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

Chapter 95: The Moment We Collide

Silence. Again.

"WHAT?!" Jin oppa choked.

"Since when?!" Joon gasped.

"The whole time?" Yoongi blinked rapidly.

I nodded, laughing through my tears.

"They were together. In the back. Watching everything. They didn't want to interfere. But that's how I found out because as I saw him, I felt it. That unmistakable pull of soul connection."

Tae's eyes were wide, still watery.

"He was there too?"

"Yes, baby," I whispered.

"And Hoseok... he cried for you. He celebrated for you. He smiled at me like sunshine. Like he was so proud. So happy. Because you're finally free."

"Oh my god," Namjoon muttered.

"He's our soulmate. And he's Hoseok."

"He's sunshine incarnate," I said.

"You're going to love him."

"I already do," Oppa whispered, eyes glassy.

"I can't wait to meet him," Yoongi added, smile soft and full.

Tae sniffled. "I want to see him."

"You will," I promised. "Soon."

They all leaned back slowly, hearts pounding, eyes shimmering.

We looked at each other-five soulmates in a living room full of comfort, a couch full of tears and laughter, a cat and a dog curled up at our feet, and the promise of more just beyond the horizon.

We were healing.
We were growing.
We were becoming whole.

And tonight?
Tonight, we got to feel it.

Because now...
we weren't just surviving.
We were thriving.

________________________________

Jungkook's POV

I was pacing.

Fast. Back and forth across the living room like it was some kind of treadmill built just for panic.

We were meeting them in an hour.
One hour.

Namjoon-hyung. Jin-hyung. Yoongi-hyung. Y/N noona. And... Tae hyung.

My chest clenched just thinking his name.

"Hyung, come on! We have to go!"

I shouted, spinning toward the hallway.

"It takes thirty minutes to get there and I still need to mentally rehearse a hundred apologies."

"I'm coming!"

Hobi hyung called from the bedroom.
His voice cracked on the last syllable.

He emerged two seconds later wearing his fifth shirt in the past fifteen minutes.

He looked perfect, obviously-stylish black jacket over a printed black shirt that clung just right, black jeans that hugged his hips, hair soft and swept back.

But his fingers were still twitching.

"I don't know if I look okay," he muttered.

"You look like the concept of a 'black swan' walked into a Dior ad," I said flatly.

He cracked a smile.

"Doesn't mean they'll like me,"
he whispered.

I stopped.
Walked straight to him.
Cradled his face in both hands.