Stigma Love's Algorithm [ A BTS x Reader Poly ]

Chapter 39: Drowning in Absence ⚠️

My chest tightens. "He's not ignoring us because he doesn't care."

"I know." He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. "That's what makes it worse."

I reach up, brushing my fingers through his hair. "Yoongi, whatever's going on with Tae-he's not alone."

Yoongi exhales through his nose. "Then why does it feel like he is?"

I don't have an answer to that.

So I just hold him, letting his silence say everything his words won't.

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Day 10

It's raining.

It's the kind that makes everything feel slower, heavier. The kind that keeps you inside, wrapped in blankets, staring out the window and thinking about things you don't want to think about.

And here we are inside with Yoongi slipping into silence.

And I hate it.

He still kisses me good morning, still holds me close at night, but something about him feels absent-like his mind is always somewhere else.

Like his mind is always with him.

I try not to take it personally.

But it still aches.

He sits on the couch, one leg pulled up against his chest, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his knee.

His phone is on the coffee table, face down, untouched.

That worries me more than anything.

"Baby," I start softly, nudging my knee against his.

His gaze flicks to me, distant. "Hm?"

I hesitate. "You're quiet."

He shifts, dragging a hand down his face. "Just tired."

It's a lie.

I can see it in the way his shoulders are hunched, in the way his fingers tighten around his phone.

"You're shutting me out," I say quietly.

His jaw clenches. "I'm not."

"You are."

He doesn't say anything.

I reach for his hand, curling my fingers around his wrist, feeling the warmth of his pulse. "I know you're hurting."

"Yoongs, Talk to me." He doesn't look at me.

Yoongi exhales sharply, closing his eyes. "I just-" His voice falters.

And when he opens his eyes again, I see it.

The frustration. The helplessness. The fear.

"He's never done this before, Y/N," he whispers. "Not like this."

I tighten my grip on him. "I know."

"What if-" He stops himself, inhaling sharply. His fingers twitch beneath mine. "What if something's really wrong?"

The question hangs between us, suffocating.

I don't answer. Because I don't have an answer.

So instead, I lean in and press my lips to his forehead.

"I'm scared too," I murmur.

He stares ahead, voice low. "What if he needs help but doesn't know how to ask for it?"