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

Chapter 119: Unspoken, Unfolding, Ours 🔥

Then he passes by Y/N-our Y/N-my aein and their fingers brush. It's casual. Innocent.

A barely-there contact.

But she laughs-low and soft-and murmurs something back in Tagalog.

Something only they understand.

And that's when it happens.

I'm not even looking at them, not really, but I feel it. The spark. That ache. That twinge.

Behind me, the pan Hobi's been stirring rattles on the stove.

The wooden spoon clinks sharply against the side. His shoulders are tight, his jaw locked.

Yoongi's voice cuts through. Quiet but firm.
"Careful, Jagi."

My head turns. Fast. Too fast.

Kook's grin falters like someone dimmed a light.

Jimin, perched on the edge of the couch beside Joon, leans in close and murmurs something in his ear.

Joon's expression shifts. Just a flicker-but his brows furrow.

The kitchen simmers with more than just heat. It hums with it.

Like we're a house full of boiling kettles-everyone just one degree shy of whistling.

Then the knife slips.

Yoongi's hand jerks slightly-distracted by the tension, by the click of Tagalog behind him, by the weight of everything unsaid.

He hisses.

The blade slices across his finger.

"Shit," he mutters, clenching his jaw as blood wells up, stark and bright against his pale skin.

I'm at his side before anyone else can move.

"Yoongi," I snap, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to the sink.

"How many times do I have to say focus?"

My voice cracks halfway through. Damn it.

He exhales through his nose. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"It's just chili pepper. Not exactly a war wound."

But my fingers are already pressing the faucet lever, rinsing the wound, searching for gauze.

My hands are shaking. Stupid.

Behind us, the air shifts-pulls taut like a stretched wire.

Bam lets out a soft whine from under the table, padding over and resting his heavy head on Namjoon's foot like a living pressure gauge.

Wacha stretches against Yoongi's leg and flicks her tail-one sharp, warning lash.

Tannie, ever the empath, climbs into Jimin's lap and licks his chin like he's trying to comfort him with dog-kisses and fluff.

And Aein?

She's standing by the fridge, frozen.

Watching us.
Watching all of us.

And watching him-Gabriel-who stands too comfortably at the edge of it all, as if he doesn't feel the shift.

Or worse, as if he does and doesn't care.
And somehow, that's worse.

Y/N's eyes catch mine for the briefest second.

And she knows.
She sees it-the storm brewing beneath our smiles.