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“Was I the first?”
Dale struggles through retelling what happened with Adam and the resulting traumatic aftermath.
There’s something different between them tonight, here in the private sanctuary of Dale’s apartment. Safe from the judgment outside these walls, tonight, Dale isn’t defensive. He’s vulnerable.
“I think we’re very different people, Tim.”
“You know, imagining life on the other side of something like this can be terrifying. But it might surprise you,” Tim replies softly.
“I’ve worked my whole life to be where I am.”
“Yeah…” There’s a loaded pause, his hurt and disappointment plain, before Tim continues. “Surprised me anyway.” He offers what he hopes looks like a genuine smile and is ready to bolt and forget ever coming here. To, this bloody time, maintain his resolve to give up this futile pining.
Dale seems to decide something. “Tim… would you like a drink?”
That was unexpected. Tim considers. Maybe Dale has more to say. Just when he thought he got what he came for—painful though it be—with Dale’s roundabout way of admitting he values his career more than he values being true to himself, Dale had to go and confuse him all over again. He’s a bit exasperated, honestly. More mixed signals.
However… Tim’s surprised Dale actually opened up about the incident he suffered in high school, and, paired with this invitation to extend his visit, prompts Tim to entertain the slim possibility that maybe Dale isn’t going to push him away again, continue to ignore the kiss they shared—how much they had both wanted it—and go crawling back to Helen. Begging her forgiveness, pleading for her discretion, burying his truth down inside. Just maybe he’ll choose differently this time. The sliver of possibility decides him.
“Sure, mate, that’d be nice.”
Dale returns from the kitchen and Tim settles this time not with the coffee table separating them, but beside Dale on the small couch. They crack the beer cans open and share the first sips in a tentative silence. Tim doesn’t want to spook Dale like a frightened horse. But he also wants to know where they stand. That’s why he’d had the audacity to show up on Dale’s doorstep in the first place.
Yet, patience is clearly what’s called for here—his quickened pulse and burning need for clarity be damned.
Trying to keep his cool, Tim focuses on breathing evenly. With a jarring start, Dale breaks the stillness.
“You know, I envy you. Your sure confidence in your identity... I’ve always had these feelings.” He gestures to his chest and takes a few stilted breaths.
Typical, that Dale can’t bring himself to verbalize ‘these feelings’ are feelings for men.
“The thing is, I like women too.” Dale picks at the beer label, looking anywhere but at Tim. He sits quietly reflecting before continuing. “I just… I just don’t seem to fit anywhere. I wish I knew who I am, like you do.” He chokes off a short, quiet laugh, tears swelling in his eyes anew. “But I’m wrong.” His voice breaks and he grimaces, lip curling in that same look of disgust after their kiss at Hotel Lincoln. “I’m broken somehow.” He turns his face up towards the ceiling, working to keep from losing his last shred of composure.
Dale might still hate himself, but it’s touching he trusts Tim to be gentle with his pain, daring to let it see the light of day at all. Or night, actually, as it happens to be. This might be the worst case of closeted self-loathing Tim has seen. And after what Dale has disclosed tonight, his heart aches for him.
Tim leans in. He hesitates, hand hovering over Dale’s knee before resting it there, aiming to comfort, still hoping not to spook. He speaks softly but firmly: “Nothing is wrong with you, Dale.”
Dale’s leg flinches but he doesn’t move to bat Tim away. Instead, he huffs a disbelieving laugh. Angling forward, elbow on his knee, one hand propping up his chin, his other held close in his lap, he stares down at Tim’s hand on him.
“What’s wrong is what they did to you, not what you did.” A tear falls to the floor between Dale’s feet. “There’s a name for what you feel. I promise, you’re not broken. Bisexuality may not be mainstream but it’s not unnatural or something to be ashamed of—you don’t have to choose.”
At this, Dale lifts his eyes to Tim. “Yeah, there are loads of drongos out there that don’t understand a person can fancy both men and women, but there are bi people out there—good people who feel just like you do.” He gives Dale’s knee a squeeze to emphasize his next point. “And there’s nothing wrong with identifying that way.”
“I’ve never met anyone like that.”
“Then we need to get you some new friends, mate. When you’re ready, I think I know where we can start.” Dale’s mouth curves into a small smile mirroring Tim’s.
Tim squeezes Dale’s knee once more before letting go. “I like you just the way you are.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he’s second guessing himself. Was that too forward? Did his tone say too much? He takes a long swig of beer, buying time, but Dale speaks first.
“Have you ever been with a woman?”
Oh. He gives a curt shake of his head. “Um, no, never. Well, a girl kissed me when we were sixteen, out behind the school. But I didn’t feel anything… No, I’d been fantasizing about her older brother even just talking to me.” He twirled the bottom of his beer can on his knee and looked down in reverie, remembering the boy’s handsome face. “I’d already known I prefer men, but that kiss convinced me I never wanted to be with a woman that way.”
“What was he like?”
“Her brother? He was a footy player and the resident joker. Tall and chiseled in all the right places.” Tim makes eye contact with Dale, raising his brows and smirking. Dale doesn’t know how to respond but thankfully Tim goes on.
“I worked up the courage to take initiative myself one day and approached him.” A sidelong glance and a shift in Tim’s tone, like maybe he’s not talking exclusively about the distant past, sends a blush creeping up Dale’s cheeks. But he swallows hard and doesn’t look away.
“I chatted him up, laid on all my charms. He was completely oblivious.” A pause. “So the next time I saw him, I threw caution to the wind,” Tim gestures widely. “I, uh, I kissed him,” his hand thuds to his thigh, “…And he called me a faggot.”
Dale’s brows furrow, a vision of empathy.
Tim quickly recovers and claps him lightly on the back. “But it all worked out. The next month the quiet blonde in AV club sucked me off in a sound booth!” Tim glows in recollection of the memory, while Dale lets out a surprised laugh at the turn in the mood and takes another drink, still flushed. Tim’s beaming grin mesmerizes Dale.
Suspecting he’s picking up on a hungry look in Dale’s eyes, Tim redirects his gaze down to his beer and continues, “So yeah… I’ve never been with a woman and I’ve always known who I am. But it isn’t all sunshine and roses no matter if you like men or women,” he trails off and looks to Dale again, bumping their knees together pointedly, “or both.”
Dale barely processes what Tim is saying. They’re already sitting so close and Tim’s every touch is electric. Now his brain is plain short circuiting, imagining Tim with his jeans around his ankles, hands tangled up in short blonde hair bobbing at his groin, a look of ecstasy on his face. Dale’s cock twitches and he can feel the flush spreading farther down his neck.
He must be silent a few beats too long. “Dale?”
He clears his throat and sends a tight-lipped smile Tim’s way, hand on the back of his neck, suddenly unconsciously defensive. “Thanks, Tim. You’re a good friend.”
They’ve reached the bottom of their drinks and Tim senses an unsaid signal that he should go. They didn’t clear up whatever this charged air is between them, but Dale seems to have heard enough to assuage his pain for now. And at least Tim understands why Dale has locked himself in the closet and boarded up the door. With someone to confide in, there’s a chance he’ll soak in Tim’s words and find some acceptance for himself.
Tim claps his hands to his thighs. “Alright then. I think I’ve blathered on long enough! Thanks for the beer, mate.” He stands and again he’s touching Dale, a pat on the shoulder in parting.
He turns to go but he’s held back by a hand around his wrist.
“Tim?”
Fighting to suppress the spark of hope in his chest, he turns and looks with knitted brows down at Dale’s searing touch on his skin. He forces neutrality into his voice. “Yeah?”
Dale sets down his empty beer can. He trails his fingertips from Tim’s wrist to ghost over the palm. His looks like his heart is going to jump out of his chest, but he plows on. “You don’t have to go.”
They look at each other a long moment, Dale chewing his lip nervously.
“Are you asking me to stay?”
“I could use the company.”
Tim battles with his better sense, but he knows he won’t say no. “Yeah, of course.”
*********
Dale returns from retrieving two more beers to find Tim bending over examining his music collection. He’s briefly distracted, but shakes his head and clears his throat to announce his presence.
“So, should we put one on?” Tim straightens and points to the record in his hand.
“Great idea, take your pick.”
The music plays as Tim judges Dale’s taste in jest, complimenting and poking light fun in turn as he goes.
They sit together before the turntable talking. By the time Dale turns over the third record they’re several drinks in and settled into companionable ease. Each time they open a new can they somehow end up sitting closer until Tim can feel the body heat radiating off Dale.
Tim chastises himself for wishful thinking and, after tonight’s events, decides that this friendship is more important than his pride or desire. Even if Dale can’t be honest with himself about who he is, Tim is still going to be there as a friend, if Dale will let him.
Tim loses count of the beers.
“I’m starving.” Dale gets up to go fix them sandwiches as Tim continues their conversation.
“Wham? Really?”
Dale calls from the kitchen, “Oh, come on! It’s not that bad! You’ve gotta like this one at least, don’t you?”
“I don’t think so, mate!” Tim gets up, too, stretching. He takes another look at Dale’s videotapes and pulls one from the shelf. “Oh this was a good story, you did great! We should watch it!”
He walks into the kitchen with the tape and there’s Dale swaying his hips and mouthing the lyrics as he’s pulling slices of bread out of the bag.
Tim hates himself just a little that his heart flutters. Just a little though, because, whatever they are to each other, he’s glad to see Dale with the weight of his worries lightened from his shoulders.
It appears Dale hadn’t heard him, and, unnoticed, Tim retreats back to the living room to reshelve the tape. He’d like nothing better than to let the music continue working its magic buoying Dale’s spirits.
When they’ve finished eating, Dale goes to put another vinyl on. Tim can tell Dale has had one too many by the way the other man is uneasy on his feet.
“You spin me right ‘round, baby, right ‘round.”
Oh, this is too perfect with how Dale is giving Tim whiplash tonight.
Surely the neighbors are getting irked with the noise? But then Dale is dancing uninhibited and Tim can’t bring himself to care about anything outside this apartment because he gets this Dale all to himself.
“Like a record, baby, right ‘round, ‘round ‘round.”
Dale sings along, the natural depth of his voice alluring. He reaches out to Tim where he’s laid out on the floor with one knee up and one arm folded under his his head. Dale thinks Tim’s mussed hair frames him like a halo. Tim is enchanted by the vision of Dale moving to the music.
He takes Dale’s outstretched hands and stands to join in.
“All I know is that to me / You look like you’re lots of fun.”
The longer the night goes on, the longer Dale’s gaze has lingered on Tim. And now they’re dancing dangerously close, Dale occasionally brushing up against him.
Tim can’t help but replay that scene at Hotel Lincoln over and over. That look of sheer lust in Dale’s eyes. How good Dale’s lips felt against his. The sweet tug of Dale’s hands in his hair, strong arm around his waist. It was over all too soon. Tim will never forget the look on Dale’s face as he pushed him away. …But Tim thinks he sees that same lust in Dale’s eyes tonight.
He’s disoriented. He sincerely cares for Dale, does more than he’d like to admit to himself. But will Dale ever allow himself to experience the joy on other side of the closet door? Or is his shame too ingrained to ever make that a possibility? Will he choose Helen again? He’s been turning over the same questions in his mind all night. Tim knows he deserves better, but there’s something about Dale, and he can’t deny the charge between them hasn’t fizzled out… Seems to be the opposite, the way the last few hours have gone.
He’s had enough drinks to push the uncertainty from his mind and focus on how attractive Dale looks lost in the music.
The alcohol is starting to slow them down when the needle stops at the runout groove.
Dale’s chuckling as he comes down off the high and stumbles. Tim hastens to steady him by the shoulders—“Okay, easy there!” Knocking over the lamp, Dale suddenly erupts into a fit of laughter.
Tim decides it’s time to help Dale to bed and steers the wobbly man toward the bedroom.
“I’m alright, I’m alright!” Dale giggles through a denial of requiring assistance. But when he trips over himself again he doesn’t reject Tim’s help.
His laughter is contagious and Tim’s not immune as they make their way to their destination with amusing difficulty. Dale has them careening into the wall and staggering to the floor in the losing battle to remain upright.
Dale’s legs hit the side of the bed, he plops down heavily, and his head lolls to his shoulder. He’s still holding on to Tim and doesn’t let go.
“There you go, easy now, lie back,” Tim coaxes. But Dale only tightens his hold. His demeanor shifts, laughter trailing off and expression morphing into one of somber longing.
He looks up at Tim with blown out pupils. Time stretches out. “Please stay.”
So, there’s no misinterpreting this now. Tim feared this had been coming. He hoped this had been coming. Thing is, he’s had one too many drinks as well.
Fuck.
When he doesn’t say anything, Dale pulls Tim down to sit on the edge of the bed beside him and Tim doesn’t resist. He looks down to their joined hands and up to Dale’s face, searching—for what, he doesn’t quite know.
Dale leans in and kisses him softly, eyes wide like he can’t quite believe what he’s doing.
Tim squeezes his eyes shut and with great effort attempts to find his self-restraint. He feels like a vise has closed around his heart.
He can’t take advantage of Dale. He doesn’t want it to be like this. Not a drunken mistake Dale will regret or deny later. Not another anguished memory when Dale rejects him again in the aftermath.
But instead of leaning away, he presses his forehead to Dale’s and whispers, “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
To Tim’s dismay and his cock’s great interest, Dale lets out a faint whimper in response, hand clasped firmly just above Tim’s knee. Tim can control himself. He can.
“Let’s get you laid down and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.”
“So you’ll stay?”
Oh. He realizes too late that he did in fact agree to Dale’s request to stay in mentioning anything about ‘we’ and ‘the morning.’
Lacking conviction, he tells his racing heart that giving in and staying here with Dale would be in the name of friendship. It’s only responsible to make sure Dale’s okay. Nothing has to happen. He can’t leave a mate in this drunken state, can he?
“Yeah.” Then, more confidently, “Yes. I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Emboldened, Dale presses into the crook of his neck and plants soft, heated kisses against his skin. “I feel great,” he whispers, punctuated by a torturous brush of his hand up along Tim’s inner thigh.
Tim inhales sharply and steadies himself, willing his cock to stand down. “I think that might be the beer talking, Dale.” He tries for an authoritative intonation this time, but he doesn’t sound unaffected even to his own ears.
Either Dale is finally worn out or Tim has somehow successfully tamped down Dale’s liquid courage, because Dale at last gives in and lies down. Tim slides Dale’s shoes off then helps lift and swing his legs onto the bed.
Dale might look to be sleeping, but he can’t be yet; it’s only been a few quiet moments as Tim looks on, the beautiful man starfished out before him. He’s had just enough time to contemplate having a furtive wank in the bathroom and crashing on the couch when Dale stirs.
Dale reaches about blindly, lazily seeking out Tim. Succeeding, he threads his fingers through Tim’s and drags him down into the bed as he scoots over to make room.
Tim knows this is a bad idea. He knows it is a very bad idea. But he’s tired too and Dale is so close.
Dale rolls onto his side toward Tim. Eyes still shut, he’s smiling and hums contentedly. Tim is possessed as Dale tenderly strokes his hand, held entwined on the bed between them.
Dale succumbs to sleep first, while Tim passes a fitful night, wondering what this is before giving in to the pull of sleep.
*********
With the light coming in through the curtains, Tim is loath to open his eyes to the sun as he slowly wakes.
He lays there taking in his senses. He’s still wearing his jeans and shirt. Okay, he must have overdone it last night. Ah, and there’s a man in his arms. And his cock is painfully hard. Tim smiles and leisurely rolls his hips one… two… three times into the backside of his bedmate before he freezes, remembering with a start where he is.
His eyes fly open. Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
He’s made a mistake with Dale before and he’s just made another monumental one. He tries to extricate his limbs from Dale’s. God damn it. Why the hell did he stay? Of course he had to go and muck it up worse.
Dale interrupts Tim silently berating himself. He mutters groggily and pulls Tim closer.
Tim winces, whispering, “Dale? Um.”
He can feel as well as hear Dale’s lungs expand sharply, apparently coming fully to consciousness.
Instead of recoiling, Dale holds Tim’s arm fast to his chest and grinds his arse on the other man’s cock.
A moan escapes Tim’s lips. He presses his forehead into the back of Dale’s neck, forcing himself to draw his hips away—a challenge made all the more difficult in this proximity, with the heady scent of Dale intoxicating him.
“Dale? Do you know what you’re doing? What you’re doing to me? I don’t know if I can do this. I didn’t mean—”
“Mmm.” Dale squirms in his embrace. “Please, Tim.” Their hips brush and Tim bites into his lip, almost loses his resolve.
The disgust on Dale’s face is seared into his eyelids, tormenting him every time he guiltily thinks of Dale as he pleasures himself, wishing Dale would beg for his touch as he is begging now. His voice strained, he states, “It can’t be like last time.”
That seems to get Dale’s attention. He rolls over to face Tim. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes earnestly. Dale cradles Tim’s chin, grazes over Tim’s mustache and stubble. Undeniably masculine. “I… I’m so...” He can’t say the words. Ashamed. Afraid… Aroused. “But I want to. I want to try with you.”
Tim’s heartsore. “I can’t be your experiment, Dale.” It’s not that he has quibbles about rooting a closeted man, because he doesn’t. No, he can’t because he cares too much for Dale. Cares about him more than for him to be a one night stand. He’s hesitant to trust Dale not to hurt him again.
Dale wraps their legs together, roams fingers from Tim’s lips and down his neck to his mesh top, which peeks out from under his shirt with the top buttons left undone. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.” In spite of all his better sense, that just about does Tim in. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe Dale is ready to be honest with himself. Dale draws closer and whispers into his ear, “Please, Tim,” the entreaty full of raw desire and desperation.
To hell with responsibility and the possibility Dale will be back in Helen’s bed tomorrow. He’s here with his hands on Tim now and that’s all that matters.
Tim pulls Dale’s face from his neck to his mouth, colliding in a kiss. Dale parts his lips and Tim plunges his tongue in needily, each greedy for the other’s taste.
Dale rams their pelvises together, stiff cocks divided by the too-many layers of yesterday’s clothing. Tim gasps into Dale’s mouth. He cups Dale’s arse before incrementally slipping beneath his waistband to get a handful of the hot flesh beneath the trousers. Dale only rocks his hips more forcefully, so Tim reads the green light as incitement to go on. He uses the leverage of his grip to pull Dale on top of him and is rewarded with a lewd moan.
He spreads his legs to make room for Dale. They lie there grinding against one other until it becomes too much and not enough all at once. Their chests are heaving when Dale pants out in a throaty murmur, “Tim… oh, god, yes, Tim… I think—I think I’m gonna—“ and Tim stops them, palm to Dale’s chest.
“Do you want to—?”
Dale doesn’t let him finish. “Yes. Clothes. Off, now.” His pupils are huge black holes of pure desire.
Tim nods his head aggressively and Dale leaps off the bed, quickly shedding his jumper, shirt, and trousers. He hesitates at his boxers when Tim has gotten his blue button-down off and exposed his mesh shirt. It’s the first time Dale has seen it unobstructed, but then Tim removes it and Dale is mesmerized by the sight of his lean and muscled form.
But Tim doesn’t pause, focused on the mission to get their cocks in contact as speedily as possible. He ditches the jeans and finally his boxers.
Dale’s brain freezes trying to process this development. His gaze is glued on Tim’s erection, and he’s leaking pre-cum into the thin fabric of his underwear as he rubs himself over top of them. Dale spent too long denying how profoundly he yearned to see Tim like this.
When Tim notices Dale’s deer-in-headlights stare, and then Dale’s hand on himself, he cracks a flattered grin and launches himself at Dale, throwing an arm around the man’s tight waist.
In no time he’s once more down Dale’s boxers gripping his arse, and they’re kissing passionately. Tim has the fleeting thought that this man has done a disservice to the world hiding his glorious arse under shapeless trousers. His questioning pull at Dale’s waistband has Dale making a needy sound and nodding his head emphatically.
A fraction of a second later Dale’s boxers are around his ankles and Tim closes his fist around Dale’s hard cock. He gives Dale a few tentative tugs before joining their hips, inducing moans of ecstasy from both. Their cocks slide together as they thrust, slicking pre-cum between them.
Dale wants to irrevocably imprint on his brain the sensation of Tim under his touch. He rubs his thumb over Tim’s nipple in unhurried circles. He splays his fingers over Tim’s taut abdomen, tracing the vee of his hips and down the trail of hair from belly button to cock. At last, he takes them both in hand. Tim keens ravenously and wraps one arm around Dale’s shoulder to stay steady on his feet as their hips stutter out of rhythm.
His other hand on Tim’s lower back, Dale glides his palm down and finally grabs a handful of arsecheek, prompting Tim to arch back into Dale’s grip. Dale has his nose buried in the crook of Tim’s neck and must be getting more sure of himself by the minute because then he’s inching fingers ever closer to...
“Dale! Fuck! Yes!”
Tim exclaims as Dale ghosts a finger over his arsehole, eliciting an accompanied groan of extreme arousal. The stimulation sends a shockwave straight to his core—where the hell did Dale’s newfound daring come from? Tim rocks into the touch before he shivers and slams their hips back together, both desperate for the friction and sensing that Dale’s touch there will do him in too soon.
When Dale’s legs begin to weaken Tim steers them to the bed where Dale sits on the edge.
Eyes fixed on Dale’s, Tim slowly drops to the floor. Dale’s chest is heaving, mouth hung open; his cock throbs at the sight of Tim before him—gorgeous, wanton, and on his knees.
Tim places his hands on Dale’s thighs, moving them progressively closer to Dale’s groin, never taking his eyes off Dale’s face, alert for any sign of hesitation.
Deep in his own pleasure, he asks breathily “You still doing good there, Dale?”
Dale whines, “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” and bucks his hips gently.
He takes Dale’s cock into hand and gives him a few languid strokes. Then he pauses to lick his hand from palm to fingertip, cock twitching at the resulting expression Dale makes. He continues stroking and moves in to nose at the base of Dale’s cock and balls. Tim absolutely luxuriates in the musky scent.
God, he has fantasized about this so fiercely, and now here he is, finally worshipping at the altar of Dale’s perfect cock. He reverently licks a stripe from root to tip. Dale cannot contain himself—he moans as he shoves a fist to his mouth and bites his knuckles.
With this positive encouragement, Tim takes Dale into his mouth. Wet and sloppy, he bobs up and down Dale’s length while Dale attempts to temper his oversensitivity by holding still. Dale’s eyes flutter shut, toes curl, and fists close around the doona.
Tim is losing his mind. The mix of Dale’s impressive size, salty taste, and aural stimulation provided by the sonorous cries of Dale’s unbridled pleasure has Tim reaching for his own cock with his spare hand. He slicks the pre-cum weeping from the tip down his length before taking a firm grip and matching pace with his mouth bobbing on Dale.
He tries to stretch it out, this blissful encounter. But he’s wanted this too intensely to have more restraint, and Dale is sounding absolutely wrecked.
Continuing to pump Dale’s cock, Tim pulls off to look up to him and murmur his appreciation. “Mmmmm, that’s it,” he licks his lower lip and bites it. “You taste so fucking good.” And then he’s right back to sucking off Dale, sloppy and swirling his tongue around the head on each upstroke.
“God, Tim!” Dale can’t take it anymore. He tangles both hands in Tim’s brown curls and lets out one drawn out moan, rutting his cock into Tim’s wet, hot mouth with abandon. Tim hums deep in his throat in response, delighted to be the source of Dale’s satisfaction.
Tim swallows Dale to the root. “Oh, god! Ohhh, god! I’m—“ Dale sees stars. His whole body tenses as he comes down Tim’s throat pulsing in spasm after spasm, hips jerking.
Tim takes it all eagerly, swallowing all Dale has to give. His arousal is exponentially magnified by the loud, filthy noises Dale emits, and Tim pumps his own cock with increased vigor. Twisting his wrist and thumbing over the head on the upstroke, he climaxes as Dale trembles through the aftershocks of his orgasm, coating his fist in his cum as it dribbles to the floor.
Once his vision clears, he cleans Dale with his tongue to get every last drop until Dale becomes too sensitive and gently urges him back with a touch to the shoulder.
They sit there eyes locked onto one another as their ragged breathing and pounding hearts by degrees return to normal.
Tim doesn’t know what this means for the future. Hopefully Dale will be able to look him in the eye at work on Monday. Hopefully Dale will end things with Helen. Hopefully Dale will be able to accept himself outside these four walls. Hopefully Dale will want to have him in his bed again… and again… and again.
But for now, what he does know is that Dale holds Tim’s heart in his hands, to whatever end that may come.
With ardent adoration for this man he’s come to crave, Tim echoes the sentiment he expressed last night. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”