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

Chapter 113: Motion, Emotion, Devotion

The shared glances across dance studios and living rooms and trauma.

Since his fingertips lingered too long brushing flour off my cheek that one night in Jin hyung's kitchen.

Since I caught him watching me, glassy-eyed, when I sang "Scenery" under my breath while folding laundry.

Since he left a chick plushie in my suitcase after I slept over for the first time and didn't say a word.

I watch him now, still hunched over his tablet, lips parted.

His fingers have stopped moving.
But I can see it - the storm in him.

Waiting.
Quiet.
Fiery.

I could kiss him right now.

I could say something stupid and sweet and devastating, like I think you might be my favorite part of this whole bond.

But I don't.
Not yet.

Because this?
This is our prelude.

And I want to savor every second.

So instead, I nudge his foot under the desk and smirk. "Bet I could make your trees dance."

He finally meets my gaze again - eyes dark, warm, a little dangerous.

"Oh yeah?" he says, voice lower now. "Prove it."

And just like that, the night shifts.

Not with fireworks.
Not with confessions.
But with a challenge.

A dare.
A promise.

And beneath the rain, in the glow of warm lights and pixels and art,
we begin.

_____________________

The rain hasn't stopped.

It hums against the windows in soft waves, syncing with the rise and fall of Taehyung's breath beside me.

His studio is quiet now, save for the occasional low buzz of his tablet or the lazy curl of Wacha's tail where she's made a throne of the blanket pile.

Yeontan is still curled under Tae's desk like it's his fortress, a tiny snore escaping every few minutes.

We should be tired.

We are tired.
But we're not stopping.

This has been our rhythm for weeks.
My dance. His art. Our tech.

A VR collaboration born from shared obsession - a story told through motion and light, built from empathy and presence.

Tae's created dream-worlds that breathe in rhythm with emotion. I've built sequences that stretch the body like a language.

We're trying to make something that doesn't just show love.

It makes you feel it.

And now we sit side by side on the floor, knees touching, monitors casting halos over our faces, a galaxy of color dancing across Tae's cheekbones.

I'm leaning close to his shoulder, pretending to study the frame he's paused on - a glistening forest clearing, alive with shifting light.

But let's be real.

I'm just... watching him.

His lashes flicker as he scrolls through interface options. His hand brushes his lip in thought, and my breath hitches stupidly because I feel it - the gravity, the shift.

The air has changed.

We're not laughing anymore.
We haven't said a word in minutes.

The buzz in the room isn't creative energy anymore. It's something sharper. Thicker. Like waiting for thunder after the flash.