Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

Taking a perfunctory and awkward look at his shirt, Edmund shrugged. "It's just the natural variegation that comes with a fabric's age." he explained before adding, "Or less euphemistically, stains." Superficially, the royal estate was spotless, but behind the scenes, where Edmund toiled, there were plenty of sources to dapple his clothes. Grime, rot, and any effluvia generated by the damp were but a few Edmund could name. Never mind the abrasive means by which his clothes were cleaned, thinning and fraying the fabric over time. It explained why most of his wardrobe was black, and wool. His jacket and vests usually covered anything he'd gotten on his shirt during more laborious tasks.

"But!" Edmund verbally heel-turned, kissing Oliver's hand quickly. "Less about clothes, and more about me." He simpered before asking, "Tell me how I'm better." Though asked casually in badinage, Edmund truly wanted to know. Almost as much as he wanted to pull Oliver closer, atop him, feel the comfort of another's weight and heat. But... not daring to upset Oliver's balance, Edmund refrained. He settle for what simple, safe contact he had in his hand. Absently, and delayed, he squeezed Oliver's hand back in tacit understanding.
 
Oliver felt no need to continue droning on and on about the obvious wear and tear of Edmund's clothing, so the shift in topic was more than welcome. Idly, Oliver swung Edmund's hand back in small arcs, like the flick of a conducteur's wrist in an orchestra. Short and quick. He let out a laugh, light and airy at the way the shift in topic was brought about. Edmund was still ever the narcissist; it wasn't surprising he wanted to know more about his opinions on him.

"You treat me like a human," Oliver replied, his statement concise and simple. It was really all the explination Oliver could think to give that wouldn't be extremely elaborate, ornate and superfluous. However, a bit of explination wouldn't hurt, and Edmund did want to hear more about himself. He licked his lips before continuing on.

"You do not act entirely upon your job requirements of just tending to my needs and desires and having all emotion absent from your interactions like most at the castle. You jest, you joke, and you actually talk to me. If I talked to any other servant or maid about the wear of their clothing, they'd think it peculiar and that I was not feeling well. But you continue the conversation with me because you treat me like a human." Oliver finished, hand no longer swinging Edmund's. "Oswald didn't really even do that."
 
"You forgot to mention how charming and handsome I am." he joked, knowing perfectly well that, by common metric, he was neither. Edmund hadn't expected such an honest answer. In listening to it, he realized he'd never considered his flippant manner to be anything but insolent when addressing royalty. It was beyond credible that the aspect of his nature, which everyone thought would precipitate his imprisonment, had engendered what he now shared with Oliver. He'd never considered how isolating a lofty title, and the respect it entailed, could be.

Sensing there may be a negative turn in Oliver's mood, Edmund tried to lighten the topic. "Oswald was old, practically an antique and terribly serious," he began in recollection. "But... He was in the military before working directly in the estate. A real martinet." Edmund elaborated. "I imagine he lost something then that turned him so perversely patriotic and devoted to your family. Such is conjecture on my part, but it makes it easier to forgive him and know that you hadn't my company to keep you in trouble throughout your youth."

He sat up, thinking to do something brazen, but reconsidered. Concern crossed Edmund's face. Perhaps reading too much into things, into Oliver's past, Edmund gently touched the side of Oliver's face with his knuckles. "Are you feeling well?"
 
"Oh, hush, you narcissist." Oliver chided, though he grinned as he spoke, all ill intent absent from his words. Things like that were what made Edmund's company so wonderful. There was no need to stay serious and formal all the time, no need for formalities that constrict them like a woman's corset. He'd never experienced it before with anyone else, not even the potential suitors he'd met at various social functions meant to get him to mingle. It was real.

"Why the sudden focus on Oswald when moments earlier you wanted to hear more about you?" Oliver mused, though the question was more rhetorical if anything. The sentiment behind his words wasn't unheard. He couldn't disagree with his words. Oswald had his reasons for his distance and his behavior, but could that be said about anyone else? About those suitors he'd met and conversed with, his other staff members, his father, even? Oliver stopped that train of thought before it made him spiral even further down a negative path. Edmund was trying to get away from it.

Oliver sighed and leaned into Edmund's touch, his eyes slipping closed. "I'm fine.." He replied, voice quieter. His eyes blinked open. "It's not obvious I'm thinking depressing thoughts, is it?"
 
More egoist than egotist, Edmund's vanity was mostly affected for amusement, though, he couldn't deny that it was also out of self preservation. He had to maintain higher opinions of himself than most to counter his flagrantly poor reputation and generally impersonable nature. If it could make Oliver smile now and then, all the better. It had, however, perhaps lead them down an unfortunate avenue of conversation.

"I can't say if it's obvious." Edmund admitted, "I'm not particularly sensitive to such things, but, perhaps out of concern, you've become an exception to that." Uncharacteristically, risking what he previously wouldn't, Edmund pulled Oliver into an embrace, arms wrapping firmly around the other. He pressed his cheek against Oliver to speak softly near his ear. "For what it's worth, I apologize." Be it for the flow of conversation dredging up bad memories, prodding a sore subject, or simply for things he couldn't effect. Like the world around Oliver. Edmund was sorry and ultimately powerless to change that.
 
The next moments were a genuine surprise for Oliver. The combination of the sympathetic words and the comforting, soothing embrace of Edmund's body against his own, arms protective and secure around his body was not what he was expecting, but realized he needed. He let himself relax against the other, resting his face against the crook of Edmund's neck, taking in his scent. It was distinct, but he couldn't place a specific scent other than slight notes of salt, perhaps from the sea water.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply into his skin. "Don't apologize. I've done this to myself," Oliver finally replied after a few silent moments. His voice was muffled, but with how close Edmund was, he had no doubts that his words were unheard. "But your concern... it's comforting." He lifted his face from the crook of Edmund's neck, and gingerly placed a kiss to his temple, a little awkward and hesitent with his actions, but he felt it was necessary.
 
Having Oliver so close again, a melancholy undertow, an innocent and thankful kiss, Edmund's pulse drumming- he could feel his chest daring to collapse again. Was it in sympathy? Affection? He felt ineffectual and vulnerable, yet Oliver was the one expressing despondency. Edmund hadn't the perspective to put his feelings to words, but he knew he wanted Oliver closer in some impossible way to assuage one pain or another.

Edmund pulled away enough to see Oliver's face in full. He brushed his thumb across Oliver's cheek as his hand slipped past. Gently, Edmund cupped the back of Oliver's head. He felt dumb, knowing how vulnerable such intimacy made him. Rejection fatal. Indifference crippling. Edmund laughed soundlessly at his own cowardice before confessing, "Your eyes alone could fucking kill me." And he dared to set right what he'd wronged.

Eyes half-lidded, daring to close, Edmund placed as chaste a kiss as he could against Oliver's lips, steeling every nerve for what felt like inexorable rejection in spite of Oliver's earlier statements.
 
The quiet that settled between them in the moments leading up to a short, chaste kiss felt much longer than it actually was. Your body has a weird way of doing that to you -- making time go longer when it should go faster and going faster when it should be shorter -- but in this instance, Oliver wished it lasted longer. The short string of words that was preceeded by a laugh then the kiss itself -- Oliver knew time went slow but it wanted it slower, to drink in everything much more and savor its taste.

Oliver was the one to pull away from the kiss. He was complaining inwardly that it lasted too short yet he was to blame. But he pulled away because shit. It was much more real, not that heat of the moment bullshit from earlier.

Before Oliver could dig himself a deeper hole of his own thoughts, he wrapped his arms around Edmund's shoulder with surprising ease and kissed Edmund, just as chaste as the one before it, but he let himself melt into it fully. His eyes slipped closed, and he nearly sighed right into the kiss.

This time when he pulled away, it was slow, drawing it out perhaps way more than he should have. "Third time's a charm, I guess." Oliver murmured.
 
The relief that came with Oliver's reciprocation was more profound than any trepidation that preceded it. Edmund felt weightless, as though an anchor had been cut from him, the gravity of his dread lifted. He eased into their kiss, wanting to deepen it, to melt into Oliver when- It broke. Sudden only because Edmund had wanted it to last just a little longer, the incident left him nonplussed. A tendril of cool air penetrated the heat between them. Edmund tried to find the words to speak when Oliver surprised him once again, turning the tables.

He stole from a thief. For a moment of infinitesimal time, Edmund was without breath, a soft gasp of surprise truncated in a kiss. His shock, however, was quick to evaporate, and Edmund relaxed into Oliver's warmth, pulling him close. Slow and rolling as the ebb and flow of tides, Edmund relished their shared moment. He smiled as they parted, genuine and lacking the usual derisive edge.

"I don't think platitudes quite do it justice." Edmund teased lightly, softly. Beyond their cabin, the world closed in, threatening with thoughts of doubt and fear. But even in the fading heat of their moment, no shadow could vitiate their light. Edmund wished it wasn't so evanescent. He rolled his lip between his teeth in pleasant memory before commenting, "Even your surprises are sweet, though take care with them. You're as likely to stop a man's heart as steal it."
 
As Edmund spoke, he could feel his warm breath fan across his face from how close they were. Oliver leaned forward just a bit, and pressed his forehead against Edmund's. He'd like to think that at this point, they were now beyond trying to guess when affection and intimacy was appropriate. It felt that as of now, it was always an option, as the two of them had finally succumbed to comfort in the other's presence.

"Isn't it romantic to steal another's heart? Because I'm sure a selfish theif has done so to me," Oliver confessed, a tone of playful jest in his voice but only a relaxed smile accompanied his words. It was amazing how two kisses instantly lightened his mood, his focus shifted, the atmosphere completely altered once more.

"You should talk about me more. It's been awfully a lot about you so far in the conversation,"
 
Romance was something of an inscrutable concept to Edmund. He'd only ever been taught that it was a prelude to sex, a kind of courting, a non-physical sort of foreplay. Such wasn't true, and Edmund knew that. But in absence of it, he didn't know, personally, on a visceral level, what romance was. Even love was rather nebulous when he gave it thought. His own, Edmund felt, was something between depraved and mawkish, pure only in its intensity, not intention. But, perhaps that was only his cynicism talking.

Whether or not it was romantic to take Oliver's heart, Edmund couldn't say. He, however, relished the idea of possessing it.

"What's there to say about you that hasn't already been written by poets and sung in serenade?" Edmund contemplated aloud with an exaggerated sigh. Forming an extemporaneous compliment of someone's character was not his forte. His words came in the cadence of broken thought. "You're like cream and vodka. Rich and wholesome, heaviness cut with a bitter undertow like the melancholy of a scholar's lucubration. Natural-sweet and intoxicating." Delicately, he kissed the corner of Oliver's mouth, laughing at himself. "I don't know honestly." Edmund confessed. "What about you would you like me to speak of?"
 
Though to Edmund it seemed like his description was inadequet and redundant, Oliver found it quite the opposite. Sure, there had been poetry and serenades but it was nothing compared to the simple words of Edmund's own creation. His were, as far as he could tell, genuine, honest. There wasn't vague descriptions or general statements that could apply to really anyone. The addition of the kiss to the corner of his mouth was more than welcome as well, and sweetened his words a considerable amount.

"I'm not looking to hear anything specific. Just whatever you wish me to hear is suffice enough," Oliver replied. One of his hands brushed through the hair on the nape of Edmund's neck. It was softer than it certainly looked. "Though, those words are more than enough." He sighed softly, slowly growing sleepy from the warmth the two of them shared, the soft sound of Edmund's breathing and perhaps some of the left over wine still settled in his system.
 
Oliver's simple, almost perfunctory touch was quickly becoming one of Edmund's favorite things. He couldn't recall ever being touched so casually, so affectionately, without ulterior motive. The lack of sexual undertone made him feel weak, and Edmund could only think that if his shell were to break, he wouldn't mind it being in Oliver's caring hands.

Fearing what it may lead to, Edmund refrained from kissing Oliver again, instead letting his hands absently stroke Oliver's back. "If it's enough," Edmund began softly, happily, "Then let it be enough, lest I continue and say too much." He didn't want to risk a repeat of earlier, bringing up Oswald, or Oliver's lonely history. And Edmund felt, that if Oliver asked, he would say almost anything, even if he didn't know what it was or from where inside him it originated. His mind was lost to the moment.

Perhaps then, it was a blessing that there was enough between them to fill the silence.
 
The rest of the day was spent just like that -- the two of them in casual conversation that drifted in and out of comfortable silences that both felt no need to ever break. The two of them stayed near each other, in some way touching, as perhaps a subconscious reassurance that they were still there and weren't going to be leaving any time soon. It was a comfort and an intimacy that Oliver wasn't used to or had experienced before. But even so, it was more than welcome.

Oliver wasn't quite sure how long they had been there in that cabin since they set sail for the wedding. But what he did know is that eventually, the warmth became extremely soothing, Edmund's body very comfortable and his eyelids very heavy. He wasn't sure if he ended up laying his head on Edmund's shoulder and falling alseep while Edmund spoke or he did. He was certain that at one point, he finally succumbed to the soothing warmth of Edmund and the quiet of sleep.

***​
The rest of the trip went by with out much more incident or struggle. When Oliver had awoken he had a brief stint in nausea once more, but nothing a few soothing words and wine wasn't able to fix, just like before.

The docking of the ship as well as getting their luggage collected and carried to the large manor of Johanssen was rather uneventful. At Johanssen's estate, he was kind to give both Edmund and Oliver seperate rooms, but near each other. Oliver briefly wondered if they would end up going their seperate ways into seperate rooms when night befell, or would they end up continuously inseperable, wishing to spend more nights tangled in each other's embrace? Oliver didn't dwell on it for too long -- he'd find out soon enough.

The wedding was planned to be the same day as their arrival. The docking occurred quite early in the morning, the sun barely inching its way past the horizon and pushing away the darkness of the night. Oliver was used to waking up early, yes, but this was quite the stretch for him.

Time continued to pass by quickly and all too slowly as the day progressed. Getting ready for the wedding felt too fast, the compliments Oliver gave Edmund on his immaculate appearance and their conversation afterwards felt cut too short when they were told it was time to depart. During the wedding ceremony itself, time moved much too slow. Oliver wasn't one to show his boredom openly, as it wasn't a smart move for a king he wished to be, but goddamn was he bored. He idly tried to waste time drifting his fingers over Edmund's thigh as a distraction most the time. He got the comment of pick-picking once more.

When the reception came, Oliver couldn't have been more glad. Servants held out silver trays of foods and wines, seemingly always stocked up and all nearly the same person by appearance. The grand ballroom of the Johanssen estate was spacious and beautiful, chandeliers large, twinkling and elaborately massive. Oliver took a wine from a passing servent, his movements quick and smooth.

"Is this your first wedding?" Oliver asked, curiously, taking a sip of his wine afterwards. Oliver wasn't new to weddings. When you're a royal, it's almost impossible to avoid going to one.
 
Arrival was something of a chore, and overall felt like a first day at a new job. Between unloading wedding gifts and seeing to Oliver's luggage, Edmund briefly met with the estate's staff and the personal servants of other renowned nobles in attendance. He was quick to note that he was a black sheep among them. Most came from more pugilistic origins, doubling as bodyguards, and several had accolades for courage, honor and other good semaritan drek that made Edmund's skin crawl as though honey coated and taffy-tacky. They were an insufferably conscientious lot with the exception of a young woman who tried to tempt Edmund into collusion to get her Duchess and Oliver engaged. Edmund was charmed, even played along for a laugh before ultimately declining. She bruised his shin in return.

The ceremony was stuffy, dry and sadistically slow. Oliver's busy hands were anything but ameliorating. Beneath the gaze of a thousand eyes, Edmund shrunk from any overt affections. He could be brazen, but knew better than to temp drama, especially at someone else's wedding. It was one thing to be rumored to have relations with Oliver, it was another entirely to publicly demonstrate the veracity of it. He was relieved when the reception finally came around.

Ceilings vaulted high enough to cast shadows, bouquets of spring blossoms perfuming the air, and an endless stream of edibles fit for an epicure, all casually dismissed by Edmund. His interest was grievously limited to alcohol needed to assuage what stress he felt building between his shoulders.

He smiled tightly to Oliver. "No, not my first overall. But it's my first among the affluent, and sober." Noting Oliver's libation, Edmund gave the room a cursory look and found another waiter to take one from. It smelled like chardonnay, and he threw it back like tequila. He set the empty glass aside and inhaled deeply.

"Everyone's watching." Edmund commented quietly. "Don't let me keep you from mingling. I'm sure you're expected." With a vague jerk of his head, he gestured towards a nearby balcony. "I won't be far if you need me, just out of view."
 
Unlike Edmund, he took his time downing his chardonnay, taking slow, almost thoughtful sips of it. Seeing Edmund down it as if he had never drank a single thing in his life was pretty amusing. He hid his smile behind his glass. So far, the wedding and the trip had been pretty.. boring, mundane, really. It didn't help the fact that Oliver should be more careful with spending so much time with Edmund, but it was difficult when he could honestly care less about anyone else.

"Can't even pretend to be my body guard.." Oliver mumbled, mostly to himself. He nodded in understanding to his words, taking another sip and watching him leave from the corner of his eye before scanning the grandiose ballroom. He wasn't surprised to see Johanssen himself make his way up to him, a large grin upon his face.

The two then engaged in a normal conversation. Oliver complimented the beautiful setting of the wedding, particularly the ballroom where the reception was being held, as well as the seemingly limitless supply of chardonnay and various little snacks. The conversation slowly drifted to if Oliver had any ideas on whom he was to marry, as he did have the royal duty of producing heirs to pass the throne to. Oliver's eyes drifted towards Edmund for a moment as he thought of a reply.

"Haven't found the right woman, I suppose." He chose as his reponse, and after a few more words between them, Johanssen departed with him. Finishing the last of his chardonnay, Oliver contemplated going to Edmund. He had spoken to one person, but would it be suspicious to leave off after one encounter? Oliver slipped his empty glass onto the tray of another servant, switching it out for a filled one.

He decided finally to continue to mingle. There was no real invisibility available to him as a royal and at such a crowded wedding reception. The best he could do to avoid feeding the already risky rumours was to pretend Edmund didn't exist for the time being. He trusted that Edmund could handle himself.

Though as soon as he began talking to anyone who wished to, it ended up being some sort of annoying speed dating. Fathers with nearly of age to be wed would insist on a marriage proposal, usually to heighten their ranks on the social hierarchy. Women who were beautiful and charming but... insistent also constantly came to walk the thin line of harrassment and passive aggressive conversation. There were a few women (and even some men, to his surprise) who were genuinely kind and understanding. With one woman in particular, Lady Geneva, he ended up having a nice dance with, talking about their childhood experiences and how they ended up there at the wedding. What something he thought he would hate turned into something a bit nicer as he spent time with Lady Geneva.
 
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Edmund couldn't handle himself. Or, to be exact, couldn't handle how he felt about others courting Oliver.

From the chill and blue-dark shadows of the balcony, he watched. He watched every fleeting interaction between Oliver and the guests, unable to see detail from his distance, but knowing. Edmund knew Oliver was with those he belonged, with people Edmund could never compare to and who had more right to Oliver's company than he ever did. It was a corrosive feeling, like acid leeching into his softer tissues, eating him alive. He blamed himself for being so weak.

"A drink?" A waiter, seemingly out of sympathy, proffered a tray of libations in front of him.

Edmund motioned to a circular table beside himself. "Just leave the tray."

The waiter faltered, confused. "Would you prefer a bottle?"

"Don't flirt with me."

"Never." The waiter smiled in understanding before following Edmund's gaze into the crowd. "Your charge?"

"Is that your business?" Edmund retorted.

The waiter hesitated, and eventually conceded. "I'll leave the tray."

"You'll leave the tray." Edmund echoed in contempt. A distant part of him hoped the waiter hadn't inferred the truth with intent to spread canard, but Edmund couldn't be bothered. He was busy wallowing in his own, self-made agony. He threw back another glass of wine before scanning the crowd.

Oliver was enjoying himself, was even dancing with some tarted-up broad. Edmund immediately hated her and himself. She was perfect, wasn't she? She could give Oliver everything and more. She could love him, fill a role, and bear children. Oliver would kiss her with the same, or more, fever than he'd kissed Edmund the night before. Wouldn't he? Edmund was a port in the storm at best, no? Edmund felt sorrow swell in his throat and quickly swallowed it with more wine. He felt like an animal pacing its cage, suffocating beneath the gravity of his ineffable emotions.

And Edmund continued to drink. The band seemed to swell in his perception, the lights dimmer, the air colder. He stopped watching Oliver, already knowing what he'd see. The alcohol only seemed to intensify his feelings, but he knew there was a cut-off. Eventually he'd succumb to total inebriation, nausea, or black-out. And any were better than his jealousy if it could even be called such. Did he truly want what those women potentially stood to gain? He wanted Oliver to himself, but what that entailed, he didn't know and didn't know if he'd want in turn.

The world spun around him when he closed his eyes, his balance thoroughly off. Edmund looked to the tray, counting the empty glasses. "Fuck." He felt sick, knew he should retire to his room, but felt obligated to stay. "Fuck." he echoed again. Leaning over the balcony, he felt about to vomit.
 
"Sorry if this is a bit rude, but why have you been turning down so many suitors for marriage?" Lady Geneva asked, eyes soft, expression cautious. The was the most compassion he had gotten on the subject yet so far.

"It's not a sensitive subject. But... at least for now, I think it's best I don't try and get married so soon. It's barely been any time at all since my father's passing." He replied, the waltz concluding with a soft fade out from the live orchestra. The two parted from one another, and Lady Geneva lead the way back into the crowd. Oliver was glad that the dancing was over.

"I understand. My mother is pushing me to be married before it's 'too late'... I just don't want to end up with someone who couldn't care less about me." She admitted, looking towards the ground. Oliver quickly scanned the crowd, the thought of Edmund popping into his mind. With a look to the left he saw him.

Leaning over the balcony border.

Probably throwing up.

Oliver had to steel his expression and he whipped his face back to Lady Geneva. "I am glad someone understands how difficult it can be trying to find someone at your own pace. I wish you luck, Lady Geneva."

"And I you,"

The two then exchanged the last bits of farewells before naturally departing. Oliver was damn glad he was able to divert the conversation easily to a smooth end. Social functions like this made you good at it.

Oliver picked up another flute of chardonnay, and made his way as casually through the crowd as he could to get to the balcony, where Edmund was still clinging to the edge of the balcony. He sighed heavily, not sure what brought this on, but he didn't think it'd help his mood.

"Edmund?" He called out gently, walking slowly to him. He could hear the sounds of him letting out more of the contents of his stomach before pausing. The smell of chardonnay grew stronger the closer he got. He then noticed the several flutes on a tray upon a table nearby.

He walked towards the table and set his flute down, before closing the distance between him and Edmund. He placed his hand upon his upper back.

"Edmund? Are you well?"
 
The patter of his vomit, through the thick of shrubbery and to the delicate flower beds beneath, could be heard like a gentle rain. An acidic and saccharine-sweet one. Edmund spat the residual contents from his mouth. "Peachy." he replied with a contemptuous smile and moved to pluck another glass from the tray. He didn't even notice Oliver's touch.

Like the skeletal remains of carrion, numerous empty glasses stood to tell that Edmund was more or less vomiting because of the volume he'd drank in such a short time, and not total inebriation. Though, he was working on the latter. Nobody likes a quitter. And Edmund hated the idea that he'd hurled some of the wine before his system could absorb it. Wasteful. He was intent on replacing that which was lost.

"I take it you're making the most of the evening." Edmund commented, taking an immoderate sip and waiting for it to settle. "I'll try to keep discreet lest I embarrass you and revolt your lady friend." He sneered into the mouth of his glass at the thought of her.
 
The smell of the alcohol and vomit was nearly overwhelming to Oliver, but he did his best hiding his disgust and discomfort at the smell.

The brash nature of Edmund's response, however, hit him perhaps even harder than the smell permeating from him. He frowned, almost instantly in response. Was he being passive aggressive...? Oliver's brows curved inward and he then realized. Edmund was jealous.

Edmund perhaps thought he wasn't ever going to be like any of the women he had spoken to through the night, especially because the two of them were unable to marry for several reasons. Those women promised a marrige and children that Edmund would be unable to provide. If Oliver wasn't a royal, this wouldn't be an issue, but tragically, he was, and look at where they are now. Oliver let out a deep breath.

"I think you need to stop drinking, for starters." Oliver plucked the flute of chardonnay, originally his own, from Edmund's hands. He finished it off himself. "Second, I will not be leaving you now. Not when you are such a damn mess." Oliver's hands then gently grasped the sides of his face and made Edmund look at him.

"Lastly, I saw that damn sneer, you jealous bastard."
 
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