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

Chapter 91: The Weight of Fate

"Like it physically hurt to hear it."

There was a long pause.

"He cried," I said finally.
All of them looked up at that.

"He cried because he feels like he's betraying everyone. Like no matter what he does, someone gets hurt. He's still so in love with his boyfriend... but he feels this bond, too. And it's tearing him apart."

Taehyung's voice broke through the silence.

"But he chose him."

I didn't answer right away.

Then, gently-

"He didn't choose against you. He's just... trying to hold on to something he built. Something that's been his for ten years."

Ten years.
The words hit the room like a soft blow.

"Jesus," Joon murmured.

I turned to Oppa, then Yoongi.

"He knows all of you by name. He's been looking at our profiles. Reading our messages."

Yoongi blinked. "Even mine?"

"Yours especially," I said.

"He said our messages made him feel happiness and sadness at the same time. That we made him want to write back even when he didn't know what to say."

Jin oppa leaned back against the couch, lips pressed together.

"He said I made him feel seen," I added.

Taehyung's voice was soft. "You did."

Silence again.

"I told him," I said, looking around at all of them.

"That none of us hate him. That we're hurt, yes, but not angry. That the bond is loud, but it's not a prison. That we just want him to feel safe, to understand, to be understood."

"And did he?" Namjoon asked.

I nodded. "I think so."

Yoongi's voice was low.

"Did he say anything about... coming back?"

"No promises," I said, and watched the flicker of hope fall in Taehyung's eyes.

"But he said he wants to understand. He wants to try."

Taehyung swallowed hard.

Jin oppa touched my shoulder.
"And what about you?" he asked.

"How are you feeling?"

I laughed softly-just once.

"Like I met someone whose soul knew mine before either of us did."

"And still," I added, quieter now,

"I'll let him go if it means he gets to be happy."

There were tears in Taehyung's eyes now. Not falling-but there. Quiet. Waiting.

He leaned forward, his forehead pressing gently to my knee.

"I'm glad it was you," he whispered.

"That you were the one to see him first."

I reached down, threading my fingers gently through his hair.

"Me too," I whispered back.

The silence lingered like soft smoke, curling in the corners of the room, delicate and full of meaning.