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

CHAPTER 129: An Empty Tree

Tannie’s still curled on the cushion beside me, tiny body trembling with the weight of a house that doesn’t know how to hold itself anymore.

Bam hasn’t lifted his head from the hallway.

Wacha is tucked in the corner of the table like even she doesn’t want to be seen.

I close my eyes and count.

One, two—
A chair scrapes against the floor.

The sound is sharp.

I open my eyes just in time to see Kook.

His hands still shaking. His chest rising and falling like the air's not staying down.

He's standing there like a statue someone forgot to finish carving.

Then he blinks—once, slow.
And I know that look.

I know it like I know the shape of my own shadow.

It’s the one he wore when his mom got sick.

When the weight was too heavy and he didn’t know how to hold it anymore.

He doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t look at anyone.

He just grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and storms toward the door like the air is too thick for him to breathe.

“Kook—” I’m on my feet instantly.

He yanks the door open, the wind rushing in like a slap.

“Jungkook!” Jimin calls after him.

Tae’s already halfway down the hall behind him. “Kook, wait—!”

He doesn’t.
The door slams behind him this time.

The echo slices through the room like glass.

For one second, no one breathes.
Then we all rush out.

I’m first down the porch steps, barefoot, heart in my throat.

I drop Yeontan to the cushion and chase him, Jimin and Tae right behind me.

The night air hits like a slap. Cold. Sharp.
Kook’s already down across the driveway, hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging.

“Wait—!” Tae shouts.

“Kook, slow down!” I try.

But he’s not running to get somewhere.
He’s running to leave something behind.
That kind of run is harder to catch.

Kook doesn’t even turn around.
He’s already halfway down the street.

His hood’s up, fists jammed into his jacket, legs moving like he’s trying to outrun everything—us, himself, the guilt dragging behind him like chains.

“Hyung, he’s not stopping,” Tae pants beside me, frustrated.

We all try.
Me. Jimin. Tae.

We sprint, barefoot and breathless, but he’s gone by the time we hit the sidewalk.

Just a black figure swallowed by streetlight shadows.

Tae’s the first to stop.

“Dammit,” he growls, hands on his knees. “He’s fast when he’s hurting.”

I bend over, catching my breath. “He’s fast because he’s hurting.”

“Let him go,” Jimin says finally, breathing hard.

Tae swears under his breath. “...but shouldn't we go after him more?”

I hesitate.

“No. He doesn’t want to be followed right now. We’ll just make it worse.”