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

Chapter 87: Plants, Pinkies & Paper Cranes

"I'm I-yeah," he whispered.

"It's the Soulmate pull," I gently said,

"I felt it with all the others too. With Yoongi hyung, Y/N noona, Jin hyung, and Joon hyung"

He looked at me for a long moment, like I was something he was trying to solve.

And then, quieter than before

"I-I'm not sure what to do it with yet"

That broke my heart a little.

But I didn't show it. I just smiled, warm and steady.

"it's okay. No rush. let me be brave for both of us. I'm your hyung you know. You can trust me."

And for the first time, he smiled.

Small. Barely there. But real.

Like a crack in the ice.

We stood there-surrounded by mist and leaves and the breath of something new.

Not quite touching. Not quite strangers.

Everything trembling on the edge of becoming.

He's still calculating.
Still weighing if this is safe.

So I go for humor. Always humor.

It's what's kept me alive longer than I should've been.

What kept the bruises from spreading to my spirit, even when they bloomed across my skin.

"Okay," I say, standing up and brushing invisible dust from my pants.

"First question-how adventurous are you when it comes to vending machine drinks?"

Jungkook blinks at me like I've short-circuited.

I reach into the machine, punch in the code I already memorized, and wait.

The machine whirs like a reluctant dragon and spits out a pale yellow can with a cartoon banana doing yoga on the label.

"Banana-cinnamon oat milk," I say, offering it with both hands like a peace offering.

"Trust me. Hits different in winter. It's weird. You'll hate it. Or maybe you'll get addicted and I'll feel personally responsible."

He looks at the can, then back at me. He doesn't reach for it at first.

"It's not poisoned," I tease gently, pouting when he still hesitates. "Come on. It's not like I'm asking for a drop of blood."

He sighs softly-just enough to fog the air between us-and takes the can.

Victory.

He cracks the lid and sniffs it like a suspicious cat.

I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch. He takes a sip, tentative. Then... another.

And then-barely there-a smile.

Small. Quick. But real.

My chest does something funny. Like a balloon caught on a rising breeze.

"See?" I grin.

"Told you. Gourmet in a can. Michelin-star vending machine right here."

He doesn't laugh.
But he doesn't leave either.

I sit again, cross-legged.

He mirrors me this time, settling on the cushion of the greenhouse across from me, his shoulders tight, arms folded loosely over his chest like he doesn't quite know where to put them.