Chapter Text
“Come on, buddy, drop that and let’s go grab a bite somewhere. Like the fancy-ass gentlemen we are.”
“I’m already—”
“You can finish later, Kim.” He slid the knife out of his friend’s hands and dropped it into the sink with a soft clink. “C’mon, get dressed!”
“What about the little ones?”
“They’ll live. Might teach ’em not to wander all over town in the evenings.” He grinned, the kind of grin that always made it hard to say no. “Let’s go, Kimmy. I’m bored out of my mind here. Just like the good old days, yeah?”
Looking into those familiar eyes — where his own reflection looked back — Kim sighed. Refusing him was nearly impossible. He smiled, warm and a little helpless, nodded, rinsed his hands, and answered softly:
“Alright. Just let me put the food away first.”
When did it all get so complicated?
There was a time when one “big night out” like this was worth selling his soul for. Maybe even a kidney — because back then, they were flat broke, living for months on pasta and potatoes. And sure, he’d love to get out now after hours glued to a screen, but… the little ones were off somewhere (and perfectly allowed to be; it was barely past six), which meant it would just be the two of them. No cheerful chaos from the little ones. No easy way to switch the subject when things got too close. No three eager voices all talking over each other, desperate to share their news.
Even when they were home, just the two of them, lately it was from sunrise to sunset all work — mostly for the sake of that little trio, so the little ones wouldn’t have any memories of living off pasta and potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And so there’d always be enough left over for a little fun, too. On top of that, they wanted to get the youngest into a good university someday, and even the two older ones — who had absolutely no interest in years of schooling — could use a couple of solid training programs. Either way, even now, when money wasn’t a pressing issue, work and daily responsibilities never let up, and they only saw each other in passing a few times a day.
But being truly alone with Mark — no walls between them to keep certain thoughts at bay, no computer screen dividing them whether they were at the same table or lying side by side — that was rare. In fact, it hadn’t really happened since three years ago, when Ian came into their lives, then Danny, and now Ray. Each one so different, but each utterly irresistible in their own way.
And Mark… Mark was complicated.
Not that they didn’t get along — they did. Really. They just didn’t fight, period. Life had already dragged them face-first over gravel sharp enough to cut, and neither of them had any patience for petty grudges. They’d grown up together, lived together, worked together, started from nothing together. And maybe that was exactly what had brought Kim to the place he swore he’d never be caught dead in. After all, like one article had said, the constant presence of two people in the same space inevitably leads to a kind of closeness — and maybe even a shift in feelings. Looking back, Kim would add that certain tendencies and circumstances could speed that process along a whole lot faster.
If you’re best friends — and Mark had considered him the closest person in his world for more years than he could count — it changes things. For someone who let very few people into his personal space, Mark had spent a long time with no one to lean on for a few kind words, let alone for a hug — something everyone needs now and then, especially a kid who’d grown up starved for affection. So the one person he’d allowed in close, Kim, had ended up filling just about every role in his life. Parent. Brother. Friend. Coworker. Even, occasionally, personal chef.
Mark did his best to return the favor — always had, still did. And that was one of the reasons Kim now found himself in this mess he couldn’t get out of.
As for the other reasons… well, those were simpler, and rooted in the same things: those rare, genuine hugs that meant more because they didn’t happen often; the warm words; the knowing looks; the harmless teasing; the quiet care. Mark had always protected him — in his own way — ever since they were kids, and even now. And somewhere along the way, something inside Kim had snagged, like a fork dragged across glass, sharp and grating. He couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he’d crossed the line from deep friendship into something darker, thicker, something that should never, ever be spoken aloud.
Never.
Never-ever.
And now, he’d reached the point where he couldn’t be in the same room with someone so close for too long. Wanted to — burned for it, deep down to embers — but was afraid the wrong words would break loose before he could bite his tongue, and then everything would come crashing down, straight through all nine circles of hell. One after another: the routines, the work, the peace, the harmony, the trust, the warmth, the unspoken understanding, the closeness… and the little ones, of course. He’d miss them most of all — because they, like hungry little chicks, looked up to both of them, hanging on every word.
Cursing under his breath, Kim remembered they’d have nothing to eat when they got back — and they’d definitely come home starving, because Danny was never one to sit still. He’d been talking for weeks about going ice skating, and he’d managed to rope in Ian — always up for anything short of a hunger strike — and even Ray, their homebody who was wary of anything new.
Kim grabbed his wallet, pulled out a couple of bills, scribbled a note — Order yourselves something — and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. He paused for a moment, listening: somewhere down the hall, a closet door slid open with a quiet rumble.
He should probably start getting ready, too.
“It used to be so simple,” he thought, closing the bathroom door behind him. He never would have guessed there’d come a time when his life was crowded with so many unspoken dramas, no room left to store them, everything tangled beyond repair. That invisible line of friendship between them would fade in places, letting them drift closer, only to flash steel at the last second as a reminder it still existed.
Mark thought of him as close — sometimes very close — but still just a friend, or more like a brother, family he looked after. And romance had no place in family, especially not between two guys. Mark had made that clear enough — unintentionally, of course — whenever he brought home a girlfriend. And they were always gorgeous, the kind that made you wonder how he even knew them.
Splashing his face with cold water, Kim looked at his reflection, noting once again the dark circles under his eyes — so deep they were almost purple. In the soft light, the shadows played across his face differently, like reminders of past battles with himself… and of the ones still ahead. He didn’t see himself, not really. He saw someone exhausted to the bone, older somehow, though he’d only just crossed into his twenties.
He let out another long sigh, knowing there was nothing to be done about it, and headed for his room, mentally sorting through what to wear. If they were going to eat like fancy-ass gentlemen, did that mean something restaurant-worthy? Kim hated dressing up, unlike Mark, whose closet held a perfectly aligned row of stylish button-downs — probably bought to boost his ego, since he wore them about once a year — and just as many blazers. At least he stayed away from ties and perfectly pressed dress pants; that would’ve been way too far from the image their work required.
Without overthinking it, Kim dug through the heap of colorful hoodies until he found a white sweater — the kind that looked like some designer had gone wild with scissors and thick black thread. A New Year’s gift from the little ones. It was probably the warmest thing he owned, even if it was nowhere near “dinner appropriate.” But better warm than dressed to the nines.
He snipped off the tag, pulled the sweater on, and smoothed down his hair. After a second’s thought, he tied it back so it wouldn’t fall into his food or get whipped around by the wind. He had a pair of lined jeans somewhere, perfect for weather like this.
Mark, on the other hand…
“He’s gonna throw on his best stuff all at once,” Kim muttered to himself, sliding a leg into his jeans. “Some tight turtleneck. A blazer — black, obviously. A gold chain around his neck. And if there’s gold, the turtleneck will be red. Or green. Yeah, one hundred percent…”
Maybe it was all those years together leaving their mark, or maybe Kim just had good instincts — either way, he nearly cursed when he walked out of his room and came face-to-face with Mark. Exactly as predicted: burgundy turtleneck, thick gold chain catching the light, black blazer, and — thank God — plain dark jeans.
Kim was about to ask why he’d dressed like it was the last night on earth, but Mark got there first.
“Holy shit, you look like a damn runway model!”
“Mark… you could just say, ‘Hey, Kim, you look nice,’ you know. Without all the extras.”
“Oh, Kim,” Mark grinned, eyes sweeping him from head to toe, “you look like a damn runway model — and you look fucking great.”
“That’s… better,” Kim said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You seen yourself? Planning to hit a fashion week?”
“Only if you’re walking it.” Mark stepped closer, flicked him lightly on the forehead. “You know what the difference is? I’ve gotta try on half my damn closet, ask you which crap makes me look like a thug and which crap might pass for decent. You? You throw on whatever the hell you find in the pile and — bam — fucking model.”
“I just have taste,” Kim said with a smirk.
Mark jabbed a finger at him. “Exactly. Fact. You ready?”
“Pretty much… Just need to call the little ones so they don’t get lost.”
“Go for it,” Mark said, heading for the door. “I’ll go warm up the car.”
Mark stepped outside, not forgetting to throw on a dark overcoat — the twin of Kim’s, only his was beige. They’d bought them on a whim a couple of years ago during one of their first real shopping trips, once they’d started earning decent money and felt like actual grown-ups for the first time.
Watching him go, Kim tried to push back the familiar waves of heaviness, harder to keep in check every day. He needed to pull himself together before heading down to the parking lot — before he was back in dangerously close range.
It’s just another tough chapter in your story. There’ve been plenty, and there’ll be more. Talking to himself out of habit, he pulled out his phone and dialed Ian. While the line rang, he went on, “The sooner you get over it — hell, the sooner you forget about it — the easier it’ll be to get back to your old li— Oh? No, I wasn’t talking to you. Listen, we’ll probably be back late. Order yourselves something to eat and don’t give Danny a hard time, okay? …No, he literally can’t give you a hard time, because he’s a saint of a kid… Don’t care, that’s it. Gotta go. Bye!”
A smile spread across his face as he hung up on Ian’s indignant squawking. Danny really was almost saintly — a gentle soul, all sunshine and kindness, pure childhood innocence wrapped up in one lanky teenage frame. Even though he was older than Ray, somehow Ray still seemed more grown-up by comparison. But when Danny got an idea in his head — like the ice skating, for example — he’d scoop your brain out with a tiny spoon and savor every bite until he got his way. So yeah, Ian and Ray could tease him all they wanted, but push him around? Not a chance.
Kim shut his eyes for a moment, letting himself drift back to the days he’d met each of them, one by one. The kids had practically grown up right in front of them, shaped by their hands, their words. Those three were his whole heart, his soul — and the only good reason he’d never crossed that line with Mark, never burned the bridge for good.
*
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Kim said at last, not turning toward the driver’s seat, keeping his gaze fixed on the blur of streets sliding past the window. He made it sound casual, like small talk, trying to land on the safest ground possible.
Mark smiled. “You like surprises, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“No buts. Trust me, Kimmy. You’ll like it.”
Kim exhaled slowly. In the flicker of passing streetlights, his eyes caught the light, worried but trying to hide it, forcing himself to look calm. Mark, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice anything off. He just kept driving, at ease, the faint lift at the corners of his mouth making it obvious he was enjoying this way more than he was letting on.
They finally pulled into a spot, the car settling in line with a neat row of others.
Kim drew in a deep breath, then let it out until there was nothing left, smoothing his face into something as close to indifference as he could manage.
“Finally,” he muttered, popping his seat belt. The drive had been long. He grabbed his coat from the back seat — the cold bit hard enough to make his teeth chatter — and slipped it on quickly. Then he looked up… and froze.
“So we’re this level of fancy-ass gentlemen?”
“Even higher,” Mark said with a grin.
Kim didn’t even need to step inside to know this was the kind of place where one night could cost them a few hundred bucks easy. And hell, it wasn’t the money that bothered him — it was the fact that a place like this had a certain dress code. Mark blended in just fine; Kim… not so much.
“You could’ve warned me we were coming to a place like this,” he muttered, peering through the restaurant windows to scope out what people were wearing. “Show-off.”
“Quit whining.”
“I’m clearly the odd one out here in my ripped sweater.”
“That ripped sweater is something the little ones saved up for months to get you,” Mark said, rolling his eyes and leaning against the car. “You saw the label, didn’t you?”
“Still ripped, label or not.”
“For fuck’s sake, Kim, you’re hung up on the dumbest shit,” Mark shot back. He pushed off the trunk, came around the car, and grabbed both sides of Kim’s coat just hard enough to make him stumble a little. Kim frowned up at him from under his brows. “You look better than any of those stuffed suits in there! Now move, it’s freezing as hell.”
And just to drive the point home, Mark exhaled a puff of breath right into Kim’s face, the air warm and smelling faintly of mint gum.
Inside, the place managed to be both pompous and surprisingly cozy. Their coats were promptly whisked away at the entrance, leaving Kim’s ridiculous-looking white sweater — ripped and stitched back together with thick black thread dangling in the front and back — on full display for the whole world to see.
Well… not ridiculous, really. It was something he’d actually been saving for a special occasion. He just wasn’t sure if this counted as too special. Convinced he stuck out from the other patrons — and not in a good way — he forced himself to square his shoulders and walk to their table with as much dignity as he could muster, following the host like they were important guests.
When the waiter, dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform and wearing a friendly smile, offered them the wine list — looking, in Kim’s opinion, far more elegant than at least one of the patrons right in front of him — Kim felt an odd, almost hysterical bubble of amusement rise up.
He nodded seriously, scanning the endless list of names that read more like a piece of literary art than descriptions of fermented grapes.
“Let’s start with your most exquisite option. You know, so we can feel right at home,” Kim said, glancing up at the waiter — and caught the man barely holding back a laugh.
Riding the sudden lift in his mood, and grateful for anything that kept his attention off Mark sitting across from him, Kim added, “Got anything… a little extra?”
“I’d recommend the Caymus Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon, twenty-year vintage,” the waiter replied smoothly. “Aromas of blackcurrant and cherry, deep flavor with notes of vanilla, plum, and—”
“Yes, yes, I know, thank you,” Kim said with a quick, amused glance. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and gave the waiter a dazzling smile. “And it’s produced in Ita—”
“America. That’s right,” the waiter finished smoothly. His polite smile didn’t falter, but his eyes gave him away — he’d clearly pegged Kim as someone new to a place like this and was enjoying the act enough to play along.
Noting it, Kim relaxed even more and kept up the performance.
“Wonderful… and what dish would complement this wine?”
“I can recommend the foie gras escalope with celery purée and persimmon — the chef’s special today.”
“Purée and persimmon, huh?” Kim latched onto the only familiar words, pretending to ponder. “Perfect. I’m really in the mood for a classic tonight. Foie gras and wine from America…”
“An excellent choice.” The waiter gave a gracious nod, sneaking him a quick wink — which Kim returned with quiet amusement — before turning to Mark, who seemed entirely absorbed in the menu. “And for you, sir?”
“Ribeye, medium. Glass of Château Margaux,” Mark said flatly. Then, after a nudge from Kim’s foot under the table, he added through gritted teeth, “Please.”
When the waiter left — after another quick, knowing glance toward Kim — Mark found himself on the receiving end of a frown.
“Don’t come crying to me later about why people think you’re street trash,” Kim muttered, leaning in. “You can’t just roll into a high-end restaurant and act like you’re in some roach-infested diner. Tonight, we’re fancy-ass gentlemen, remember? At least try to look the part.”
Mark didn’t reply, but Kim saw his shoulders ease a little. He rolled his neck from side to side, like he was loosening up. A minute later, Mark mentioned they’d gotten a new job — nothing special or different, but enough to earn them a little extra cash after dinner. That was the end of that conversation.
They waited for their food in near silence, broken only by the quiet background music. Kim let his eyes wander again, this time noticing the details.
“Seriously,” he said after a moment, smirking, “a place like this, and they’ve got those rags hanging in the windows? I wouldn’t put those up in my own kitchen. Is that some new design trend?”
“We don’t even have curtains at home — you can’t stand them,” Mark reminded him.
“Well… yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I wouldn’t hang them up anywhere. Anyway—”
What the hell are you even talking about?
Kim pinched the bridge of his nose. As he’d suspected, the night was slipping into that awkward territory, the playful mood evaporating. While Mark scrolled through something on his phone, Kim’s thoughts drifted back to the feelings he’d been trying to keep in check.
If the little ones were here… Wait. That’s it.
He pulled his phone from the pocket of his light jeans and called Danny. The line picked up after the very first ring.
“Everything good?” he asked right away. “You guys home? …When will you be? …Us? No idea, maybe an hour and a half, two, counting the drive… Ray hasn’t lost his mind with you, has he? …And Ian? …Well, serves him right… Yeah, call me when you get back. Alright. Later.”
With a sigh, Kim set his phone aside, his eyes scanning the room out of habit — their waiter was nowhere in sight, and the call had ended far too quickly. He considered phoning someone else when he felt eyes on him.
“What?” he asked flatly, looking up to meet Mark’s gaze.
“The little ones.”
“Oh… yeah, they’re fine. Heading home now.”
Time dragged, wearing him down like slow torture. Kim tried to keep himself occupied, even studying the folded napkins on the table, but there was nothing for his attention to stick to. Aside from the ridiculous curtains, everything here was perfect to the point of nausea.
When the food arrived, the heavy cloud over their table lifted a little, letting some light through. The bright splashes of color on his plate — with names far too pretentious to remember — managed to raise his mood to at least “could be worse.” And by the end of the meal, the conversation that finally picked up helped smooth over whatever rough edges had lingered since their awkward start after ordering.
Maybe it was all in his head. Mark was acting perfectly normal, really — being short with strangers who, for whatever reason, rubbed him the wrong way, scrolling through his phone (work had its way of bleeding into life). Maybe Kim was just overthinking things again. And maybe it was even for the best that they hadn’t really talked. Less attention from Mark meant fewer reasons to dive headfirst into thoughts he didn’t want to have.
If Mark had been looking at him the way he sometimes did — those moments when Kim would forget himself and ramble on about something, losing track of time — yeah, that would’ve been harder. Much harder.
Otherwise, he’d risk slipping right back into those rose-colored daydreams he hated — building illusions, pretending this wasn’t just another whim of Mark’s rooted in a rough childhood, but, say… a date. Even the thought of it sent a shiver crawling up his skin. No, better to choke that sort of thing off before it could settle in and carve out space in his head.
On the way home, everything seemed to click back into place, the night left behind as just another odd memory on the pile. Mark was talking again about the new job — it wasn’t too late to get started, and they both valued their work. Switching over to discussing the details was easy, a safe harbor after the unsteady waters of dinner.
*
The moment the front door shut, the kids tumbled out of the living room in a laughing, chaotic heap, scattering chip crumbs across the floor. The sound hit Kim like a burst of warm air after stepping in from the cold. He shook his head but didn’t say anything. Danny threw himself at him before he could even get his coat off, babbling about how they’d crashed out on the ice and how much fun it had been. He proudly hiked up his left pant leg to show off a bruise the size of a plum blooming on his knee, then hopped over to the couch where Ray had just settled and did the same to his right leg.
“Matching!” he declared with absolute triumph.
The scene was pure, messy comfort — no crystal glasses, no perfectly folded napkins, no risk of slipping into thoughts he didn’t want to have. Just noise, crumbs, and bruised knees.
Kim ducked into the kitchen, grabbed two bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer, wrapped them in dish towels, and returned to hand them off to the grinning “patients.” Turning to Ian, the only one without an injury, he asked:
“Did you eat anything decent besides chips, or should I make you something?”
“Had pizza, relax,” Ian said with a nod.
“Good…” Kim glanced back at the two youngest, whispering and giggling to each other. “Let me know if it starts hurting. We’ll be working.”
While he was still dealing with them, Kim didn’t notice Mark slip out of sight — probably already laying the groundwork. Sure enough, when he found him, Mark was at the desk in his room, surrounded by one wide curved monitor and a second, smaller one. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping lightly, eyes locked on the flickering lines of code.
“Gonna pop this exploit — grab a seat,” Mark said without looking up, patting the chair beside him and sliding Kim’s closed laptop closer. “We’ve got a zero, I found an open port. Jack into the controller and start brute-forcing.”
“Okaaay,” Kim drawled, yawning. It was still early — barely ten — but exhaustion was hitting him hard. He flipped open the laptop, typed in his password, and clicked the right icons. “Launching Nmap, scanning the target system. Let’s see which services are up.”
“Check port twenty-two, eighty, and four-four-three,” Mark nodded toward the screen. “We’ll try SSH and HTTP entry.”
“Twenty-two looks closed, but the other two… trying an SQL injection exploit.”
“Yeah… keep that session alive. Start dumping data. We’ve got targets in the ‘users’.”
Trying to shake off the drowsiness creeping in at the worst possible time, Kim fired up Wireshark. The virtual window bloomed open in front of him, streams of data flowing past like waves glinting under the sun. He got caught watching them a second too long and nearly nodded off before jerking his head, snapping back into focus, his voice sluggish:
“Looks like they’re running a WAF. But I found a weak spot — moving to brute-force SSH.”
“Don’t forget to proxy through TOR. Last thing we need is heat on us.”
“Come on, don’t teach the teacher,” Kim smirked, glancing over the edge of his screen. “Proxy’s up, TOR’s running. Brute-force in progress. You check if they’ve got IDS on their network.”
“Already scanning…” Mark went quiet for a moment, eyes on the feed. “Looks like Suricata. I’ll try to slip past it with some shellcode.”
“Quick work… IDS bypassed, brute-forcing continues. We’re almost… almost—”
“Got it!” Mark slapped the desk, turning toward him with a victorious grin. “Keep the link on an encrypted channel. I’ll poke around, see what’s worth taking…”
The rest went smooth, quick — and a nice chunk of money dropped into their account without delay.
What they were doing… well, no one in their right mind would call it noble. By every measure, they were criminals — black-hat hackers, taking on outside jobs for people who wanted to hurt their competitors, or just chasing their own whims. Like that time the news broke about a local big shot hoarding millions and dodging taxes — they skimmed some off his accounts. To ease the guilt, they sent part of it to an animal shelter and kept the rest.
They hadn’t exactly wrecked anyone’s life. No one dead, no one stripped of their last dime — but every so often, something ugly would tap from the inside, reminding him they weren’t any better than the people they hit. Kim didn’t bother making excuses. He knew there was nothing to brag about. He calculated the risks because, yeah — one screw-up and they were done. Plenty of people had been sharpening their knives for years.
Their work was nowhere near the right side of the law. They’d crossed hundreds of people. But what else was he supposed to do when the only real talents he’d inherited were a love for hardware and a brain wired for it? Plus a friend who, along with his own skill set, genuinely enjoyed the game — especially when it sometimes paid big.
And if he factored in the kids, that knot of wrongness in his chest would quiet down for a while, lying low and pretending it didn’t exist.
You’re not doing this for yourself, he’d tell himself quietly whenever another wave of misplaced morality rose in his throat. You’re doing it so the kids never have to touch this world.
At the very least, they’d been able to pay for decent web design courses for Danny and Ian. So far, it barely made any money — more like art projects gathering dust. And Danny, in the end, hadn’t shown much interest in pursuing it further, so the question of his future was still wide open. Ian didn’t complain, but Kim had the feeling he wasn’t really enjoying it either. And God, he didn’t want those three to end up stuck in jobs they hated, grinding through their lives without joy.
Good thing figuring out Ray’s path had been the easy part.
First off, the kid’s brain was something Mark and Kim could both envy. When it came to math and science, Ray could knock out problems like they were peanuts, memorizing complex formulas after reading them twice. He had the focus and persistence to teach himself a foreign language to a decent level, even with the weak public school curriculum — something that had taken Mark and Kim actual courses and real practice to reach.
And then Ray had walked in one day and announced flat-out that he wanted to get into hacking and help the two of them. So yeah, his field of interest was clear from the start. They just had to nudge it in a more… peaceful direction.
“Finish school first,” Kim had told him, sitting down beside him. “Then figure out what you like most. Maybe you’ll build websites, maybe you’ll make games — that’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Or you could be the one stopping snakes like me and Mark from breaking into the security systems of big companies.”
“But I—”
“You’re not doing this crap,” Kim cut in gently, trying to keep the twitch out of his eye. “It’s too dangerous, kid. Don’t romanticize it, don’t think we’re the cool guys here — because we’re really not.”
“We’re breaking the law, you get that?” Mark suddenly joined in, after an hour of letting them argue. He leaned toward Ray, locking eyes with him, and spoke each word slowly and clearly: “Today, we’ve got everything — tomorrow, we could lose it all. We could end up behind bars if we get caught, and you’d be left with your asses hanging out, no backup, no way to cover each other. Learn some real shit while you’ve got the chance.”
Back then, Ray had just shrunk into himself, saying nothing — but later, after thinking it over, he decided his older friends, who’d seen more of life, were right. They left it at that.
There was still plenty of time before college applications, so he and Kim took it slow, looking for the best school they could find. At the same time, Ray was working on finishing his last two years of high school through a fast-track program — the group home sure as hell didn’t offer that kind of opportunity.
Shaking off the memory, Kim came back to the present. Another job was wrapped, all that was left was to write the report and send the client what they’d paid for.
“Go crash already,” Mark smirked. He looked completely absorbed in his work — just finishing copying the data, closing out programs — and yet somehow still noticed Kim sitting there, waging a hopeless war with sleep.
Kim gave him a grateful nod, stood, and stretched.
“Sleep” sounded great… too bad that the closer he got to the bed, the faster it always ran off with its tail between its legs.