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

Chapter 91: The Weight of Fate

Behind us, in the kitchen, a faint sound-quiet feet across polished wood.

I didn't turn around.
I didn't have to.

I knew his walk by heart. The way he moved-deliberate, light, like music that hadn't been written down yet.

"Kook...baby" he said softly, and my heart clenched.

He stopped just behind me. I could feel his warmth even though he didn't touch me yet.

Just stood there for a beat.

Two.

Letting the air stretch between us like something fragile.

"What's going on with you lately?" he asked, voice low and careful.

"You've been here, but not really here."

I swallowed. My jaw tightened. "Just tired."

It came out flat.
Useless.

A half-truth that tasted like ash.
He didn't buy it. Of course he didn't.

His next words were softer, slower.

"Is it about the LoveMap app?"

And I froze.
Still. Completely.

I couldn't lie anymore.
Not to him.
I'd never been able to.

"...You saw it."

He nodded. I heard it more than saw it. Just the faint shift of breath and movement.

"One of your notifications popped up while I was filming. You left your phone on the counter. You were in the shower."

There was no accusation in his voice.
Just grief.

"I didn't mean to look," he added, almost whispering.

"It was just a second. But... I saw the names. Jin. Yoongi. The phrase 'Passionate Connection Phase'."

He let out a breath that shook slightly on the end.

"Is it... You activated it?"

I pressed my hands to my face.

I tried to get my words out but my lungs clutched my breath like It wanted to suffocate me.

He continues.

"...Are-Are they-Are they-your-your soul-your soulmates?"

His voice. His pain. His grief chokes me. Stabs me. Rips me apart, torns my soul.

I hurt him. I've hurt him.
I've been hurting him.

But he deserves an answer.

"...Yeah." I exhaled. Roughly.
My fingers trembling in my lap.

And then Silence.

Not the kind that means anger.
Worse.

The kind that means grief.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

he asked, and I heard the break in it.
Small. Quiet. But real.

"I didn't know how,"

I said, finally turning to look at him.
And when I did, it nearly ruined me.

Because he was still beautiful.
Still trying.

His dark eyes were wide and glossy, rimmed in silver from the city lights.

His mouth was set, but soft.

His shoulders-strong, familiar, the same ones that carried me through my worst days-were drawn tight with tension he didn't want me to see.

"You always tell me," he whispered.