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

Chapter 108: Confessions, Cranes & Cosmic Chaos

"Galaxy hopping," I whisper, tugging the blanket up.

"Huh. Did you bring snacks?"

I chuckle, my arm brushing Jimin hyung's as he shifts between us, warm and soft and radiant even in half-sleep.

The three of us settle-me, Taehyung hyung, and Hobi hyung flanking Jimin hyung like puzzle pieces, Yeontan snoring softly at our feet, Wacha blinking at us from her throne.

And for a moment, I swear the house breathes with us.

Soft. Full. Alive.
A universe inside these walls.

And in the middle of it?
Us.

___________________________

Its 4am, almost at the crack of dawn.

Soft breathing from the living room-Yoongi hyung still curled around Y/N noona, Hobi hyung mumbling in his sleep about camera angles, Jimin hyung nestled between them like he belongs there because he does.

The moonlight slants through the high windows, mixing with the leftover amber glow from the floor lamp.

Wacha has claimed the armrest of the couch like a queen on her velvet throne, tail curled with elegance, eyes narrowed in disapproval at anyone who dares disturb the peace.

Tannie after completing what I can only assume was a very serious midnight security check of the house perimeter, is now curled up like a loaf of grumpy judgment by the glass doors-nose twitching in his sleep, ears flicking as if still on duty.

I should be asleep.

The warmth of the shared couch, the rhythmic rise and fall of Hobi hyung's breathing beside me, Jin hyung's arm slack across the cushions-it should've been enough to pull me under.

But I glanced over and saw the empty space where Taehyung hyung was, the blanket half-folded, his sketchbook missing.

And just as I began to sit up-just as my brain sparked with the beginnings of a worry I didn't want to name-

I felt it.
That subtle pull.
That gentle gravity that only he has.

Taehyung hyung.

It's not loud.
Not urgent.

Just... inevitable.

The kind of tug you don't resist, because it feels like the world calling you back to where you belong.

So I follow it.

I move through the quiet, passing the living room shadows, feet brushing cool marble, heart already beating faster than I'd like to admit.

And then I see it.

The glow spilling out of the sunroom like a secret invitation.

A soft, golden light stretching warm fingers across the floor, reaching out in welcome.

I step closer.
And there he is.

Same spot.
Same light.
Same magic.

Only now the sketchbook is resting on the floor beside him, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

He's sitting cross-legged, eyes on the stars scattered outside the window-like they're speaking to him and he's trying to remember their language.

Looking like some cozy prince from a fairytale.

The starlight catches in his hair, brushes the slope of his nose, turns the world around him soft and infinite.

Like the stars came down and rearranged themselves just to paint him into the night.