warming the air between us.
“Just a few more hours,” he said softly, rubbing my cheek. “Be nice, okay? He’s... sweet. Mostly.”
I flicked my tail. We’ll see about that.
The door opened around midday.
Jimmy jumped down from the windowsill like it was just another day. I stayed exactly where I was, perched on the back of the couch, watching.
The scent hit first.
Stronger than before. Closer. Alive.
Then I heard him.
Click-click-click, nails on the wood floor.
And then, there he was.
A golden blur of fur and ears and legs too short for his excitement. Leo bounded through the door like he owned it, barking once, just once, before Charles hushed him gently.
“Calme-toi, Leo. Gently.”
Max stepped forward and dropped to his knees, laughing as Leo scrambled into his arms, tail wagging violently. Jimmy came closer too, tail high, curious, even letting Leo sniff him.
I narrowed my eyes.
Leo didn’t seem to notice me at first. He was too busy smothering Max with wet kisses and squirmy joy. But then he turned, mid-bounce, and froze when he saw me.
Finally.
His ears perked. His head tilted. I could see the thoughts trying to form behind those big, baffled eyes.
And then he made the mistake of stepping toward me.
I hissed.
One sharp, surgical sound. Not a threat, a warning.
He stopped immediately.
Charles, still holding the leash loosely, crouched down. “She’s the boss,” he told Leo gently. “You let her come to you.”
Leo sat down. Just sat. Wagging, confused, but no longer bouncing. A miracle.
Max turned to look at me, that small smile on his lips again. “Good girl,” he whispered.
I held Leo’s gaze for a moment longer. Then I turned away, curling back into myself.
This wasn’t over.
But he was learning.
And as long as he remembered who was queen around here, maybe, maybe, we could figure it out.