Chapter Text
Hiii. :)
This is the writer speaking to tell you I hope you enjoy these mini fan fics and pleases leave your thought in the comments.
Love you X O
-Honeybriarr
Chapter 2: Reunion
Chapter Text
They lost each other in one moment.
Not slowly.
Not over time.
Not through hate or arguments.
One incident.
One night.
One sudden break in reality.
One moment they were married and in love.
The next, everything was gone.
They were forced apart by chaos, fear, shock and decisions made while bleeding emotionally.
They didn’t stop loving each other. That just lost control of their lives.
Years later.
Y/N never remarried. She built a quiet life. A stable one. A lonely one. She learned how to survive without Sunghoon - not how to stop loving him.
He had a son. A little boy with his eyes and her softness. Five years old now. That marriage didn’t last. The divorce was calm. The house was quiet. The world was small. And the boy stayed with him. Just father and son.
They met again in a place neither of them expected. A cafe. A street. A store. It didn’t matter. Because the moment did.
Y/N stopped walking. Sunghoon stopped breathing. Then she saw the child holding his hand. And everything inside her chest collapsed.
Silence. Then -
“Sunghoon?” She said.
He turned fully. His eyes widened.
”…Y/N?”
Her voice was steady. His wasn’t. He wanted to say a thousand things. Instead, he said the stupidest one.
“You look…the same.”
She gave a small, broken smile. “You don’t.”
The little boy looked between them.
“Daddy,” he whispered, pulling Sunghoon’s hand. “Who is she?”
Sunghoon swallowed.
“This is…”
He paused.
“My friend.”
Y/N flinched at the word. Friend. That hurt more than stranger.
She crouched down slightly to the boy’s level.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I’m Y/N.”
He stared at her seriously.
“I’m Minjae,” he said. “Daddy says I’m brave.”
Sunghoon smiled without meaning to.
“You are brave.”
Silence again. Thick. Heavy. Full of things unsaid.
Then she spoke quietly.
“You have a kid.”
He nodded. Another pause.
“…He’s five.”
She whispered, “He’s beautiful.”
He answered, “He’s my whole life.”
Her voice softened.
“You’re married…”
Sunghoon shook his head.
“No.”
The answer came out too fast.
“Divorced. Two years ago.”
She nodded slowly.
“I see.”
Then, after a beat -
“Does she love you?”
He knew who she meant.
“…no.”
Finally, the truth. Her voice dropped.
“Why didn’t you look for me?”
The question he had feared. His jaw tightened.
“I did.”
She looked up sharply.
“When?”
“Every year,” he said. “For years. After the accident. After the separation. After everything fell apart.”
Her breath caught.
“You never found me.”
“I couldn’t,” he said. “You disappeared.”
“Because they told me you left.”
Silence.
He stared at her.
“…they told me you did.”
The truth hit them at the same time. They didn’t lose each other. They were separated. By people. By fear. By chaos. By lies. By broken communication. By trauma.
By one incident that destroyed everything.
“Daddy, can we go home?”
Sunghoon knelt.
“Yeah buddy. One minute.”
Then he looked at Y/N. Softly. Carefully.
“Can we talk again?”
Not about love. Not about the past. Not about fixing things. Just talk.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“…yeah.”
They exchanged numbers. Simple. Quiet. Powerful.
That night -
She cried. Not from pain. From relief. Because for the first time in years - the story wasn’t dead.
And Sunghoon, tucking his son into bed.
“You know that lady we met today?”
Sunghoon nodded, Minjae continued.
“She’s pretty…”
Sunghoon smiled sadly.
“She was my first love.”
Minjae thought for a second. Then said,
“Is she my mom?”
Sunghoon froze.
“…No.”
Then quietly.
“But she was meant to be.”
They didn’t talk that day. Not really.
Just exchanged numbers. Just shared a look that said too much. Just walked away with hearts louder than their footsteps. But they both knew.
This wasn’t over. This was the beginning again.
A week later, Sunghoon stood outside a small cafe.
Minjae held his hand.
“Daddy, is this where the nice lady is?”
He nodded.
“Is she your friend?”
Sunghoon smiled softly.
“She’s…someone important.”
Inside. Y/N was already there. Nervous. Calm. Strong. Fragile. All at once.
When she saw them, she stood.
“Hi.”
Sunghoon's voice was quieter.
“Hi.”
Minjae waved shyly.
“Hi pretty lady.”
Y/N smiled instantly and crouched down.
“Hi handsome boy.”
They sat. Awkward. Careful. Honest.
Silence first. Then Y/N broke it.
“We should talk about it.”
Sunghoon nodded.
“The incident.”
She swallowed.
“Yeah.”
His voice was low.
“They told me you didn’t want to see me. That you were angry. That you blamed me.”
Her eyes filled.
“They told me you left. That you chose your career. That you didn’t even ask about me.”
Silence. Pain. Truth.
“So we believed them.” Y/N whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.”
Minjae looked between them.
“Did someone lie?”
Sunghoon blinked.
“Yeah buddy.”
“Why?”
“Because people make mistakes.” Y/N said gently.
Minjae nodded seriously.
“I don’t like liars.”
She smiled.
“Me neither.”
Sunghoon looked at Y/N.
“I never stopped loving you.”
Her breath hitched.
“Neither did I.”
Simple. Honest. No fear. Just the truth.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks in top months. They met often.
Sometimes with Minjae. Sometimes alone.
Sometimes for coffee. Sometimes for walks. Sometimes just to sit in silence.
Healing, not rushing.
Minjae grew attached to Y/N fast.
He held her hand. sat next to her. Asked for her stories. Fell asleep on her shoulder.
One night, he asked.
“Can you come to my school thing?”
Y/N looked at Sunghoon.
He nodded.
“I’d love to.”
One evening, Sunghoon spoke quietly.
“You don’t have to take on my life.”
Y/N answered just as softly.
“I want to.”
One year later.
They were married again. Not in a big wedding. Not in a loud ceremony ,only. But in a quiet place.
Peaceful. Real. Certain.
Minjae stood between them in a tiny suit.
Holding both their hands.
The happiest person there.
Sunghoon whispered to Y/N.
“We found each other again.”
She smiled through the tears.
“We were never really lost.’
That night, Minjae slept between them.
Safe. Loved. Home.
Because sometimes love doesn’t end.
Sometimes it pauses.
Sometimes it breaks.
Sometimes it gets stolen by life.
But real love - finds its way back. And this time, it stayed.
Chapter 3: Yours
Chapter Text
That had once ruled the world in their own reckless way.
Not kingdoms built of stone or crowns passed down by blood, but something far more dangerous - absolute trust.
Riki had stood at her side when the nights were long and the plans were cruel, when laughter came easily and promises were spoken like facts.
They had been unstoppable because neither of them had ever imagined a future without the other in it.
Until that future collapsed.
Now, the room smelled like smoke and iron. Power had shifted hands so many times that no one remembered who struck first - only that everything after had been soaked in betrayal.
She stood over him, breath uneven, fingers clenched tight around the hilt of the blade.
Riki knelt before her, restrained not by chains, but by choice.
The knife hovered at his throat. One push. One decision.
Her hand shook.
Riki didn’t look away. He never did. Even now, his gaze was steady, searching her face as if it were a place he belonged.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached up - not to stop her, but to guide her.
His fingers closed around her wrist with a familiarity that made her chest ache.
“Not there,” he murmured.
He drew the blade downward, past his collarbone, pressing it to the center of his chest.
Right above his heart.
“My heart is yours.” He whispered.
The contact made him exhale sharply, but he didn’t flinch.
“If you're going to end this,” he said quietly. “Don’t hesitate.”
The words weren’t a challenge. They were an offering.
She swallowed hard. Every memory surged at once - his laughter, his anger, the nights he stayed awake just to make sure she slept.
This heart had once beaten for her alone.
Maybe it still did. That was the cruelest part.
Her grip loosened.
“I hated you,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I told myself I did.”
Riki smiled then - not wide, not triumphant. Just soft.
The kind of smile only meant for her.
“I know,” he said. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
The blade trembled between them. She could feel his heartbeat through the metal, fast and steady, refusing to give up even now.
Her vision blurred, and suddenly the power she felt held felt unbearably heavy.
She pulled the knife away.
The sound it made as it dropped to the floor echoed louder than any scream.
Riki exhaled slowly, like someone who had been holding his breath for years.
He didn’t move right away. Didn’t assume mercy.
When he finally looked up again, there was something fragile in his expression - hope maybe. Or fear.
She turned her back to him.
“Get up,” she said. “Before I change my mind.”
For the first time that night, Riki hesitated.
Then he rose, steps slow, careful - as if afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.
He stopped beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the life she almost took.
“We’re not done.” He said softly.
“No,” she agreed, staring ahead. “But we’re not dead either.”
And for the first time since everything fell apart, that felt like the most dangerous possibility of all.
They didn’t fix everything in one night.
That was the first truth she learned.
The blade lay forgotten on the floor, cold and harmless now, while silence filled the space between them.
Riki stood across from her, no longer kneeling, no longer cornered - just…there.
Alive. Real. Too familiar to be ignored.
She was the one who broke first.
“You ruined everything,” she said, not accusing - just tired.
Riki nodded at once. He didn’t argue. He never did when it mattered.
“I know.”
The simplicity of it disarmed her more than any excuse could have.
He took a careful step forward, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to.
She didn’t.
“I thought if I stayed away long enough,” he continued, voice low. “You’d forget how much you trusted me. That would hurt less.”
She let out a shaky laugh.
“You don’t disappear from someone like that.”
He stopped in front of her, close but not touching.
For a moment, neither of them reached out. They had crossed too many lines to pretend it was easy.
Then, gently, he held out his hand.
Not a demand. Not a plea. An invitation.
She stared at it, remembering how many times that same hand had pulled her forward - into trouble, into laughter, into a future they had once sworn was inevitable.
Her fingers curled around his.
The contact was small, but it felt like the world shifted back into place.
Riki exhaled, shoulders relaxing as if he had been carrying the weight of her absence alone.
He didn’t pull her closer. He just stayed there, grounding her, reminding her that he was still the same boy who used to walk her home and promise impossible things. His voice was low.
“I never stopped loving you.”
They didn’t kiss.
they didn’t apologise again.
They just stood together, hands linked, letting the past settle instead of burn.
Days turned into weeks.
They talked - really talked. About the mistakes. About the fears. About how loving each other had always been easy, but shooting each other had been terrifying. Some days were awkward. Some days were quiet. But slowly, laughter returned. Shared looks. Inside jokes no one else understood.
One night, much later, she found him writing again at the table they used to share.
“You’re staying up.” She said.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “Like always.”
She sat beside him without thinking. Leaned her head against his shoulder like it had never stopped being home.
And just like that - without grand promises or dramatic vows - everything didn’t go back to how it was.
It became something stronger. Something chosen. Something that’s stayed.
Chapter 4: Swans
Chapter Text
They used to sit by the lake after school, shoes discarded, feet dipping into cold water while white swans drifted lazily across the surface. Back then, the world was small—just the lake, the trees, and each other.
Jake was eight when he said it.
“I’m going to marry you,” he told her, entirely serious, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets like he’d just announced something obvious.
Y/N laughed, because eight-year-olds said things like that. Still, she remembered it.
They were inseparable in ways that didn’t need explaining. Jake wrote stories in messy notebooks, pages bent and corners torn, and Y/N was always there—reading them first, pointing out her favorite lines, sitting beside him in comfortable silence. When she struggled to explain how she felt, she’d point to the lake instead.
“I love you as much as I love the swans,” she told him once, watching them glide across the water.
Jake didn’t hesitate. “And I love you as much as I love writing.”
That was everything.
High school changed things. Or rather, distance did.
Jake moved to another country before graduation. They promised to keep in touch, and they tried—messages, late-night calls, letters that took weeks to arrive. But life stretched between them, thin at first, then wider. Eventually, the messages slowed.
Still, Jake never stopped writing.
He wrote her into every draft. Into quiet characters who watched swans by lakes. Into metaphors that meant nothing to anyone else. He never used her name, but it was always her—the girl who loved swans more than anything, the one who understood him before he understood himself.
Years later, the novel was published.
It exploded.
Critics called it tender. Readers called it haunting. People highlighted passages and shared quotes online—about childhood promises, about love that didn’t fade, about a writer who loved someone as deeply as his craft.
And one night, scrolling mindlessly, Y/N stopped breathing.
‘I loved her the way she loved swans—unconditionally, quietly, always returning to the same water.’
Her hands trembled. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew.
The book reached her before Jake ever could.
They met again at a book signing, of all places. The line was long, the room filled with voices and cameras, but when Jake looked up and saw her standing there, the noise disappeared.
She looked older. So did he. But something in his chest ached in the same familiar way.
“You found it,” he said softly, already knowing.
She nodded. “You wrote me.”
“I never stopped.”
The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It never had been. It felt like sitting by the lake again, feet in the water, swans drifting past like they always had.
Jake smiled, smaller now, more careful. “I told you I’d marry you,” he said, almost teasing.
She laughed, eyes glossy. “You were eight.”
“And I meant it,” he replied.
This time, she didn’t laugh.
Outside, they walked together, side by side, years of separation folding in on themselves. The world felt big again—but this time, they weren’t afraid of it.
Some promises took time. Some stories needed years to be finished.
Chapter 5: Roses
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Y/N never thought she’d become someone who memorised decay.
She learned it slowly, the way petals curdled inward before browning, the way steam softened no matter how often she trimmed them. Fifty-two roses sat in a long glass vase on her windowsill, red once, now various stages of tired pink and dull rust.
Jay had given them to her the night before he left for university.
He’d laughed when he handed them over, that easy, careless laugh that made her forgive him before she even knew what for.
“I’ll stop loving you when the last flower dies,” he said, like it was some joke.
Like love was something you could schedule.
She told him he was stupid.
He kissed her anyway.
Then he left.
The first rose died in a week.
Y/N told herself it meant nothing. Flowers died. People left. It was normal. Still, she replaced the water every morning, cut the stems at an angle like the internet said, and moved the vase away from direct sunlight. When the second rose wilted, she cried quietly in the bathroom so her mother wouldn’t hear.
Jay didn’t call much after the first few months.
University was hard, he said. Time was weird there. New people, new routines. She nodded along through the phone, swallowing words like ‘I miss you’ and ‘Are you forgetting me?’ because she didn’t want to sound small.
Every week, another rose died.
She started counting in her head instead of on paper. Forty-six. Forty-three. Thirty-nine.
By the time there were twenty left, his texts were short. By ten, they were polite. When there were five roses standing, Jay stopped calling altogether.
Y/N told herself the flowers were just flowers. That the promise had been a joke. That she’d been naive to believe him. Still, she kept them alive like it mattered. Like it was the only proof she had that what they’d had was real.
When the last rose finally stood alone, its red unchanged, its petals stubbornly smooth, Y/N laughed.
Of course. Of course he’d been lying.
She let the water go cloudy. She stopped trimming the stem. She waited for it to wilt so she could finally let go too.
It didn’t.
Weeks passed. Then months.
On a quiet afternoon, exactly a year after Jay had left, there was a knock at her door.
She opened it without thinking.
Jay stood there, older somehow - broader shoulders, tired eyes - but unmistakably him. He looked past her immediately, to the windowsill.
“You kept them.” He said softly.
Y/N crossed her arms. “I thought you were playing around,” she replied. Her voice didn’t shake, even though her hands did. “Looks like you won.”
Jay didn’t smile.
He stepped inside, walked straight to the vase, and gently lifted the last rose out of the water. He turned it in his fingers, then pressed his thumb against a petal.
It didn’t bend.
Y/N frowned.
Jay finally looked at her, something raw and nervous breaking through his calm. “I never said all of them were real.”
Silence settled heavy between them.
“I told you I'd stop loving you when the last flower died,” he continued quietly. “I just didn’t tell you that one of them never would.”
Y/N stared at the rose - perfect, untouched by time - and then at Jay, who had come back anyway.
Some promises, she realised too late, weren’t meant to end.
Chapter 6: Pretend
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They’d been best friends for so long that no one remembered when it started.
Sunoo had slipped into her life quietly - sitting beside her during lunch, sharing earphones on bus rides, laughing too loudly over things that weren’t that funny. Somewhere between late-night messages and inside jokes no one else understood, he became constant. Too constant.
She told herself that’s all it was.
From the outside, they looked effortless. Sunoo with his bright smile teasing comments, always dramatic when she ignored him. Her rolling her eyes but never moving away when he leaned in closer than necessary.
Best friends.
That's what everyone called them. That’s what they corrected people with.
But best friends weren’t supposed to feel like this.
Sunoo noticed first.
He noticed the way his chest tightened whenever she talked about someone else, the way his smile faltered just for a second before he masked it. He noticed how he always reached for her hand without thinking, how wrong it felt when she wasn’t beside him. He told himself it was just protectiveness. Just a habit.
Until one day, she didn’t wait for him.
She left early, laughing with someone else, and Sunoo stood there holding two drinks - one of them already melting. That’s when it hit him. Sharp and undeniable.
He didn’t want to be just her best friend.
She realized later that night.
They were sitting on her bed, shoulders brushing as usual, scrolling through old photos on his phone. Years of memories. Sleepovers. Selfies where they were pressed too close to be platonic. She laughed, then stopped when she noticed the way he was looking at her - not playful, not teasing.
Quiet. Soft. Almost scared.
“Sunoo?” She asked.
He swallowed. “Do you ever feel like we’re…pretending?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Pretending what?”
“That this is all we are.”
The silence that followed was heavy, fragile. She could hear her own heartbeat. Everything she’d been pushing down, rose to the surface all at once - the jealousy, the longing, the way his presence felt like home.
“I thought,” she whispered, “If we stayed best friends, I wouldn’t risk losing you.”
Sunoo laughed softly, not amused. “I think I’ve been losing myself instead.”
She reached for him before she could think better of it. His hand fit into hers like it always had - like it was meant to. This time, neither of them pulled away.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t rushed. It was careful. Years of unspoken feelings poured into something gentle and sure. When they finally rested their foreheads together, Sunoo smiled - the real one, the warm one he saved for her.
“So,” he murmured. “Still best friends?”
She smiled back, tears threatening. “Yeah. Just…with love now.”
And somehow, that felt like the most natural thing in the world.