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

Chapter 124: Love in the Tension Lines

Gab is perched on a folding stool, blueprints spread across my desk like a runway.

He's giving the plans a gentle once-over, occasionally brushing his hair back and glancing at me with that familiar warmth.

This time I don't let myself lean into him; our bond is brother-sister territory, clear and comforting.

Yet, his proximity still sends a ripple through the rest of my soulmates that doesn't go unnoticed. It's too obvious, seriously, smh.

I step in, smoothing a corner of the blueprint.

"This is the magic moment," I say, voice steady but excited. "Walk me through it."

Gab props himself on the desk edge.

"Floating live-edge desk here, under-lighting in these drawers, mic mounts fold flat-keeps your boom arm from hogging the view."

His finger taps a soft niche beside the desk. "Wacha gets her plush throne here. She'll supervise everything."

Wacha floats in on silent paws, weaving between chair legs. She glances at the nook, sniffs, and hops onto the ottoman I'd earmarked.

She gives it an approving stretch and settles-instant queen.

"She approves," I announce, beaming down. "We. Are. Winning."

Yoongi enters, carrying his signature thermal mug, head humming a half-bass melody.

He scans the desk and blueprint, and his eyes flick from me to Gab with a hint of something sharp at the edges.

"Cable channels," he says, voice even but firm. "I'll run them behind the desk. Need airflow vents in the rack?" He points. "And I'll DIY diffusers for acoustic dampening."

My heart pulses. Yoongi always covers practical details before letting me voice design wants.

"Yes, exactly. That's why you're my security-and DIY-superhero."

Namjoon drifts in from the hall, hands tucked around coffee, a gentle smile soft on his lips.

He glances at Gab with a nod and weighs in on the blueprint, "Color-temp lighting with presets for video editing. We can integrate smart controls."

He taps a corner. "Also, built-in blueprint storage on that shelf."

Yoongi and Gab exchange looks-measuring each other's quiet stake in this room. My fingers graze both their arms.

"This is our hive," I whisper, and they both relax-a subtle thaw. But I feel the tension in their smiles.

Gab leans forward, moving a pen over the drawing. "Desk airflow-yes. And maybe swivel arm for the monitor so stuff doesn't block that sweet north light."

When he reaches out to tap my shoulder, Yoongi's jaw clenches just a bit, and Joon's hand curls loosely around his mug, knuckles whitening.

I say softly, "Gab helps me think things through-but this is all ours."