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

Chapter 108: Confessions, Cranes & Cosmic Chaos

Jungkook's POV

The house is quiet.

The kind of quiet that feels sacred.
Not empty, not eerie-just... full.

Full of sleep-heavy breaths, tangled limbs, the warmth of soulmates slumped together in soft piles on oversized couches and beds that seem to multiply when no one's looking.

A single floor lamp in the living room glows like a secret-dim, honey-colored, painting shadows against the high walls and catching in the curve of wine glasses left half-finished.

Someone's playlist is still running in the background-muted jazz, lo-fi, something soft and strange, like the inside of a dream.

I move slowly through the silence, barefoot, hoodie loose around my shoulders, water bottle in hand, fresh from the kitchen after hours of gaming, pasta, and failing miserably at keeping Hobi hyung from eating spicy chips with almond milk.

"It's dairy!" he'd said. "It cancels it out!"

"You're going to cancel your insides," Jimin muttered, unimpressed, tossing him a banana instead.

Most of them are asleep now.

Yoongi hyung and Y/N noona are curled into each other like commas on the long couch, her face buried in his chest, one of her curls wrapped gently around his finger like he couldn't help himself.

Jin hyung's sprawled in an armchair with Joonie hyung's head on his thigh, glasses crooked and a book fallen flat on his stomach.

Jimin hyung's half-tucked under Hobi hyung's arm, limbs tangled, both of them breathing slow, Yeontan draped dramatically across their feet like a furry little king.

Wacha, of course, is perched on the windowsill. Regal. Unbothered. Judging.

Eyes half-lidded, tail flicking every few seconds like she's tolerating our presence because she has a mortgage here.

I take another sip of water.
Start to head back upstairs.

But then I see it.

Soft gold spilling from the far corner of the house-past the open glass doors that lead into the sun room-slash art studio space Taehyung hyung claimed as his own months ago.

Not because it was assigned to him, but because it just... became his.

Like most beautiful things do when Taehyung's involved.

I step closer, careful not to let the floorboards creak.

And there he is.
Taehyung hyung.

Curled up on the floor, sketchbook open on his knees, one bare foot tucked beneath him.

His oversized sweater-probably Joonie hyung's, from the way the sleeves swallow his hands-slips off one shoulder, collarbone catching the light.

A pencil's tucked behind his ear, and his tongue pokes out a little in concentration, his curls wild from where he's run his hands through them too many times.

He doesn't see me.
Doesn't hear me.
He's in another world.

On the page?
Yeontan.
In a tiny astronaut helmet.

Floating beside a rocket shaped vaguely like a banana.

My heart twists so hard it almost knocks the air out of me.

Because it's adorable.
It's ridiculous.

And it's so him-so heartbreakingly Tae hyung, I almost forget to breathe.