𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄; boysnextdoor

happy endings ; riwoo

"Why do your characters always end up miserable?" Riwoo asked, setting his guitar down with a soft thud. His voice carried an air of curiosity laced with frustration, but Y/N barely looked up from her notebook.

"It's not misery," she murmured, scribbling something on the corner of her page. "It's realism. Not everyone gets a happy ending."

Riwoo huffed, slumping into the beanbag chair in her room. His hair was still slightly damp from the earlier rain, a stray droplet slipping down his temple. "Realism or not, don't you ever get tired of writing heartbreaks and misunderstandings? Would it kill you to let your characters be happy for once?"

Y/N paused, her pen hovering mid-air, before resuming her writing. "It's not that simple."

He groaned dramatically. "Come on, Y/N. You used to love happy endings. What happened to the girl who would squeal at every romance movie's cheesy last kiss?"

She froze for a second before setting the pen down. Leaning back in her chair, she looked at him for the first time that evening. "I grew up, Riwoo."

But even as she said it, her heart felt heavy. She wasn't always like this. She used to believe in happily ever afters too.

When Y/N was twelve, she wrote her first story. It was about two kids who built a treehouse together and promised to be best friends forever. It ended with them sitting in the treehouse, watching the stars, their bond unshakable.

Her teacher had called it "heartwarming" and her parents had beamed with pride. Y/N remembered how her best friend, Riwoo, had read it aloud in his over-the-top dramatic voice, giving each character their own flair.

"See? This is what I mean!" he exclaimed now, snapping her out of her reverie. "You used to write stories that made people feel good. What changed?"

Y/N didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood up, walked over to her bookshelf, and pulled out an old journal. She handed it to Riwoo wordlessly.

He opened it, flipping through pages filled with neat handwriting and occasional doodles in the margins. Then he stopped at a page where the ink was slightly smudged, as if someone had closed the journal too quickly after crying.

The story was about a girl who fell in love with her best friend but never told him. She spent years watching him date other people, silently yearning for him. In the end, she moved away, leaving a single letter that he found too late.

"Is this..." Riwoo's voice faltered as he read the last line.

"It's just a story," Y/N said quickly, taking the journal back. Her tone was defensive, almost too quick.

Riwoo wasn't convinced. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Y/N, this isn't just a story. Is it?"

She turned away, pretending to busy herself with rearranging her pens. "Why does it matter?"

"Because it feels personal. Did... something happen?"

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, Riwoo thought she wouldn't answer. But then she sighed, sitting down at the edge of her bed.

"When I was fourteen," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I wrote a story about a girl and a boy who were best friends. They promised to always be there for each other, no matter what. It ended with them growing up and falling in love."

Riwoo nodded, his curiosity piqued.

"It was my favorite story," she continued. "But then... real life didn't go the way I thought it would. The boy I wrote about didn't notice the girl the same way. He liked someone else, and she was left behind."