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

Chapter 105: Seven Idiots and a Star

But no Jimin.
The pang sharpens, quiet but insistent.

And then, like a ghost brushing past my shoulder, a memory flickers,

-Flashback, Last Night-

Jimin, standing at the door, one hand on the handle, his eyes wide and soft and shimmering in the dim light.

"Thank you so much...for welcoming me into your home," he said, voice trembling slightly, smile apologetic but certain.

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

Tae had nodded, whispering, "No rush."

Yoongi had mumbled, "We'll be right here."

Jin oppa had squeezed his hand once, fierce and reassuring, before letting go.

And we watched him slip away into the night, our hearts tethered to his retreating silhouette.

Because love-real love-waits.
Love understands.
Love doesn't rush what's sacred.

-Present-

I curl my knees to my chest, feeling the soft tug of longing in my ribs.

Hearing Tae's sleepy little whimper as he burrows deeper into his pillow makes me smile through the ache.

Across the room, Oppa's leaned against the door of the balcony now, arms folded, sipping his coffee with that same faraway look I know I'm wearing too.

Yoongi stirs, pushing the blanket down to his chin and blinking at me blearily.

"He's not here," he says, voice hoarse with sleep, but sure.

I nod, swallowing.

"It's too soon...I understand that," Namjoon mutters from somewhere in his starfish sprawl, not even lifting his head.

"We knew he was it'd be too soon," Hobi says around a yawn, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Kookie lifts his face from the rug, hair sticking up like a dandelion, blinking like he doesn't understand why the world is still spinning without Jimin in it.

"But I miss him already," he pouts, sounding about five years old and heartbreakingly sincere.

Yoongi sighs, long and low.
"Same, kid."

I pull the blanket tighter around myself, feeling the weight of it, the weight of us.

All of us carrying a piece of him already.

Tae mumbles something incoherent into his pillow and then, without warning, rolls over and flings an arm across my waist.

I laugh quietly, running my fingers through his hair, and he hums like a contented cat.

"I dreamed about him," Tae says, voice thick with sleep.

"He was dancing. Like he was made of stars."

There's a collective ache that hums through the room.

Soft. Quiet. But alive.

Yoongi finally sits up, Wacha immediately relocating to his lap with a put-upon sigh.

"I say we wait a few hours," he grumbles, scratching behind her ears.

"And then we shamelessly bombard him with memes and cat pictures," Hobi grins.

"And puppy videos," Kook adds, already reaching for his phone.

"And bad dad jokes," Joon says, smirking. "Jin hyung's specialty."