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

Chapter 103: Where Gravity Turns to Poetry

"Who is this guy?" I breathe, eyes locked on the screen.

"He's not just a dancer. He's a whole-ass experience."

"He's an emotion with abs," Jungkook says.

"He's... home," Tae says softly.

And we all go quiet.
Because we feel it too.

That pull.
That magnetic hum in our chests.
The unmistakable click of recognition.

Even though we haven't met him.
Even though we haven't touched him yet.

He's already part of us.

The screen fades to black.
The studio fills with the sound of us breathing.

And then Yoongi-who's been so still the whole time-just whispers,

"We need to meet him."

"Already ahead of you," Tae says smugly, flopping into his gaming chair like a king on his throne.

"I emailed his manager after I stopped screaming. His name is Lee Hyun. Cool guy. Thinks I'm crazy, but also a genius. They agreed to meet in two days."

The room erupts.

"YOU'RE MEETING HIS MANAGER?!" I screech.

"WITHOUT US?!" Jungkook shrieks, scandalized.

"I'm bringing snacks!" Hobi yells. "I have to meet this dancer!"

"We need a family plan," Joon says calmly, already pulling out his planner.

"Rotation schedule. Emotional support lineup."

"Tae, don't you dare keep this man to yourself," Yoongi growls,

"I will launch a coordinated cuddle intervention."

Tae raises both hands. "I'm just meeting the manager. But... maybe he'll be there."

Everyone freezes.
Our eyes all flick toward the screen.

The dancer's image is still there.
Smirking like he knows we're watching.

"What if he is?" I whisper.

And then Tae smiles.

That slow, secretive smile he gets when something in the universe makes sense for the first time.

"His name's Park Jimin."

And in that moment, every heartbeat in the room stutters into something new.

Our eighth soulmate has a name.

And it's Park Jimin.

_____________________________

The smell of garlic and butter hits me before I even round the corner to the kitchen.

And I know.
I know he's back.

The humming gives it away first-deep, melodic, and just a bit dramatic like he's performing for a pretend studio audience.

Then I see him.

Kim Seokjin, my Jinnie oppa, in grey sweatpants and a loose white tee, barefoot, sleeves rolled up as he stands by the stove flipping what looks like a giant garlic pancake.

His hair's still tousled from sleep, the back sticking up in a cute mess, and his apron says 'Kiss the Chef (He's a God)' like he didn't buy that himself.

He's softly swaying to music only he can hear, lips curled into a self-satisfied smile like he just single-handedly saved a nation with breakfast.

I don't announce myself.