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

    Fanfiction

    || BTS x Reader Poly Soulmates || In a world where soulmates are confirmed with algorithms, can human connection still thrive? It's 2025, the LoveMap App promises to revolutionize how we find love. Based on intricate data, emotional intelligence, a...

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    Chapter 43: The Truth That Breaks Us ⚠️

    Start from the beginning 
                                            
    
                                                  
    Yoongi and I don't move. 
    We don't rush him.
    We just stay. 
    Pressed against him. Holding him. Surrounding him. 
    Like if we stay close enough, we can somehow protect him from the ghosts clawing their way out of his past. 
    But we can't. 
    All we can do is be here.
    All we can do is hold on. 
    His breathing is uneven, his body trembling from the sheer force of everything he's finally letting himself feel. 
    And then-He speaks. 
    And his voice-
    God.
    It's so small.
    So fragile. 
    Like a child.
    Like the boy he used to be. 
    "It got worse."
    A whisper.
    But the words land like a scream. 
    "So much worse." 
    A chill runs down my spine. 
    Yoongi's hand tightens on Taehyung's knee. His body, which has been nothing but steady, locks up. 
    "When I turned sixteen... my cousin left home." 
    A pause.
    A bitter, humorless laugh. 
    "He hated them. Resented them. He never treated me like family, but... before he left, he apologized." 
    A sharp inhale from Yoongi.
    I feel him tense beside me.
    Taehyung swallows hard. 
    "He told me he was sorry. That he should have done something. That he should have helped me." 
    The muscles in Yoongi's jaw twitch. 
    "He left that night. And after that..."
    Taehyung inhales shakily. 
    His grip on the bear tightens.
    "My uncle started drinking." 
    "Every night." 
    A sick, sinking feeling settles in my stomach. 
    "Tae." My voice barely makes it out. 
    He lets out a shaky breath.
    "And every night... he made me his punching bag."
    
                                
    
                                                      The stench of alcohol
                                
                                  
                                  
                                    
                                      
                                      
                                    
                                  
                                 
                                
    
                                
    
                                  
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                      The stench of alcohol.
                      Thick. Heavy. Suffocating. 
                      The sound of a bottle slamming
                      onto the table.
                      The sharp clink of glass
                      against wood, 
                      rattling through the silence. 
                      And then-
                      Footsteps. 
                      Slow. Unsteady.
                      The floorboards creak. 
                      A shadow in the doorway. 
                      He knows what's coming.
                      He knows.
                      But knowing doesn't make it
                      hurt any less.
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