Kirei in His Eyes
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @kireistrawberryjayla!! I think I have a problem, I do not have any idea why I always gift angsty sadass fics to my mooties, like wut?? But here's some tissues in case you actually cried! I'M SO SOWY FOR THE DEPRESSION I'M ABOUT TO CAUSE AFTER Y'ALL READ THIS FIC!!
requested by @kireistrawberryjayla
The apartment smelled like coffee and faint cedar, as it always did after Jay left early for work. Y/N slipped off your shoes, silent in the hallway, your fingers curling around a small envelope you had found earlier that morning. It was old, yellowed at the edges, Jay’s handwriting looping across the front, and its weight pressed against her chest heavier than the years of quiet disappointment you’d carried.
Today was supposed to be you and his''. You both had promised never to forget an anniversary, a milestone, a memory. And yet, the space between the two felt like a canyon you couldn’t cross. Jay didn’t notice, not really. Not today, not in the way you needed him to.
He walked in, hair mussed, briefcase in hand, eyes scanning the apartment as if he were a stranger just arriving home. “Hey,” he said, voice casual, unaware of the storm she carried in her pocket. “Sorry, I forgot—it completely slipped my mind. I’ll make it up to you this weekend.”
Y/N forced a smile. “It’s fine,” you whispered, and it sounded hollow even to your own ears.
Both moved through the evening like practiced ghosts—he busying himself with small chores, you were tracing the cracks in the ceiling, the envelope burning a hole in your hand. You waited until he was in the bedroom, sprawled across your shared bed, scrolling through his phone, to pull it out.
The letter tumbled from the envelope, brittle with age. Your eyes skimmed the words you shouldn’t have read: confessions, memories, a past love he could never reach, a shadow between you two. And then you felt it—an ache that had been there all along, smothered under years of laughter, kisses, and shared mornings.
Jay looked up and froze. His eyes widened the instant he saw the paper in your hand. “Y/N…” His voice trembled, unsteady, guilty.
“You never told me,” you said, soft but sharp, the kind of truth that cuts deeper than anger. “You loved her.”
“I—” He stopped. Took a deep breath. “I did. I do, in a way. But I can’t have her. I never could. You… you’re everything I can be with. But sometimes, I…” He trailed off, words choking him, “Sometimes, I still think about what we could have been.”
The silence between them was louder than any confession, filled with all the anniversaries missed, all the nights you waited for him to notice. Y/N reached out, fingers brushing his jaw, memorizing the lines of his face you knew by heart. The love was still there, undeniably, fiercely—but now it was tinged with sorrow.
“We promised we’d never forget,” you whispered, almost to yourself, eyes fixed on the envelope between them.
“I know,” Jay said, voice low, heavy. He reached for your hand, then hesitated, the memory of the past and the weight of unspoken desires pulling him back. He couldn’t erase the letter, couldn’t erase the love that haunted him. All he could do was stay with you, feeling every fracture in both hearts.
Y/N leaned into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of a heart that was yours yet partially belonged elsewhere. The ache was unbearable and beautiful all at once. You both were together, but not wholly; whole, but broken.
He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. “I wish…” he murmured, and the words didn’t need finishing. You knew. You always knew.
And so the two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s impossibility, the letter untouched between the two. Outside, the world went on. Inside, love existed—raw, imperfect, heartbreakingly honest. But some things, you realized, were never meant to be entirely held.
The light was pale and gray when Y/N woke. For a long moment, you stayed still, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment—the faint traffic outside, the steady sound of Jay’s breathing beside you. His arm was thrown lazily over your waist, a casual intimacy that should have comforted you but instead pressed down like a weight you couldn’t move.
Your hand drifted instinctively to your stomach. Barely a whisper of change there, but you knew. You’d taken the test yesterday morning, staring at the two pink lines with trembling fingers. A baby. You and Jay's baby.
And now, staring at Jay’s sleeping face, you wondered if you could bear it.
You thought of the envelope still hidden in the drawer, the words you couldn’t unread, the confession you couldn’t unhear. His heart wasn’t wholly yours—had it ever been? Was yours foolish for wanting to pretend it was?
The baby deserves a father. The thought pulsed through you like a mantra, steady, insistent. A father who would hold it, love it, protect it. And Jay would. He would—you didn’t doubt that. He’d be present, maybe even more devoted than ever to you alone. But the child would also inherit this silence, this fracture. Would grow up in a home where love existed but was shadowed, imperfect, and sometimes absent.
Y/N swallowed hard, your throat tight. Could you forgive? Could you forget how his voice cracked when he admitted he still thought about her? Could you carry this secret and raise the child in the shadow of someone else’s ghost?
Or—you could leave. You could walk away before he woke, before he had the chance to know. Disappear into a different life where the baby would never know the ache of being second choice, where you wouldn’t have to share your child’s future with the echoes of a past lover you could never compete with.
Your eyes burned as you looked at him, peaceful in his sleep, the man you had chosen, the man you had vowed to love. The father of the life growing inside you. Forgive and forget. Or leave and sever.
The decision sat in your chest, heavy, unrelenting. You pressed your palm flat against your stomach, whispering into the quiet: “What do we do?”
Of course, the baby did not answer. Only Jay’s steady breathing filled the silence, a suddenly fragile lullaby.
Forgiveness wasn’t easy, but it felt inevitable. Y/N looked at Jay’s sleeping face and decided: you would stay. Not because you had forgotten the letters, not because the confession didn’t cut you to the bone, but because walking away meant ripping your heart in two—and now, it meant ripping the child’s life in two as well.
So you swallowed the ache, locked it deep inside, and continued.
You didn’t tell him about the baby. Not that morning. Not the next. Weeks blurred into months. You wanted to speak each day, but the words snagged in your throat. You convinced yourself you were waiting for the right moment, but deep down, you knew—you were waiting for him to see you. To notice you in a way he hadn’t in so long.
Your body changed quietly, then all at once. The swell of your stomach grew undeniable, yet you kept hiding it with sweaters, turned-away shoulders, and carefully timed movements. Still, the silence ate at you. Each night, you sat curled on the couch, waiting for Jay to come home, exhaustion tugging your into restless sleep.
And then it happened.
Jay came home late, the apartment cloaked in shadow. He found you in the living room, dozing under the dim glow of the lamp, your hand resting protectively over the curve of your belly. His breath caught in his throat as his gaze landed on the unmistakable bump beneath your loose shirt.
He stood there for a long time, guilt twisting inside him. He could see it now—why you hadn’t told him, your eyes lingered longer on him lately, and your smiles seemed so fragile. It wasn’t mistrust. It wasn’t betrayal. You had been carrying the weight of his mistakes, the shadow of those letters, while holding the child.
He knelt beside you, careful not to wake you. His hand hovered for a moment before he let it rest gently against your stomach, as if asking permission. The warmth of your body against his palm made his chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking in the quiet. “You shouldn’t have had to do this alone. I should have seen you. I should have seen all of you.”
Y/N stirred, eyelids fluttering open. You blinked blearily, then froze when you saw where his hand was. Your lips parted, panic flashing in her eyes, but Jay only shook his head softly.
“No,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you for this. I was too blind—too wrapped up in things that no longer matter. But this… you, our baby… this is what matters.”
Y/N’s breath hitched. Tears welled and spilled as you clutched him, the months of fear and secrecy unravelling all at once.
“Jay…” you whispered, your voice breaking on his name.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he promised, kissing your temple, his hand firm against the swell of your belly. “To both of you.”
For the first time in a long time, Y/N let yourself believe him.
Y/N’s lashes fluttered as Jay scooped you up, your head lolling against his chest. “J…?” you murmured, groggy and confused, your voice small in the dark.
“Shh,” Jay whispered, holding you like fragile glass. “Go back to sleep.”
He carried you to the bedroom, laying you down with a gentleness that made your heart ache. The sheets whispered around you as he tucked you in, brushing stray hair from your face. You blinked drowsily, half-smiling in your daze, the confusion soft and endearing.
When he changed into pyjamas and slid beside you, you drifted again, curling instinctively toward his warmth. He wrapped an arm around your waist, palm resting protectively over the swell of your belly, as though anchoring himself to your and the unborn child.
But not every night was like this.
Some nights, sleep refused to come. Y/N would lie awake, staring into the shadows of the ceiling, the silence pressing against your chest like a weight. Your mind wandered to places you didn’t want it to: maybe the reason Jay came home so late wasn’t work. Perhaps he was lingering in the past, spending time with the woman who once held his heart. The thought gnawed at you, shameful and unbearable.
You never voiced it. You never wanted to seem like you didn’t trust him. But the doubt settled like a shadow across your ribcage, squeezing tighter every time the clock ticked past midnight without him.
One night, lost in that spiral, you didn’t notice Jay watching you. He rolled onto his side, eyes soft in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
“Y/N,” he murmured, voice rough from the quiet.
Your eyes snapped back into focus, realizing you’d stared blankly at the wall with a sad, faraway look. Your lips parted to deny it, to plaster on a small smile, but Jay reached out, brushing his thumb against your cheek.
“Don’t,” he whispered, his gaze searching yours. “Don’t get lost in that place.”
Your throat tightened. “What place?” you asked, barely audible.
“The one where you think I’m not here with you. Where do you think I’m anywhere else but here?” His hand slid down to cover yours, resting on your belly, squeezing gently. “This is where I want to be, Y/N. With you. With our baby. Always.”
Your eyes stung, tears threatening to spill. “But the letters—”
“I can’t erase the past,” he said firmly, though his voice shook. “But I can choose every single day who I come home to. And it’s you. Only you.”
The ache in your chest didn’t vanish completely—wounds like that don’t heal overnight—but for the first time in months, you felt a fragile kind of peace.
You leaned into him, forehead resting against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Promise?” you whispered.
“Promise,” he breathed, pressing a kiss into your hair, holding you as if you were the only truth that mattered.
Y/N had known Jay your entire life. You’d grown up running through candlelit halls of gilded estates, whispering secrets in garden corners while both fathers discussed power and alliances. Childhood best friends—then, by decree of both families, future husband and wife.
It should have been a dream. For Y/N, it was. You had loved him quietly, desperately, since both yours and his hands were still too small to hold weapons before either of the two understood the word mafia. When the families announced the engagement, you thought destiny had finally aligned in your favour.
But then came her.
Jay’s first love. A girl who had no business in your world, who looked at him like he was more than his family name, who stole his smiles in ways that burned Y/N alive. Y/N never said anything and never confessed how much it broke you to watch him gaze at someone else like she was the sun itself. You only waited. Patient, silent, hoping time would do the work your words couldn’t.
And in the end, you won. Or maybe it was never about winning—because Jay’s first love faded into the past, claimed by another life, another man. And Y/N remained. Always Y/N. His best friend, his partner, his arranged bride, his wife.
Now, curled against him in your shared bed, his arm draped lazily over your growing belly, you should feel content. You have him. All the mafia alliances, all the years of loyalty, all the vows—they bind him to you as tightly as blood oaths.
But sometimes, in the quiet moments, when Jay stares too long into nothing, or when he comes home late with that faraway look in his eyes, Y/N aches with a truth you couldn't confess: you wished he would look at you the way he used to look at her. That girl. The first love. The ghost Y/N could never banish.
You buried your face into his chest, your hand resting over his on your stomach, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek. He shifts slightly, murmuring your name in his sleep. It should be enough.
It has to be enough.
Because in this world, in this life you were both born into, there are no second chances. Y/N knows this. And still—your heart whispers what your lips never could: See me, Jay. See me the way you saw her.
Y/N hadn’t really slept. You’d spent most of the night staring at him, memorizing every line of his face as though he might slip away if you blinked too long. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, gilding his features in soft gold. Jay looked peaceful like this, stripped of the weight he carried in daylight—no family duties, no shadows of a past love, no blood on his hands. Just Jay. Your Jay.
Your finger moved before you realized, tracing the strong curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the bow of his lips. You etched him into your memory like you’d done a thousand times since the two were children, back when he would laugh at your stubbornness and promise he’d always be around.
But now… now your chest ached with something heavier. You had him, yes, but not all of him. And still, your love was relentless.
You didn’t notice when his lashes fluttered open. Jay blinked at you, his voice low, rough with sleep. “What are you doing?”
Y/N froze, caught. Your hand lingered against his cheek as if rooted there, your lips parting, but no words came out. You almost pulled away, but his hand caught yours, holding it in place.
“You think I don’t notice when you don’t sleep?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His gaze was steady, almost unreadable, but softer than you expected. “You’ve been looking at me like I’ll disappear.”
Your throat tightened. “Maybe I’m just… memorizing you,” you whispered.
Jay studied you momentarily, then leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere.”
But Y/N’s heart clenched, because deep down, you knew he had already been somewhere else — maybe not in body, but in the quiet corners of his heart where you still couldn’t reach.
So you only closed your eyes, nodding faintly, letting yourself sink into the illusion. His breath was warm against your lips, his hand still wrapped around yours. In this moment, at least, he was yours.
Y/N’s eyes stayed closed momentarily, letting his words sink in. I’m not going anywhere. You wanted to believe him. But the doubt you’d carried all these years swelled too heavy in your chest, refusing to be silenced.
When you finally spoke, your voice was barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes… I think you already left. Not with your body, but with your heart.”
Jay pulled back slightly, startled, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
Y/N swallowed, your throat tight. “I know about her. I’ve always known. The way you looked at her… I hated her for it. I hated that she could take what I’d been waiting for my whole life. And even now, even though she’s not here anymore, sometimes I feel like she still is. Like she’s still between us.” Your words cracked at the edges, raw and trembling. “I just… I wish you’d look at me like you used to look at her.”
Silence filled the space between the two. Jay’s breath caught, his eyes searching yours with something unreadable—guilt, sorrow, maybe love. He didn’t speak right away, and its weight nearly broke you.
Finally, he reached out, cupping your face with both hands. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low but firm. “She was… a chapter. But you’re the whole book. You’ve always been. You were there before her, here after her, and you’re the only one I’ve ever been bound to—not because of our families, but because I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Your lips trembled, but your heart still ached with doubt. “Then why does it feel like I’m not enough sometimes?”
His thumb brushed your cheek, catching the tear that slipped free. “Because I’m an idiot who didn’t see what was right before me soon enough. But I see you now. I swear to you, I see you.”
You only stared at him for a long moment, torn between believing and breaking. But when he leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against yours, you let yourself melt into it—even if it didn’t erase the ache, even if the ghost of the past lingered.
Because for now, he was here. With you. And maybe, just maybe, that could be enough.
Jay didn’t just kiss you. He lingered there, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cupping your face with a reverence that made your chest ache. “Y/N,” he whispered, trembling, “I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids, before I knew what love meant. And I’ll keep loving you, every day, for the rest of my life. No one else, never her—only you.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, and you pressed your face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke, coffee, and something uniquely Jay.
He lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft, almost unbearably so, as if he were afraid you might doubt him even for a second. “I’ll prove it to you,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours again, softer this time, patient, lingering like he wanted you to remember this moment forever. “Not with words alone.”
He trailed kisses down your jawline, across your collarbone, each slow and deliberate. His hands moved with careful reverence over your arms, your waist, lingering on your stomach without pressing too hard, as if acknowledging the life growing inside you—your shared life—with a mix of awe and tenderness that made Y/N’s chest tighten until you could barely breathe.
When he pressed against you again, closer now, it wasn’t just physical. Every movement was a declaration: I see you. I am yours. I have always been yours.
Y/N clung to him, sobbing softly, overwhelmed by the weight of his devotion. The gentle intimacy, the way he lingered on you, and the quiet murmurs of your name cut through the months of doubt and fear. You could feel the love you had always hungered for, raw and unshakable, folding over you in waves that weakened your knees.
“Do you feel it?” he whispered against your ear, warm breath tickling your skin. “This… all of me? I am yours. Every part. Every thought. Every beat of my heart. Only yours.”
Your hands trembled as they traced the contours of his face, memorizing him again, but this time without the ache of longing for what once was. You could feel the love that had been there all along, waiting patiently for you to notice it too.
“I… I love you too,” you choked out, your voice raw and barely audible through your tears. “I’ve always loved you.”
He smiled softly, a slow, heartbreaking smile, and pressed his forehead to yours again. “Then we’ll be okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be more than okay. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, Y/N. I promise.”
And in that quiet, fragile morning, with sunlight spilling across the sheets and the soft rhythm of your hearts beating in tandem, Y/N finally believed him. Not because of words alone, but because of every soft, gentle, lingering touch — every unspoken proof of a love that had always been yours.
The sunlight had shifted, painting the room in gentle golds and pinks. Y/N was still curled against him, your cheek pressed to his chest, tracing the faint lines of his muscles as if you could memorize him forever. Jay’s hands rested lightly on your back, fingers brushing over the curve of your waist, his touch soft but insistently claiming your in ways that made your heart stutter.
He leaned down, lips grazing your temple, and whispered, “You’re mine. Every part of you. Every piece I never let go of, every fear, every laugh… everything. You’re mine.”
Y/N’s breath hitched. The words were almost too much, but his hands, the way he held you, the gentle pull of his body closer, made it real in a way nothing else could. Your finger traced the line of his jaw, sliding to brush his lips, and he responded instantly, tilting his head just enough to capture your touch without breaking the delicate rhythm both of you shared.
Jay’s hands roamed only enough to communicate a reverent possession, lingering at your sides, on your shoulders, letting the most minor touches speak volumes. Every brush of his palm against your skin was a silent vow: I am yours. I have always been yours.
“You’ve been holding yourself back,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours again, softer this time, almost teasing. “But you don’t have to anymore.”
Y/N blinked, caught between disbelief and yearning. “I… I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, voice trembling.
“You could never,” he said firmly, his forehead resting against yours. “I want all of you. Every thought, every doubt, every hesitation. I’ll take it all, because it’s you. You’ve always been worth it.”
Your hands trembled as they threaded through his hair, pulling him closer. The small, suggestive nuzzles of his lips, the brush of his body against yours, the gentle insistence in his eyes—it wasn’t about passion. It was about claiming, protecting, proving his devotion without a single word. And Y/N could feel it in the tremor of your chest, the catch of your breath, the tears you couldn’t hold back.
“Jay…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I… I need you to know… I’ve always loved you. I just… I needed to know you were mine, too.”
He smiled softly, slow and heartbreaking, and pressed a final, lingering kiss to your temple. “I am, Y/N. All of me is yours. Always has been. Always will be.”
And in the quiet, golden morning, with every soft, lingering touch and every whispered vow, Y/N finally let yourself believe it. Your heart ached with joy and relief, and for the first time in a long while, the ghost of his first love faded into nothing more than a shadow you no longer feared.
The following mornings were slower and gentler, each a quiet rehearsal of trust. Jay never rushed Y/N out of bed and never made you feel small for lingering in his arms. Instead, he woke you with soft kisses to your temple, murmured your name like a prayer, and remained close, letting you decide when the world could intrude.
Some days, you caught yourself staring at him while he made coffee, the way he moved in your shared kitchen with effortless grace. You traced the lines of his hands, the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes softened when he caught yours. Every small glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, was a proof of love you’d longed for.
And yet, the shadow of doubt still lingered. Some nights, when you drifted to sleep alone after he’d worked late, Y/N’s mind wandered to the past. You wondered if he still thought of his first love, if he still compared, if he still longed.
But Jay noticed. Always. He caught the sadness in your gaze, the way you’d zone out mid-laugh or stare at him a little too long. And rather than confront your with words alone, he acted.
A hand on your waist as they walked through the garden.
A lingering kiss on your shoulder when you bent down to tie your shoe.
A soft, intimate nuzzle of your hair as you read in the living room.
Every touch was a promise, every small gesture a quiet confession: You are enough. You are mine. You always have been.
One evening, you sat curled on the couch, tears slipping quietly down your cheeks as you remembered the letters, the shadow of his past, the jealousy he’d felt for someone long gone. Jay knelt before you, hands resting lightly on your knees.
“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and unwavering, “look at me. Look at me.” You lifted your head slowly. His eyes, golden in the lamplight, were fixed on yours, full of something that made your chest ache: devotion, longing, love. “I see only you,” he whispered. “Always have. I don’t look back anymore. Every heartbeat, every thought… It’s for you. And for our baby.”
Your lips trembled as you pressed your face into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. Weeks of doubt, fear, and longing dissolved in that simple, sacred moment. The gentle insistence of his love—in words, gestures, and every soft, lingering touch—finally sank in.
And when he leaned in to kiss you, tenderly, slowly, deliberately, Y/N let yourself feel it all: the love you’d always wanted, the reassurance you’d needed, the promised life together, messy and fragile and beautiful, would belong to the two.
Some nights, you still woke with a flutter of insecurity. But the difference now was that Jay was there. He noticed. He held you. He proved, over and over, that you were not just enough — you were everything he wanted, and he would spend the rest of your shared lives showing you that truth.
The morning's first sunlight spilled across the sheets, soft and golden, painting your shared room in warmth. Y/N lay nestled against Jay, your hand resting instinctively on the swell of your belly, feeling the child's tiny, rhythmic flutter inside your.
Jay stirred, turning toward you with a gentle smile that made your chest ache. “Morning,” he whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.
Y/N blinked, your eyes misting. “Morning,” You echoed, voice trembling. You could feel the weight of everything both of you had been through—the letters, the doubts, the shadows of the past—finally lifting, softened by the steady, unwavering love in his gaze.
He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Y/N… look at me,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I know I wasn’t perfect. I know the past hurt you. But I swear… every second since then, every breath I take, is for you. For us. For this family we’re making.”
Your tears fell freely now, hot and unrestrained. “Jay… I… I was so scared,” you whispered. “I thought… maybe you’d never really be mine. Maybe I’d never be enough.”
“You’ve always been enough,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips softly to yours, lingering just long enough to make the world disappear. “You’re more than enough. You’re my best friend, wife, and love. I waited for you my whole life. And soon… you’re going to be the mother of my child. Our child.”
You pressed your face into his chest, tears soaking his shirt, overwhelmed by relief, love, and awe. Your hand rested over his, feeling the steady warmth of his palm against yours, the faint pulse of life in your belly echoing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Jay tucked you closer, wrapping both arms around you as if he could shield you from every lingering shadow, every doubt. “I see you,” he whispered into your hair. “All of you. Every scar, every fear, every hope. You are mine, Y/N. Always have been, always will be. And our baby… you’ll never be alone. I’ll never let you be.”
Y/N’s sobs shook you, but they were soft, happy, cleansing—tears of relief, of joy, of the love you had waited decades to claim. “I love you so much,” she whispered.
“And I love you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple and forehead and finally letting you rest your head against his heart. “More than the world. More than anything. And I’ll spend every day proving it to you. You and our baby—our family—that’s my life now. That’s my forever.”
You clutched him tighter, letting yourself believe it finally, fully. The doubts, the shadows, the ghosts of the past were still there, faint, but they were powerless against this. Against Jay’s love. Against the family growing inside you.
For the first time in years, Y/N felt completely, undeniably safe. And as the baby kicked gently beneath your hand, as Jay held you as if you were the most fragile thing in existence, you let yourself sob again—but this time, the tears were full of happiness, of hope, of a love so overwhelming it could break and heal you all at once.
And Jay kissed you again, soft and lingering, letting the silence of the morning speak the truth you both felt: you and Jay were finally home.
Copyright 2025 - present © hazelira all rights reserved. All writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.