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- Genoa 1086 CE.
Nicolo, third born son of the house of Fieschi, liked to consider himself mature. Well, as mature as a seventeen-year-old could be. He could read and write, had basic training in the seven liberal arts, and did not stoop to child-like humour like his peers did. Despite his maturity however, Nicolo did not think that he was ready to get married.
His father was a knight who owned land just outside the city of Genoa, which gave him access to things like wealth and connections to powerful people. Powerful people who had daughters they wanted to marry off, and to whom Nicolo looked like a perfectly good option as a future son-in-law (and a great way to strengthen potential alliances). Nicolo was aware that the older he got, the more pressure built to find a wife or enter an arranged marriage, especially as his older siblings entered relationships, but he tended to push those thoughts away most days. Every time his parents tried to bring up the topic, he would say that he wasn’t interested, and his parents would insist that he wasn’t interested yet. Nicolo often wondered when this mysterious yet would happen, because he was fairly certain that most boys his age were already interested in future marriages, or at least, what they were allowed to do once married. (That being said, Nicolo knew that a fair number of his peers had engaged in pre-martial sex, much to his confusion. He couldn’t understand why anyone would feel such a … not a need, as Nicolo was very aware of what libido felt like, but rather a temptation from another person to actually engage in such an activity.)
It was warm summer day when his father returned from a meeting with the local nobility, and it was made clear that Nicolo could no longer avoid the issue.
“So, Nicolo, did you know that Lord Dorona has a daughter around your age?” His father sat at the head of the table, eating dinner with the rest of his family.
“Um, vaguely?” Nicolo tried to sound as uninterested as possible, not wanting for this conversation to go where he thought it was heading.
“Well, he does. Maria, a lovely girl who is beginning to look for a husband. She’s quite skilled at sewing, apparently.” His father looked directly at him. “That’s a good skill for a wife to have, you know.”
Nicolo knew what his father was hinting at, but he refused to admit it. “Okay, good for her future husband, I suppose.”
His father sighed. “Nicolo, stop being obtuse, you know what I’m talking about. You would make an excellent husband for Maria, and her a wife for you.”
That comment made Nicolo frustrated, “I don’t even know her! How can you say we would be good together if we don’t even know each other?”
“It’s not about how well you know each other, dear,” His mother interjected, obviously trying to defuse the situation before it turned into a fully-fledged argument. “It’s about what you can do together.”
“Like an alliance with the house of Dorona, you mean.” Nicolo was well aware that his father was trying to get on the lord’s good side, and evidently his plan was to do it by becoming in-laws.
“That would certainty be an added benefit,” his father admitted, “but I’m also worried about you, Nicolo. I do not want you to become lonely. I want you to have a family who can carry on your legacy.”
Nicolo bit back a quip that even if he and Maria were to marry, she would have more luck in bearing children by living up to her biblical namesake than trying to get him to sire any. “What if that is not what I want though? What if I don’t want to get married?” He said at last.
“What else would you do?” His father asked. “Join the clergy?”
“Yes.” Nicolo responded before he had time to think through the proposition. But in hindsight, the solution was simple: if he wanted to avoid marriage (and the expected consummation, but that was not something he admitted aloud), then he should become a priest. Although there were priests who had wives and children, the western sect of the Church was keen on their clergy being celibate. If he joined priesthood, his avoidance of courtship and marriage would not be an abnormality, but rather just him doing his duty as a good Catholic priest.
“Well, if that’s what you really want,” his father replied, “then don’t let me stop you.”
“Really?” Nicolo was surprised that his father was not going to fight him on this.
“Nicolo, you are my son and I love you. I only want for you to prosper in life, and if you believe priesthood would do that for you, then I am willing to let you do it.” His father took a sip of wine. “Plus, I was not placing all my bets on the continuation of the Fieschi bloodline on you anyway.”
Despite the not-so-subtle jab, Nicolo felt relieved that marriage would no longer be a problem for him, although he couldn’t quite explain why he felt that way.
- Cairo 1105 CE.
So far, Nicolo’s life had gone in many directions he did not expect. He did not expect his parents to let him join the clergy. He did not expect to go fight in a war because the Church’s leaders felt entitled to a city that those of Christianity had no greater claim to than those of Judaism and Islam. He did, to some extent, expect to die in said war, but he did not expect his body to survive mortal death. To survive it again and again. (And without scars, he thought, even Christ had the scars of the cross on Him after He rose.) He certainly did not expect to give up fighting his opponent who could also could not die (and he knew that for certain, they had each died by the other’s hand many times), a man of the people he was taught to hate, and start traveling with him instead.
The man, Yusuf, and Nicolo had been travelling together for around five years by this point. It took them a while to work through the language barrier (in the early days there was a lot of pointing, repeating of the only words they both understood, and stabbing), and they were still trying to work through the cultural barrier. Nicolo quickly learnt that the area outside of Europe was far more complex than he initially thought, and everything he thought he knew beforehand was at best a misconception and at worse a hateful lie.
Nowadays, Nicolo would not consider himself and Yusuf enemies, but he wasn’t sure he would call them friends either. They travelled together, never staying in one spot for too long, doing odd jobs that took advantage of what was, for all intents and purposes, their immortality. They often quarrelled, both of them still holding anger and grudges from the crusade, but they also had moments where they got along, laughed together, and even enjoyed each other’s company. Yusuf occupied a difficult place in Nicolo’s heart, which only grew more complicated and confusing the more they spend time together.
On this particular night, they were in Cairo, having just returned late from guarding a traveling caravan and their cargo. The inn they were staying at was almost at full capacity, so they decided to share a room, both to save coin and to take pity on any late-night traveller who might urgently need a room. (“Is that because your messiah was born in a barn when there was no room in the inn?” Yusuf teased him, not maliciously, but because he liked to point out that he knew more about Nicolo’s religion than the other way around – Nicolo occasionally retorted that “It isn’t my fault Jesus is an important figure in both our religions,” which often lead to a (sometimes heated, sometimes genuinely curious, always informative) discussion about the religions.)
When they entered the room and Nicolo saw that there was only one bed, he mentally groaned. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with sharing with Yusuf – often when between towns and camping they would sleep next to each other for warmth – but that occasionally it would lead to some … incidents. Some embarrassing incidents, from both men at some point or another, early in the mornings, which were fairly obvious and hard to ignore. It had never been too much of a problem for Nicolo before meeting Yusuf, but his travels with the man seemed to evoke a reaction from his body. They had an unspoken agreement to never mention it outside the situation.
“So, what side do you want?” Yusuf asked, breaking Nicolo’s stream of consciousness.
“The right side will be fine.” Nicolo put his belongings down and stripped to his underclothes while Yusuf went off to do his nightly prayers. Nicolo was in the bed by the time he came back and got into bed as well. They laid together in silence for a moment.
“That was quite an adventure.” Yusuf said at last, in reference to their most recent job.
“It’s always an adventure,” Nicolo said in response, “we end up dying most of the time.” It was true, most of the jobs involved death in some way. This time, both Nicolo and Yusuf had died fighting off a hippopotamus, which was a first in both their books.
“Ah, well, I suppose that’s just part of the fun.” Nicolo noticed a habit of Yusuf’s, that whenever the man was feeling particularly distraught about his undying, that was when he tried the hardest to cover it up with positivity, whether it was by waxing poetically about destiny and God’s will, or with humour. “At least the company was decent.”
Nicolo made a noncommittal noise, wanting to go to sleep more than he wanted to discuss their latest job.
“Oh please,” Yusuf replied to his lacklustre response, “don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy Penelope flirting with you.”
That raised Nicolo’s attention. “Penelope wasn’t flirting with me; she was just being nice.”
Yusuf turned to give him a look of doubt, “Sure, and the prostitute who approached you last month was just ‘being nice’.” It took Nicolo a moment to realise what Yusuf referring to, before he remembered what happened last month when they were in Tripoli. They were in the marketplace when a woman approached Nicolo and complimented his tunic. He appreciated the comment and started to explain the story of how he got it (minus all undying parts of course) before Yusuf pulled him away and told him to “save it for another time”.
“She was a prostitute?” Nicolo asked in disbelief; it had never occurred to him that the woman might have had ulterior motivations to the compliment.
“Yes Nicolo!” Yusuf laughed, “I know you were priest and tried doing the whole celibacy thing, but I did not think that made you blind to attraction."
“What does that even mean? Surely you’re not suggesting that people can just look at other people and go ‘ah, yes, you look like someone I could have sex with’. That’s just ridiculous.” Nicolo had heard the way people talked about others they were sexually interested in, and he had always thought they were exaggerating, but the look of shock Yusuf was giving him suggested otherwise.
“Please tell me you are joking.”
“I am not.”
“Nicolo,” Yusuf said, trying to process what he was hearing, “that is how attraction works.”
Nicolo paused before responding. “You’re lying.”
“I am not!” Yusuf nervously laughed, like he was trying to recontextualise all their prior interactions through the lens of Nicolo not understanding sexual attraction. “Nicolo, are you saying you’ve never felt like that before, for anyone?”
“Apparently not.”
“So you’re not interested in romance or sex? Ever? With anyone?”
“No, not really. I don’t really see why it’s that big of a deal, honestly.” Nicolo had never discussed this with anyone before, and he certainly did not expect the first person he would discuss it with to be Yusuf.
“Oh, okay.” Yusuf seemed a bit deflated after that revelation. He turned onto his back, “Well, goodnight then.”
Nicolo couldn’t help but hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.
- Malta 1106 CE.
Nicolo couldn’t stop thinking about that night in Cairo. All of a sudden, he felt the need to analyse every interaction he had with people for the potential of it being seen as attraction. He still had a hard time understanding it, but by paying closer attention to the ways people expressed interest in each other, he realised Yusuf was not joking or lying. He couldn’t stop thinking about how this was the way other people worked, and he had been unaware of it up until this point. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he was an outlier in his lack of attraction, apparently. Most of all, he couldn’t stop thinking about Yusuf.
There were so many things Nicolo now noticed about the man. The way Yusuf laughed at Nicolo’s jokes, even the bad ones. The strange elegance with which Yusuf fought. The passion Yusuf displayed with everything he did. His poetic ramblings about nature and life. His bedhead. His smile. His drawings. The list went on and on, and Nicolo was unsure if it would every be complete. His complicated feelings about the man were only getting more complex, and Nicolo didn’t know what to do about that. He felt a sort of want for Yusuf, a type of want he had never felt before.
The more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether this was what the attraction Yusuf talked about was like. Whether the mysterious yet his parents talked about had occurred, and he just struggled to realise it. But it wasn’t as if he had suddenly gained a new appreciation for the human form that he just hadn’t seen before – no, all this feeling was directed towards Yusuf.
His mind was intent on making this clear to him through his dreams. Not the dreams about Yusuf he had after his undying and before actually meeting the man, nor about the two women in the far-off place. No, these dreams were more reminiscence of dreams from the peak of his teenage years, but instead of the characters being nameless placeholders, it was Yusuf who was the focus. Some dreams were soft and sensual, others were more lust-charged and driven, and all of them left Nicolo confused.
By the time this confusion had reached its peak, they were in Malta, in between jobs because Yusuf insisted that they take a break. The free time he now had was counterproductive for Nicolo, as he could no longer distract himself with their jobs, but was instead forced to confront his emotions. He debated whether he should discuss his feeling with Yusuf and risk damaging the relationship they had built or continue to keep it hidden and pine in silence. Yusuf had evidently noticed Nicolo’s trouble, as he brought it up on one of their daily evening walks along the beach.
“What’s wrong, my friend?” Nicolo and Yusuf had come to the agreement that they were no longer enemies, but rather friends. Yusuf often took the opportunity to refer to him as the endearment, as well as some other Arabic terms Nicolo did not recognise, but was assured were only positive.
“I’ve been thinking.” Nicolo said, uncertain about how direct he wanted to be.
“That is very vague, Nicolo, I assume you are often thinking about many things.”
“About the night in Cairo.”
“What night in Cairo-” the realisation hit Yusuf quickly. “Oh, that night in Cairo. Is that still troubling you?”
“In a way. Yusuf, how do you know what attraction feels like?”
“Well,” Yusuf began, looking like he mentally trying to compose an explanation that would make sense to someone like Nicolo, “it’s different for everyone, I suppose. It’s sort of like a type of desire, but more directed and specific. Not something you think yourself into or have any particular rationale about, but more so just a feeling that comes to you unprompted.”
“And so to feel attracted to someone, romantically or sexually, is to feel like that towards them?” Nicolo asked, beginning to realise something his sub-conscious had known for weeks.
“Broadly speaking, yes.” Yusuf replied.
The revelation hit Nicolo quickly, and the words were leaving his mouth before he had time to think. “Okay, so that means I’m attracted to you.”
Yusuf was left speechless for a moment, which was enough to sent Nicolo into a state of anxiety, his adrenaline kicking in as if he were in a fight. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that anything has to change-”
“Nicolo.”
“-and just because I feel this way doesn’t mean you have too as well-”
“Nicolo.”
“-and honestly I’ve never felt like this before so I could be wrong-”
“Nicolo! Listen to me!” Yusuf exclaimed loud enough to cut through Nicolo’s anxious babbling. “I am not offended by your attraction to me. In fact, it makes me incredibly happy, given that I’ve been in love with you for quite some time now.”
“I- what?” Nicolo wasn’t sure he had heard that last part correctly.
“I said, I love you, and I have for a while.” Yusuf repeated. “And, if it’s okay with you, I would very much like to kiss you right now.”
Nicolo paused for a moment, wondering if this was another dream. “Yes, I would like that too,” he said at last, “but I’ve never done it before, so I don’t think I’ll be good at it.”
“That’s okay,” Yusuf smiled, “We have plenty of time to practise.” He leaned forwards, put his hand around Nicolo head, and brought their lips together. Their noses knocked together slightly before they adjusted, and it took Nicolo a moment to realise that perhaps he should open his mouth, although he wasn’t entirely sure what to do from there, so he tried to follow Yusuf’s lead. It was awkward, but strangely enjoyable, and definite proof that this was not a dream. They pulled apart, both of them a bit flustered at the uncoordinated but enthusiastic kiss. “Definitely room for improvement.” Yusuf laughed.
“That’s okay,” Nicolo said, as he leaned in for another kiss, “I think I’ve found someone to help me improve.”
- Florence 1504 CE.
Even though he was just over four hundred years old, Nicolo of Genoa (as he came to be called over the centuries, having dropped his surname after a run-in with some of his family’s descendants) was still constantly perplexed the concept of romantic and sexual attraction. He understood it in terms of Yusuf, but perhaps that was because his beloved occupied a place in his heart that no one else could ever hope to compete with. But in terms of how the general population experienced it, he still struggled to understand.
He often wondered if he was alone in feeling like this, feeling disconnected from a concept that was both highly valued and highly taboo to some degree or another in many of the societies he had lived through. He didn’t have many strong relationships with mortals anymore, both because it was difficult to explain his ability and because they would only live for what seemed like a season for Nicolo, so he rarely discussed the feeling. When he and Yusuf had met the two women from their dreams, Andromache and Quynh, sometime during the thirteenth century, he had asked them whether they had a similar experience in terms of romance or sex. Although both women were in a relationship with each other and admitted the bond that they had was unlike any they previously had, neither could identify with his feeling.
In a strange sort of way, Nicolo had made peace with the fact that he would never be able to identify his feeling, just like he would never know why he became immortal. But that didn’t mean he would stop trying.
Nicolo and Yusuf were back on the Italian peninsular for the first time in what was at least over a century, although to be entirely honest, Nicolo couldn’t quite recall exact dates anymore. He was fairly certain that the last time they were here, they had left because of the Black Death, so perhaps the mid-fourteenth century? Regardless, the collection of city states seemed to be in a lot better shape, and this improvement lead to an influx of art and cultural innovation.
The four of them, ‘The Old Guard’ as they nick-named themselves, were not visiting the area for any particular conflict, but rather as a chance to experience this renaissance as the locals called it. Over hundreds of years of fighting, the immortals deserved a decent chance to relax, Yusuf argued one night over the campfire. Andromache counted that Yusuf just wanted to share his poetry to an audience outside the group of immortals, but she agreed to the vacation anyway.
They were in the city of Florence, the supposed hub of this cultural revitalisation. They were sharing a house on the outskirts of the city, where most of their days were spent perfecting their non-fighting skills. Andromache and Quynh became experts in the seven liberal arts, honing their logic and rhetoric skills through debates that went long into the night; Nicolo perfected his cooking skills, and in the process learnt that Andromache could identify any ingredient, which sent him on a quest to find something she could not recognise (it would take him centuries); and Yusuf mastered several forms of art, both visually and aurally, gaining him much esteem with the other artist in Florence.
It was through Yusuf’s connections to the other artists of the city that they were invited to the party they currently attending. The host belonged to one of the local noble families, but Nicolo did not know which particular one, nor did he care, as he no longer had the same interest in mortal politics as during his original lifespan. Regardless, he was proud that his beloved was being recognised for his artistic talent.
It was getting late into the night when one of the party’s patrons brought the subject of Yusuf and Nicolo’s relationship up to the pair. It was sort of an open secret, as were many of their types of relationships in the Florentine social circles, but it was unusual for it to be discussed so directly in public.
“You two are a beautiful couple,” a man (Marco?), who Nicolo had talked to earlier in the evening, said to them as they were preparing to leave. He was obviously quite a bit more drunk by this stage, however. “I wish I could find a partner like you have. Tell me Nicolo, how did you know that Yusuf was the one for you? Was it love at first sight?”
Over four centuries of existence, Nicolo had dealt with a fair amount of drunken ramblings from strangers, ranging from them questioning the meaning of life to finding the most trivial detail hilarious, all of them at some level of awkward. This, however, was one of the most awkward instances Nicolo had encountered yet. After a couple moments of silence, Yusuf softly nudged his partner to respond to the question.
“Um, he was the only one I felt attracted to?” Look, Nicolo never claimed to be a poet, okay? “I don’t know, it definitely wasn’t an ‘at first sight’ thing. Fate seemed to keep us together though.” That seemed be enough of a response for the drunk man, as he started going on a tangent about ‘true love’ and ‘soulmates’ without noticing the couple slip away into the night.
As they walked home, Yusuf brought up that last conversation to Nicolo. “I feel like you underestimate your poetic ability, habibi,” Yusuf said. “Saying that I’m the only one you’ve ever had feelings for? So romantic.”
“Even if I could be poetic, you’d still be the incurable romantic in this relationship.” Nicolo admitted. “Besides, I was being completely honest. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt that sort of attraction towards.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
The approached the doorway of their house, but Yusuf paused before they entered. “So after all these years, I am the only person you are attracted to. The only one your heart could even contemplate being involved with.” Yusuf said, stepping closer and pulling Nicolo into a kiss. “My heart, you have no idea how much that turns me on.” Yusuf began kissing Nicolo’s face, “My inner poet sings-” neckline, “-of soulmates-” neck, “-and destiny-” before Nicolo stopped him going any lower.
“I can feel how much it turns you on,” Nicolo smiled, “so maybe we should go inside where we can do this properly. On a bed perhaps?”
Yusuf laughed, “Ah, my brilliant Nicolo, full of so many good ideas.”
- Reykjavík 1999 CE.
For the first time in his life, Nicky was entering a new millennium. It held a strange sort of appeal he rarely felt anymore with the turnover of years. Which made it a shame that he was stuck in the Erik safehouse in Iceland rather than somewhere a bit more decent to celebrate. Not that he didn’t love his family, of course, it was just that mortals put a greater sense of value on things like time, while immortals burn through years like lighter fluid. Plus, every New Year’s Eve, Andy and Booker tried to out drink each out.
They were at the dinner table playing cards, when Booker announced, already many drinks in “You know what we should play? Fuck, Marry, Kill!”
“Book,” Andy leaned in, also quite drunk and in the process revealing many of her cards, “That is a great idea.”
“I’m leaving.” Nicky said as soon as Andy reaffirmed Booker’s idea. He had already played this game before and found it incredibly pointless and frustrating. How could anyone consider hypothetical sex as an option when only given three random options? Nicky had brought up that point last time the group had tried to play the game, which lead to the entire thing being derailed by Booker trying to explain sexual attraction. Even though Nicky understood the concept in theory, and in practise with Joe, he enjoyed seeing Booker scramble to come up with responses to his natural reactions to many of the claims people make about attraction.
“No, wait,” Booker said as Nicky stood up, “I’ve got a special version for you. A Joe-sexual version.”
“A what?” Nicky replied.
“A Joe-sexual version. Because the only person you’re interested in is Joe, so your sexuality is Joe-sexual.” Booker laughed at his own joke.
“Booker, you’re drunk. I’m not playing any version of that game.”
“He’s got a point though, Nicky,” Andy said, “you are basically Joe-sexual.”
“I mean, I guess?” Nicky said, because even if he was, as Andy and Booker put it, ‘Joe-sexual’, that term wouldn’t mean anything outside of their group. It would still make him alone in his experiences with attraction.
“I’m honoured.” Joe added, “May I just say, as the person who is the definer of the term, I am tremendously lucky that the love of my life is ‘Joe-sexual’.”
“Or maybe you’re reverse bisexual!” Booker said.
“What are you talking about?” Nicky responded.
“Well, Andy and I are bisexual,” Booker began, “because we’re attracted to men and woman-”
“And the occasional in-between,” Andy added.
“-and what she said. But you’re not attracted to men or women, so you’re like, the reverse.”
“Except for Joe.” Nicky said, because apparently Booker’s drunk logic had gotten to the point where it couldn’t even remain internally consistent.
“Hence the name ‘Joe-sexual’.” Booker smugly replied, his drunk self probably feeling very proud at creating the term.
“Right, whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to play ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’.”
“Doesn’t have to. Just some food for thought.” Booker tapped his head, as if he were passing on important advice to Nicky. Nicky just shook his head and left the table. He went to sit by the fireplace, where Joe joined him.
“My heart, if the term annoys you, I will gladly tell Sebastien to shut up.” Joe said.
“No, it’s not that.” Nicky replied, “It’s just that, over all these years I still don’t have a way to describe how I feel about attraction. Most of the time, I don’t particularly care, but sometimes I am forced to confront it and I have no way of explaining myself.”
Joe put his arm over Nicky’s shoulder, leaning into his husband. He didn’t say anything, because over the centuries they had learnt that sometimes words weren’t the best reassurance. They sat by the fire until dawn, into the new millennium.
1. London 2020 CE.
Nicky would not go as so far as to say that the past week was the most intense of his life, but it was definitely in the top ten. They had lost Booker, found Nile, been captured and experimented on, and discovered Andy had lost her immortality. So yes, intense.
After leaving Booker on the riverbank, the group stayed at Copley’s house. They spent most of the night examining the note boards, Nile asking them questions, related and unrelated to the pictures and evidence she was examining.
“So, how long have you two been a couple?” Nile asked Joe and Nicky some point during the night.
“Just over 900 hundred years.” Joe answered, shuffling through the papers that didn’t make it onto the boards. Copley had found a lot on them.
“And it’s been just you two, all this time?”
“Yes. I’m a poet who believes in soulmates, and that Nicolo is mine. We have no need for any partners except for ourselves.” Joe replied.
“I never felt attracted to anyone else. Only Joe. And even then, it was only after I had gotten to know him first.” Nicky gave as his response. Definitely less flowery or romantic, but an honest answer to Nile’s question.
“So, you’re demisexual?” Nile asked causally.
“I have … no idea what that means.” Nicky admitted.
“Well, it’s like being asexual-” Nile began.
“I don’t know what that means either.” Nicky interrupted, which he felt bad about, but was also probably necessary given Nile’s explanation was going to rely on him knowing what ‘asexual’ meant.
“Okay,” Nile began again, revising her explanation, “so, asexuality is when you feel no sexual attraction towards anyone. Some aces, that’s what asexual people are called, do still have libido or engage in sex anyway, and some don’t. But the main thing is that asexuality means you don’t feel sexual attraction. Understand?”
Nicky understood that part very well actually. “Yes.”
“Demisexuality is a type of asexuality. Demisexuals only potentially feel sexual attraction to people they’re really close with. One of my old friends used to explain it as ‘ace, but with exceptions’, if that makes any sense.”
It made a lot of sense to Nicky. Too much sense. Like fate had looked towards his feelings concerning attraction over his existence and went, here you go, a word just for you, although logically he knew that wasn’t the case. Joe and Andy looked towards him as they all simultaneously realised that the word could perfectly sum up his experiences in that area.
“That makes a lot of sense. Thank you, Nile, I think you just help me find the word I’ve been looking for the past nine hundred plus years.” Nicky smiled, “Demisexual. Has a nice ring to it.”