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

Chapter 89: Cracks in the Constellation

I look over at him and my heart stutters a little. He's practically bouncing, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly in awe like this is the most intense drama he's ever seen.

The claw finally grips the bunny, lifts-and drops it.

He lets out the most dramatic scream of betrayal I've ever heard in my life and collapses against me like the arcade just murdered his childhood.

I'm laughing so hard I almost choke.

"You're too invested," I wheeze.

"I named him already," he moans into my shoulder. "His name was Cooky."

I ruffle his hair affectionately.

"I'll win you Cooky 2.0."

Eventually, I do.

It takes all my remaining tokens and possibly my soul, but the claw lifts the bear, glides, and-miracle of miracles-drops it into the chute.

"You did it!" he yells, snatching the bunny like it's sacred.

"You're a god among men."

He hugs the bunny, then, with a sudden flush in his cheeks, hugs me too.

Just for a second.

But long enough for me to feel the warmth of his body, the flutter in my chest, the way his hand pats my back softly before he pulls away.

"Thanks, hyung," he says, quieter now.

"Seriously."

"Anytime," I say, voice not quite steady.

We hit up the basketball hoops next.

He wipes the floor with me.

"Your form is trash," he says gleefully.

"Your mom is trash," I mutter.

"She's a saint."

We're both breathless by the end, sweaty, laughing, ridiculous.

At some point, I start calling him bun, and he doesn't even blink.

He calls me TaeTae, despite being younger. I threaten to unfriend him. He tries to boop my nose.

It's chaos. Glorious, unfiltered chaos.

There's a dancing game in the corner, the kind where arrows flash and you have to stomp them in time.

Jungkook dares me. I accept.

By the end, we're gasping for air, bent over and laughing so hard our sides hurt.

People clap. I think we might've started a mini flash mob.

Eventually, we collapse onto one of those beat-up couches in the back, sipping on ice-cold sodas and watching other kids duel it out on the machines.

We don't talk much, and we don't need to. It's the kind of silence that doesn't ask for anything. It just is.

I glance at our hands-mine resting on the armrest, his just a few inches away.

Close enough to touch.
Not quite there yet.
But close.

"Hey, hyung?" he says suddenly, voice soft now, like the games and laughter drained all the volume from him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad we hang out like this."

I swallow the knot forming in my throat.

"Me too, Kook."