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

Chapter 46: From Wounds To War ⚠️

I rub my eyes. "Tae... what are you doing?"

Taehyung sighs dramatically. "Noona, have you ever considered how confusing expiration dates are?"

I blink. "What."

He turns to me, completely serious.

"This milk says 'best by today.' But does that mean today at midnight? Or do I have a full 24 hours? And if it expires today, will I instantly drop dead the second I drink it?"

Yoongi, just entering the kitchen, sighs.

Without a word, he grabs the milk, drinks straight from the carton, and sets it back down.

"There. If I die, don't drink it."

Taehyung gasps. "HYUNG, YOU'RE A HERO."

Yoongi ignores him, reaching for his coffee.

I shake my head. "I give up."

Even laundry day turns into an event.

"Bear cub, where's my hoodie?" I ask, digging through the laundry pile.

Taehyung freezes.

Slowly, he turns-wearing my hoodie.
"Uh... define 'your' hoodie?"

Yoongi looks up from his laptop. "Cub. You're literally wearing it."

Taehyung tugs at the sleeves. "It's oversized. That means it belongs to everyone."

I narrow my eyes. "That's not how it works."

"Wow. The selfishness in this household," he gasps.

Yoongi sighs. "Give it back, cub."

"No. It's warm. It's mine now."

I sigh, defeated. "Fine. Why do you have to be so damn cute?"

Taehyung cheers, hugging himself in victory.

Yoongi snickers. "You're never getting that back."

Yeah. I figured.

And that's perfectly fine- as long as he's here.

We've come so far. Taehyung has come so far.

Every step, every moment, every small victory-I've watched him reclaim himself piece by piece.

He's smiling again, laughing freely, finding joy in the little things.

He's here, really here, with us.

And I am so proud of him.
We are so proud of him.

But then the night came.

The night where I saw it in his eyes.

Not just healing. Not just happiness.
But acceptance. Determination.

The quiet, unshakable resolve to stop running from the past and finally face it.

To move forward-not just in living, but in fighting.

The three of us are curled up on the couch, wrapped in the comfort of familiarity.

Wacha dozes on Yoongi's lap, her little paws twitching in sleep. Yeontan is nestled against me, warm and steady, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine.

The apartment is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside, the occasional flicker of headlights against the window, the soft rustle of blankets as we shift, breathe, exist.

Taehyung hasn't spoken in a while.

There's something about the way he's sitting-shoulders slightly tense, fingers absently tracing the fabric of the couch-that tells me whatever's on his mind has been sitting there for a while, waiting for the right moment to surface.