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

Chapter 130: The House That Waited

The way she pulls away during arguments but never too far, always close enough for me to find her again.

The pieces of us stitched through every inch of that house like a secret love letter only we can read.

Her.
All of her.

She’s the storm and the stillness.
The reason I want to be better.
The reason I know I can be.

I close my eyes.
And I hear it.
All of it.

And suddenly it's not just me I’m worried about.

Someone’s watching us.
I pocket the phone. Grip it tight.

They’ll look at me differently.
I know that.

Maybe I deserve it.
But I’d rather be seen—and loved—than keep running from the truth

It’s not just her I’m afraid to face.
It’s her I want to protect.

And Yoongi hyung.
And Hobi hyung.
And Tae hyung.

It's all of them. All of my hyungs.
My noona. My soulmates.
The people I'd fight the world for just to keep each and everyone of them safe and happy.

Because love isn’t something you disappear from.
Love is something you stay and fight for.
Especially when it gets hard.

For the first time in three days, I feel the pull back home—not just for her, not just for the apology still burning in my throat, but because I know now,

Whatever I broke that night wasn’t the only thing cracking.

Something deeper. More dangerous.
And we’re too busy bleeding to see it.

I stand.
Turn my face toward the direction of home.

It’s time.
Not just to ask for forgiveness.

But to protect what I almost let fall apart.
Because love may be fragile…
But it’s still worth fighting for.

_______________________________

Y/N’s POV

It’s been four days.
Four sunrises without him.

Four nights of checking the swing, the hallway, the riverside.

Four days of reaching for my phone, hoping for a text. A location ping. A missed call. Anything.

But nothing comes.

The only thing that does is the slow, creeping worry that maybe this time…
He doesn’t want to be found.

The house is quiet again tonight. Not the soft quiet of sleep or safety—this one is heavier.

A kind of silence that settles between people and makes the air taste like questions no one wants to say out loud.

I’m curled up in the corner of the couch, Wacha in my lap, my knees tucked under Jin oppa’s throw blanket.

She’s barely moved since I sat down. Neither have I.

The others are scattered through the house like ghosts wearing the shape of my soulmates.

Namjoon sits on the floor by the fireplace, legs crossed, journal open in his lap.

But the pen in his hand hasn’t moved in over twenty minutes. His glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Yoongi’s at the table, laptop glowing, a stream of backend code reflected in his eyes.

His fingers fly across the keyboard—but his jaw is set too tight. He hasn’t blinked in a while.