Schroder #12
Saturday in Lake Delton moved slowly, like the house itself was tired. Joan was out early for her shift at the Lake Delton Home Depot: just a five-hour stretch behind the customer service desk. By noon, she was back, unloading a paper sack of discounted clearance bulbs and muttering about someone’s ‘idiot trailer’ return. Peter spent the morning in the garage with a dusty folding table and a belt sander, the whine of it droning faintly through the floorboards. The leftover smell of sweet potatoes still clung to the air.
Ben nursed a second cup of coffee on the couch, still in his Mariners pajama pants, flipping absently through local news. A story about snowplow budgets gave way to a segment on deer ticks. The calm was almost too calm.
John came in, toweling off his hair from a shower, all shoulders and loose house pants. “Cam said he’s good for today. Wants to lift around six.”
Ben nodded, setting the mug down. “Right.”
John hesitated, standing near the armrest. “You sure you’re cool with it?”
Ben didn’t answer immediately. The room was quiet enough that the refrigerator buzz filled the pause.
“I’m not not cool,” Ben said finally. “I mean, I’ve never met the guy.”
John gave him a look. Not skeptical. Just reading.
After dinner, Ben rifled through his roller bag, tugging out the only gym-ready pair he had left, his favorite well-worn blue and white Under Armour shorts. “You wearing yours?” he asked without looking up.
John emerged from the closet already pulling his own pair on, waistband snapping into place. Same color. Same cut. Identical.
Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Twinsies for tonight?”
John smirked, but didn’t laugh. “You know,” he said, voice more thoughtful than teasing, “Cam was the first to get me off in these.”
Ben blinked, thrown for a second. “That's supposed to be a flex babe?”
“No,” John said. “Just a high school memory.” He hesitated. “Are you jealous, though? You were really into it the first time I told you that story in Utah.”
Ben shrugged, but his mouth tightened. “Of him? No. Of you letting him help christen the favorite pair of shorts before I even saw you in them? Maybe.”
John crossed the room, closing the space between them. “It wasn’t that great,” he said. “Just... something that happened, we were still half asleep in that motel room in Milwaukee, trying not to wake anyone else in the room up.”
Ben’s voice was quiet now. “Still. Don’t blame me if you sleep alone in your bed tonight.”
John grinned, tension breaking like steam off a mirror. “Please. I think we need to ask my mom where she put the air pump. Your bed started leaking.” He grabbed a worn gray Mines Orediggers T-shirt from his bag, tugging it over his head. Ben, still half-smirking, went for something bolder: John's old white Bobcats jersey, pulling it over his own white Nike Pro thermal long-sleeve compression top like it was armor.
"Really?" John asked, eyeing him.
Ben shrugged. "Thought you’d want me walking around with your last name on my back."
The YMCA lobby smelled like lemon cleaner and old sneakers. John and Ben sat near the vending machines, coats zipped, half-watching a local weather loop on the mounted TV.
John leaned back. “Still smells exactly like middle school P.E.”
Ben adjusted the collar of the Bobcats jersey under his jacket. “You think anyone’s gonna notice I didn’t go to your high school?”
Before John could answer, the glass doors slid open and in walked Cam: lanky like Caleb but with cleaner skin, a neat mop of chestnut hair, and the kind of grin that made you feel like you were already in on the joke. He wore a navy quarter-zip and black Lululemon shorts, earbuds looped around his neck.
He spotted John, then immediately did a double take at Ben.
“Hey Johnny!” Cam said, crossing the lobby fast. He reached out and touched the Bobcats script on the chest of the jersey without asking. “Don’t remember you on our team, you must be that guy from Seattle, Ben?”
“Yeah, nice to meet you man,” Ben patted Cam on the shoulder.
Cam gave a warm, easy laugh and said, “Damn, John, you really are domestic now. Dressing your guy up in our old team gear?”
John’s jaw tensed just enough to be noticed. “He’s not just a guy, Cam. He’s my boyfriend.”
Cam blinked, then shrugged. “Whoa, chill. I meant that in a good way.”
Ben looked between them, sensing the undercurrent. He didn’t step in, but his hand stayed on John’s arm a beat longer than it needed to.
“Come on,” Cam said, pivoting smoothly. “Let’s get you two checked in.”
At the desk, Cam flashed his membership, dropped a few easy jokes for the bored teenage attendant, and got them both set up with guest passes. The whole time, John stayed quiet but close, eyes following Cam just a little too carefully, like someone watching a flame in a room full of old paper.
In the locker room, they unzipped jackets and stepped out of their sweats. John’s gray Mines tee clung lightly to his chest. Ben peeled the jacket off, revealing the full Bobcats jersey in all its glory, and both of them standing in identical blue Under Armour shorts.
Cam raised an eyebrow and leaned against the lockers, smirking. “Didn’t you wear those back in the day, Schroder? Morning practices, Varsity bus rides, the works.”
John gave a half-shrug. “They still fit.”
Ben scratched his waistband. “Honestly, they’re the comfiest pair in the drawer. They’re great for after the workout too.”
Cam chuckled. “You guys really are synced up now. Got the matching fits and everything.”
Ben wrinkled his nose slightly as Cam leaned in to check out the jersey more closely again.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “What’d you do, shower in cologne?”
Cam grinned. “Keeps the seniors from asking for spotters.”
John smirked. “He’s been gassing out locker rooms since sophomore year.”
They found a bench press open near the far wall, and Cam immediately offered to spot, even though John clearly didn’t need it.
“Still remember the form from the summer?” John asked, loading plates.
Cam gave a lazy grin, bouncing on his heels. “Barely. I still keep the membership, but I’m mostly cardio adjacent these days.”
Ben wiped down a bar and muttered, “You mean like frat house parties?”
“Exactly,” Cam said. “Sweaty is sweaty.”
He leaned in to grab a clip for the weights, and that signature wall of Old Spice rolled off him, sharp and nostalgic, like locker rooms and bad decisions. Ben tried not to cough.
John lay back and started pressing. “You ever land on a major?”
Cam hesitated, counting reps more than actually spotting. “Kinda flirting with Communications. Or Geography. Something chill.”
Ben raised a brow. “Those feel… divergent.”
“Yeah, well,” Cam shrugged. “One’s if I grow up. The other’s if I stay on Grindr.”
Ben huffed out a laugh. “You’re on Grindr?”
“Please,” Cam said. “You think these Lulu shorts are for lunges? Half my hookups think I’m a kinesiology major.”
John sat up and passed the bar off, towel slung over his neck. “Just don’t try that on Ben.”
Cam snorted. “Relax, Schroder. He’s cute, but he’s wearing your name on his back.”
They moved to the leg press, Cam adjusting the seat with some difficulty. As he stretched into his first set, his black Lulu shorts rode high, flashing the unmistakable colorful green thighs of his Milwaukee Bucks Ethika underwear.
Ben caught it, blinked, and quickly looked away.
Cam didn’t miss it. “Yeah, I like reppin’ the hometown,” he said, grinning as he caught Ben’s glance. “What’s the scene like at Mines, anyway? You guys got, like, options?”
Ben wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with his hand.. “Not really. I gave up on that when I met Johnny.”
John nodded. “Mostly closeted STEM bros, but there’s the occasional surprise.”
Cam tilted his head, interested. “Like?”
John smirked. “Our roommate JP hooked up with this freshman Joey. We walked in on them after a Costco run, JP was mid-blowjob.”
Cam barked a laugh. “No way. So what, three of the four of you are into guys?”
Ben glanced at John. They didn’t need words.
“All four,” John said, casual but clear.
Cam froze mid-set. “Wait, what?”
“Caleb too.”
Cam sat upright, legs still half-locked in the press. “Really? That ROTC guy you said kinda looked like me?”
John nodded. “Yup. That one.”
Cam smirked at John. “So what, you all just sit around shirtless, arguing about Drag Race with the overhead lights off like it’s a rule?”
Ben snorted. “Not quite. It’s more ESPN and hot wings. Though things get a little randy after a Gradey Dick commercial.”
Cam blinked, then cracked up. “You’re kidding.”
“Great name,” John said as he shrugged. “Nice bod. We’re all Team Smooth.”
Cam stretched and cracked his knuckles overhead. “Shit, maybe I messed up picking a Catholic school.” He stood up from the machine, wiping down the seat with his towel. His cheeks were flushed, just from the workout, probably, but the way he kept glancing between Ben and John said there was more energy in the room than just reps.
John leaned back against the rack. “You free tonight, Camboy?”
Cam didn’t answer right away. He grabbed his water bottle, unscrewed the cap like he needed a second.
“I put my phone on silent for a reason,” he said finally, not quite looking at John. “Figured you’d ask Johnny.”
Ben raised an eyebrow, watching them both now, feeling a familiar rising tension beneath his shorts.
Cam caught the look and grinned. “My folks are home, but I have free rein of the basement. Got the sectional, PS5, bathroom... you know. The usual, for when I want to host.”
John didn’t smile, but something in his face relaxed.
Ben, drying his face with a towel, just said, “As long as there’s a couch that doesn’t squeak.”
Cam laughed. “Oh, it squeaks. You’ll live.”
John slung his towel over his shoulder. “Cool. We’ll come by after dinner.”
Cam tossed his bottle in his bag. “I’ll leave the side gate unlocked. You remember where I live.”
Ben looked between them, catching the unspoken history and filing it away. He wasn’t worried, but he wasn’t oblivious to what John wanted either, after all, John did admit to jerking off to Cam only this summer while Ben was in Seattle.
The couple hit Culver’s on the way out of town: two ButterBurgers with cheese, crinkle fries, and concrete mixers that melted faster than the conversation. The mood was light but charged, some quiet thread of energy looping between them that hadn’t quite settled since the gym.
Ben licked marshmallow topping off his spoon before they left. “You nervous?”
John didn’t answer Ben at first. He was too busy fiddling with the keys to his mom’s Toyota Sienna, half-embarrassed to be driving it. “Not nervous,” he said finally. “Just feels… high school again.”
They rolled up to Cam’s house around 8:30. It sat a good fifteen minutes out of town, subdivision-adjacent, the kind of house with a basketball hoop over the garage and floodlights that clicked on automatically. John cut the lights early and steered the minivan into the curved gravel driveway, easing it down past the shrubs so it wasn’t visible from the road.
Ben raised an eyebrow. “You hiding the car?”
John killed the engine. “I just don’t need Cam’s parents seeing a weird minivan in their driveway after dark.”
They got out quietly. The front door light was off, but Cam texted the code to the garage keypad two minutes earlier. John punched it in and the door creaked open slowly, revealing a tidy space with a few leftover basketballs, a folding ping-pong table, and Cam, already sockless, waiting by the door.
“You made it,” Cam said, stepping back to let them in. He wore a white tank now, loose gym shorts slung low, the same Milwaukee Bucks Ethikas peeking out from underneath. “Parents are upstairs watching some docuseries on maritime disasters. They won’t come down unless my mom’s Doberman makes a racket.”
Ben gave a half-grin. “Guess we’re safe here then.”
Cam led them down to the basement. It was exactly what he promised: wide sectional couch, TV bigger than it had any right to be, shelves of Blu-Rays and half-empty Gatorade bottles. A spare bathroom was tucked behind a sliding door.
“Pick a spot,” Cam said. “I’ll grab us drinks. Water? Something stronger?”
Ben glanced at John.
“We’re good,” John said, settling onto the end of the sectional. “For now.”
Cam disappeared upstairs as John made himself comfortable.
Ben sat beside John, tone reserved. “So… this still just a post-gym hangout?”
John smirked, eyes tracing the stairwell where Cam had vanished. “Guess we’ll find out. But sounds like he silenced Grindr for the night for us.”
Ben ducked into the basement bathroom while he had the chance, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft thunk. The space was clean in a deliberate way, not scrubbed, but maintained. Towels folded, soap refilled, LED mirror ring lit up just enough to show Cam’s reflection choices weren’t accidental.
He lifted the toilet seat, flushed, and washed his hands. Reached for the towel, and paused.
On the open shelving unit beside the sink, nestled between a can of Old Spice body spray and a half-empty box of floss picks, sat a clear plastic douche bottle. Not hidden. Just… there. Like Cam figured anyone down here either wouldn’t care, or already knew.
Ben wiped his hands on the towel slowly, then caught his own reflection in the mirror. The Bobcats jersey still loose on his twinkish frame, brown hair tousled from the gym, the flush of a workout and something else still high in his cheeks. He gave the mirror a dry look, half-smirk, half-question.
“Okay then,” he muttered to himself.
He stepped back out into the basement. John was where he left him, lounging on the sectional, scrolling through Cam’s shelf unit of Blu-Rays.
Ben slid in beside him and leaned in just enough. “Bathroom’s stocked,” he said, half laughing.
John glanced over. “Yeah?”
Ben gave him a small nod. “Like... prepped.”
Before John could reply, Cam reappeared on the stairs, a six pack of Dr Pepper cans in one hand.
“Didn’t have much soda left after Thanksgiving, but I figured this works,” he said, tossing one to each of them. “If you want something else, there’s Miller in the garage fridge.”
John cracked his open. “Dr. Pepper’s fine. That’s all Caleb drinks, anyway.”
Cam flopped into the beanbag chair across from them, cracking his own can. “That the Air Force guy again? Still can’t believe he’s the one who looks like me.”
Ben sipped. “He’s taller. More intense. Less Old Spice.”
Cam grinned. “So a downgrade.”
John raised an eyebrow. “He’s got better abs and a career in the making.”
Cam sighed defensively as he sat down. “Alright, alright. Let’s not turn this into pledge night... yet.”
John leaned forward, resting his soda can on his knee. “So… why was your phone on silent at the gym?” he asked casually, but with a glance that said he already had a theory.
Cam gave a crooked grin. “Because I didn’t want to get distracted. And maybe... I was hoping you’d figure out the vibe.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “The vibe being...?”
Cam looked directly at John. “I was hoping we’d fool around again. Since you’ve got your boyfriend with you now, figured that door might be open, versus the summer.”
There was a beat of silence.
Ben looked at John, then back at Cam. “Bold move. Guessing you don’t invite just anyone down here to watch How to Train Your Dragon 2 on Blu-Ray”
Cam laughed once, low. “Let’s just say the sectional’s seen more action than my bedroom.”
John rubbed his thumb along the Dr. Pepper can’s ridge, considering. “You’re not wrong. Ben and I… we’re open sometimes. With our roommates, even.”
Cam tilted his head. “You mean like... group stuff?”
John nodded once. “Sometimes. Depends on trust.”
Cam’s eyes flicked toward Ben. “And you’re cool with it?”
Ben leaned against the couch cushion, and nodded as he looked back over to John.
“It works because we talk about everything.” John looked back up. “Nobody gets left in the dark. Or pushed into anything.” He paused, then added. “But if you’re angling for what didn’t happen in that motel room Senior Year…”
Cam’s grin widened, a little sharper now. “I knew you remembered that night Johnny.”
Ben smirked. “Then maybe Johnny can finally do it, while you get me off too.”
Cam blinked once, then gave a lopsided grin. “I mean… I’ve done it before. Just not with two guys who are actually serious together.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Too risky?”
“Too complicated,” Cam said, leaning back against the couch arm. “Usually it’s me, some guy, and his ‘open’ situationship who doesn’t actually want to be there.”
John chuckled. “Well, we’re not that.”
“No, you’re not,” Cam said, giving Ben a slow once-over. “And the name on the back of the jersey’s not helping me say no, either.”
Ben smirked. “Then don’t.”
Cam let out a breath. “You sure neither of you are gonna get weird about this?”
John met his gaze. “Not our first time, Cam. And not something we do lightly.”
Cam looked between them, then nodded, more sure now as he slipped off his tank top. “Alright then,” he said. “Guess we’re doing this boys.”
Ben stepped out of his socks and peeled off his jacket, then the thermal with the jersey, and finally his sweatpants. The air in the basement was cool against his skin. Without a word, he slipped the Bobcats jersey back over his bare chest, letting it hang just above the waistband of his blue Under Armour shorts. No briefs underneath this time, just skin, heat and anticipation.
John mirrored him, already barefoot and stripped down to just his shorts too. He bumped shoulders with Ben, a flash of something mischievous in his eyes.
Cam’s gaze moved between them, caught somewhere between amusement and arousal. “Keeping all that stuff on eh? John said you had a sportswear kink.”
“Yeah,” John said, sitting back down on the sectional. “I let you borrow my shorts that one time this summer too, but I didn’t tell you what I did to them after the gym.”
“Oh yeah?” Cam’s voice pitched up.
“Show him Benji,” John directed as he lay back on the couch.
Ben leaned over John and grabbed John’s already hard cock with his left hand to start stroking him through the soft blue material. John’s hips bucked upward, chasing the familiar sensation of the nylon being stroked across his dick.
“You were turned on that I wore your shorts to the gym?” Cam smiled as he got on the floor and reached into the leg hole of John’s shorts to fondle his sweaty balls while Ben steadily jerked John off.
“Oh yeah,” John moaned. “I busted right into those sweaty black ones you wore, they still kinda had that Old Spice scent on them.”
Cam chuckled, still amused. “Are you gonna bust right now in those blue ones too Johnny?”
“Nah, I think it’s time you got up here and I got a piece of you too.” John replied, giving Cam's head a gentle push.
Ben let John go and crawled to the edge of the sectional. He started to feel his erection through his shorts as he watched Cam fish out a condom that was hidden inside a tissue box on the coffee table to toss to John.
“Man you got quite the setup here,” John said as he reached forward and opened the package.
“Yeah, I had to start being more discrete with things after I left out my bong and my old man saw it.” Cam sighed as he slipped off the Lulu shorts and crawled onto the couch above Ben.
“Like the douche?” Ben snorted.
“Well, to be fair I was about to put that away, when I heard you guys open up the gate.” Cam hooked his fingers into Ben’s waistband and pulled the shorts down, just enough for Ben’s erection to poke above it, ready for Cam to take it in.
Meanwhile, John had pulled down the shorts below his balls, slipped the condom over his dick and was about to grab Cam’s underwear to pull them down.
“Uncut huh?” Cam started stroking Ben over the shorts.
“That a deal breaker?” John asked as he positioned himself between Cam’s legs.
“Nah, I’ve had plenty,” Cam hovered over Ben’s dick, slurping his tongue around the head, as John pulled down Cam’s Ethikas, to reveal his pink hole.
John's eyes widened slightly as he eased into Cam, feeling the surprising looseness of his friend's hole. It was clear that Cam had experience in this area, which only served to excite John further.
He watched as Ben's cock disappeared into Cam's eager mouth, the sight of those full lips stretched around Ben's shaft making John's dick throb with desire. He leaned in, whispering, "You've been busy, haven't you?" as he began to thrust gently, allowing Cam's body to adjust to his length. The sensation was incredible, a mix of warmth and slickness that had John groaning softly.
At the same time, Cam's mouth was working magic on Ben, taking him in fully until the tip of his cock hit the back of his throat. Ben's eyes rolled back in his head as Cam's tongue swirled around the head of his dick, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath it.
John pushed harder, his rhythm increasing as he watched Ben's face contort with pleasure. Ben's body began to tense up as the sensations grew more intense, his breath hitching in his chest. The feeling of Cam's tongue and the tight warmth of his mouth was almost too much to handle, but he didn't want it to stop. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his muscles tightening and his hips jerking slightly as he fought the urge to thrust deeper into Cam's mouth.
Suddenly, Ben couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural moan, he exploded into Cam's eager mouth, the intensity of his climax causing his entire body to convulse. Cam took it all in, his cheeks hollowing out as he swallowed every drop, his own arousal building as he felt the warmth and power of Ben's release.
Cam’s breath hitched as John pushed into him. “Fuck, Johnny,” he muttered with Ben’s cock still in his mouth, like the name was a habit he’d just learned. John's rhythm grew erratic, his eyes squeezed shut as he watched the intimate exchange unfold before him. The sight of Cam's throat working around Ben's cock pushed him over the edge. With a grunt, he buried himself deep inside Cam's clenched channel, his orgasm ripping through him as he filled the condom with hot, pulsing cum.
John's spent cock slipped out of Cam with a wet pop, the condom still in place. He tossed the used latex to the floor, not bothering with the trash bin. "Take those off," he said, tugging at Cam's underwear. "Let's get you into these." He pulled down his royal blue Under Armour shorts now sticky with gym sweat and the remnants of their shared lust.
Cam, his cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with pleasure, didn’t argue. He wiggled out of his own underwear and eagerly slipped into the offered garment. The scent of John's musk lingered on the fabric, mixing with the faint hint of sweat and precum. As he pulled them up, the dampness clung to his skin, the stickiness a stark reminder of the intimate moments that had just transpired.
John leaned in, his hand tracing the outline of Cam's hardening cock through the fabric. "Looks like I’ll get to play with you in my shorts too," he whispered, a smug grin playing on his lips.
Cam just chuckled with a cock eyed grin. "You guys sure know how to keep things interesting." He adjusted the shorts, the bulge of his cock obvious against the blue material.
John's hand moved with a newfound urgency, his palm slick against Cam's cock as he stroked him through the nylon. Ben, now lying on the couch, his own arousal still evident, resisted touching himself as John worked Cam's length, his eyes transfixed on the bulging outline beneath the fabric.
The sound of Cam's muffled groans grew louder, his body tensing as John's grip tightened. With one final, desperate thrust into sweaty shorts, Cam's climax hit him like a semi-truck, his hips bucking wildly as a torrent of cum shot into John's shorts. The warm wetness spread through the material, the scent of sex thick in the air.
Cam exhaled sharply as the last pulses of his orgasm faded, his body slumping back against the sectional. The blue shorts clung to him, damp with sweat and release. John gave a final teasing squeeze before releasing him, his fingers lingering at the waistband.
John started tugging down the shorts on Cam without a word. He turned them inside out as Cam’s load was still glistening in them and tossed them back at him. “Lick that up Camboy.” he demanded.
Cam didn't flinch, he held the soiled shorts up to his face and licked his seed out of the crotch, looking back at John for approval.
Ben watched them both from where he lay, the Bobcats jersey rucked up around his ribs, his breathing still uneven. The basement smelled like sex and Dr Pepper now, the TV screen long since gone to screensaver. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked, a reminder of the thin line they walked.
Cam let out a satisfied grunt and pushed his hair back, still catching his breath. No one spoke right away. The room was held in a silence that wasn't empty, but thick with the aftermath and the low, steady thrum of the furnace.
John, now naked, leaned against the arm of the sectional, one leg draped over the edge, gaze soft as he looked between them. “That’s gonna be hard to top,” he muttered.
Ben sat up slowly, smoothing the jersey back down over his chest. “You say that every time,” he said, voice spent, but not without warmth.
A shared laugh broke the tension like a stretch after a long drive. Cam reached for his can, chugged what was left, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Marquette’s kinda lonely. Half the guys on Grindr are theology majors who want you to suck them off in a church parking lot.” He rolled his eyes. “You two are lucky. No guilt, just… this.”
John nodded, catching his breath. “Yeah. It was good.”
There was no big gesture. No labels shifted. Just three boys on a sectional, sweat cooling, skin still humming, the past and present tangled somewhere between them.
Ben stood first, slipping back into his jacket but leaving the jersey on underneath. “We should probably head out,” he said, glancing at the dim stairwell. “Before the dog decides to rat us out.”
John chuckled, already reaching for his clothes. “Right. Nothing like a Black Friday scandal.”
Cam didn’t move yet. Just watched them, a glint of something unreadable in his expression. Then he smiled again, quieter this time, almost grateful.
Cam picked up the shorts with a wince and tossed them toward John, who caught them with a grin.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” he said, flopping back against the couch. “Assuming I can walk.”
Ben just shook his head. “That sounds like a you problem.”
As they gathered their things and climbed the stairs, the sharpness in Ben’s voice dulled. By the time they reached the driveway, it had gone quiet between them.
The Sienna sat waiting, bathed in the faint glow of a solar stick light. John unlocked it and got in first. Ben lingered before sliding in beside him, the basement still clinging to his skin.
Half the ride passed in silence.
Ben stared out at the night-wet road, watching small-town Wisconsin blur past in streaks of orange and black. The jersey still clung to him, but now it felt like a costume someone else had worn first.
“You okay?” John asked at a stoplight, voice soft.
Ben nodded, almost convincing. “Just thinking about finals.”
John didn’t press. At the next light, he reached across the console, let his hand rest briefly on Ben’s thigh, quiet, steady, there.
The silence stayed, but it felt less like a void. And more like room to breathe.
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