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

Chapter 102: Choreographed by Fate

Y/N, with her unwavering warmth.

Tae, bright and soft and full of soul.

Kook, relentless and free and filled with admiration.

Hobi, full of light and love and hope.

And me.
I never thought I'd feel this much.
Didn't know my heart had room for it.

But it's them.

They light up the rooms I hide in.
They reach for me even when I don't know I need reaching.

They see me. They love me.

And I...
God, I love them so much it aches.

I glance down at our joined hands, and Hobi's thumb starts tracing gentle circles over my skin-slow and grounding, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Yoongi hyung," he says, soft enough to barely hear.

"I'm really glad fate led me to all of you. That no matter what... we're here. Staying. Living. Loving."

And just like that, my heart clenches.
He means it. Every word.

There's no big performance in his voice, no dramatics. Just truth.

I don't say anything back.
I just lean in, press my forehead gently against his temple, and close my eyes.

Because sometimes love doesn't need words.

Sometimes, it just needs the quiet.
The closeness.
The knowing.

The music changes.

She dares to choose herself.
And the world unravels.

The stage turns colder.
The other dancers retreat.

She reaches for her love-he's dragged away.

Her parents return as ghostly figures in formalwear, pointing, judging, condemning.

Her costume is ripped, her hair loose. She's no longer the polished symbol. She's raw.

And Jia's music?
It breaks.

It's violent and beautiful and full of rage.
It's everything she was never allowed to say-screaming through the piano.

I feel something deep in my chest begin to ache.

"She's not just playing this," I whisper. "She's living it."

And then comes the moment I'll never forget.

The ballerina collapses.
Not delicately. Not artistically.
She breaks.

Her body hits the floor, and for a moment, there is no movement. No music.

Just... stillness.
A void.

And then-
Jia begins again.

Slow. Bare.
Just her and the piano.

A melody that feels like starting over.

The ballerina rises.
She doesn't dance for anyone this time.

Not the audience.
Not her parents.
Not even her lover.

She dances for herself.

Her movements are wide.

Free. Wild.
Like wind over water.

And as she spins one final time, arms stretched wide, head thrown back-
The stage fades to black.

The last note rings out-haunting and holy.

Silence falls.

And I swear, in that stillness...
You can hear freedom breathe.