Requested by: @j1c1c666
"Hello! Could you please do something about the reader and Sieun having an established relationship, but Sieun being insecure about being a good boyfriend since he has trouble expressing his feelings, is not romantic and physically affectionate (I'm sorry if it's a bit confusing, English is not my native language)"
A/N: what I came up for this was not at all kinda like the request and I'm really sorry for that but I really suck at angst stuff and I usually don't write it but I hope you enjoy this anyway.
Title: What's the use of feeling?
Pairings: Si-eun x Reader
Warnings: angsty(?) except I'm terrible at writing sad stuff so not really angst.
You never expected a whole year to pass so quietly, so completely.
Yeon Si-eun was not the kind of boyfriend who overwhelmed you with gestures or elaborate words. He didn’t light up rooms or turn heads, but he knew how to look at you like the world made sense when you were near. He didn’t say “I love you” often, but when he held your hand, you felt it. Steady and unshakable.
You couldn’t have asked for more, except lately, things had started to feel off.
It started about a month ago when you and Baku had started spending more time together—at first with others around, but soon it turned into just the two of you. Studying turned into coffee. Coffee turned into movies. He even came over once to help hang some shelves in your room.
You hadn’t thought much of it at first. Baku was loud, brash, and borderline ridiculous, but he had energy. The kind that dragged people into spontaneous ideas and stupid bets. The kind that made even the dullest afternoon feel like something might happen.
He made things change. Si-eun was the first to notice.
He never asked. Never complained. But you saw the subtle changes—how he stopped checking in before bed, how he responded with just one word when you texted. How he started avoiding you between classes, like he couldn’t think of anything to say.
You tried not to overthink it.
But then, the week leading up to your anniversary, he didn’t reach out at all.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
It was Friday evening when you heard the doorbell.
You weren’t expecting anyone. You padded to the door, hands still streaked with paint from the banner you were making.
When you opened it and your breath caught. It was Si-eun.
His coat was damp from the drizzle outside. Hair slightly mussed. He didn’t say anything—just stood there, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to make sense of being there at all.
You blinked. “Si-eun?”
He gave a shallow nod. “I was nearby.”
You stepped aside instinctively. “Do you want to come in?”
His eyes flicked past your shoulder—into the warm glow of the living room, where bags of decorations and empty snack wrappers lay strewn about. There was still an open box of party favors on the floor.
Then another voice rang out.
“Did you find the scissors? I think I packed them with the balloons—wait, never mind, got them!”
Baku.
Si-eun’s jaw barely moved, but his posture changed. Subtle. A shift of the shoulders. A stiffness in the way he stood.
You felt your stomach drop. “It’s not what it looks like.”
He didn’t respond.
“Si-eun, please—”
He turned.
You grabbed his wrist without thinking. “Wait.”
He stopped. Didn’t look at you.
Your voice dropped. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He stayed silent, but you could hear the air shift—like something was building inside him. Not anger, but something worse. Hurt. Something he didn’t want to show but couldn’t hide completely.
“You’ve been distant,” you said. “Not just this week. Before that. Ever since Baku and I started hanging out."
Nothing.
“You think something’s going on between us, don’t you?”
Finally, he turned his head. Just enough to meet your gaze.
"He's so—energetic. I'm nothing like him. He's outgoing, He makes you laugh, he's even at your house more than I am. I'm sorry I couldn't be better—for you or for myself. I understand if you don't wanna do this anymore—us. Just—"
His eyes weren’t angry. Just tired. Worn down by whatever thoughts had been eating at him.
“Why him?” he asked. Flat. Quiet.
The words hit harder than if he’d yelled.
“Because,” you said carefully, “he’s been helping me plan something.”
Still no reaction.
You took a breath. “Our one-year anniversary. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
A pause.
“I wanted to do something special for you.”
His eyes dropped to the floor.
“All the movies. The time at his place. The late texts. It was all for this. For you.”
You hesitated, then stepped closer. “I should’ve told you. I didn’t think it would bother you this much. I didn’t think you’d ever think I’d choose someone else.”
He didn’t answer.
But the silence was louder now—less like absence, more like holding back.
You reached for his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… stay. Come inside.”
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then slowly, he stepped past you.
The living room looked like a construction site for chaos. Half-inflated balloons. Banner letters scattered across the floor. You’d even tried to bake earlier—burnt cookies sat on the counter like small disasters.
Si-eun stood in the middle of it, scanning everything with that same unreadable face.
“It’s not finished,” you said. “It was supposed to be a surprise tomorrow, but...”
You trailed off.
He was staring at the table.
A hoodie lay folded neatly, with his initials and yours embroidered on it. It had taken you a week to get it done. You weren’t even sure he’d wear something like that. But it felt right.
You moved beside him. “I thought you might like something small. Personal.”
Still no words.
He reached out and touched the fabric. Not like someone checking a gift—but like someone confirming it was real.
“I know I spend time with Baku,” you said. “And maybe it looked like something. But I never once thought about him like that. It’s always been you, so what's the use of feeling so blue about it?"
His shoulders eased, barely noticeable. But you felt it.
You nudged him gently. “You don’t have to say anything.”
He didn’t.
But when you looked up, his hand was already reaching for yours.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Later that night, you sat on the couch together in the middle of the mess. He hadn’t spoken much since, but he hadn’t let go of your hand either. His thumb moved against yours slowly, like he was still grounding himself in the moment.
You rested your head on his shoulder. “Are we okay?”
A long silence.
Then a single "Mmhm."
You smiled, even if he didn’t see it. “Next time, just ask me. Don’t hold it in.”
He didn’t answer.
But after a moment, his hand tightened around yours.
And that was enough.
A/N: again I'm sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind I'm just trying my best to get stories out.
