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

Chapter 127: Uninvited and Unwelcome

"Urban design's lucky to have you."

His hand brushes mine again-firmer this time, as if reminding the room I'm spoken for.

Jin oppa, without looking up: "Do they know you eat cereal at 2 a.m. like a raccoon?"

Gab laughs. "That wasn't in my portfolio."

Yoongi sips his tea.
Doesn't look up.

Tae sips his too-expression unreadable, eyes still on Gabriel like he's reading subtitles in a foreign language.

Jungkook doesn't even blink.
But I see the signs-his jaw ticks once.

His shoulders tense just slightly, arms still. Hands beneath the table, fists likely clenched.

Jimin smiles.
Too fast. Too wide.

Like someone hitting a mark in a play they didn't audition for.

"Hope you find a good apartment," he says.
Bright. Polite.

Then his eyes flick - to me.
Just for a second.
Gone.

That glance? It wasn't cold.
Just clear.

It's a subtle but evident way of telling Gab, you're not staying here.

This space isn't yours.

The room stretches thin.
Then chaos, merciful and familiar,
Yeontan yaps.

Wacha pounces on a fallen strawberry.

Bam growls at the toaster like it owes him money.

Jin oppa, deadpan: "We are not getting you a strawberry tart, Wacha. Stop glamorizing theft."

Everyone cracks-soft chuckles, snorts, the spell broken for now.

Gab shrugs as he slides into the seat beside me.

"It's not official. Just... I don't know. It'd be nice to stick around. See what's here, I guess."

And for a second-I believe him.

But belief doesn't mean comfort.
Something in me tightens, not against one of my best and oldest friends.

But against what it shifts.

Tisoy has slipped into our rhythm like a practiced dancer.

But this choreography wasn't built for visitors.

It was built for soulmates.

I glance across the table.
Tae is watching me.

Eyes dark-not just with suspicion, but something quieter.

Protective.

Like he's trying to read a storm before it hits.

"Noona..." His voice is soft. Steady.

"Did you ask him to stay?"

I blink.

"What? No. Of course not."

He doesn't doubt me.

But his gaze lingers for a breath longer-searching, maybe warning.

Then he nods once.
Just making sure.

I know that look.
He's not accusing me.
He's warning me.

Behind me, Jimin rises, stretches, shirt lifting just enough to flash ink and skin. He ruffles my hair, plants a kiss on my head.

"Air," he says. "Ice cream? Corner shop run?"

Tae chimes in lazily, "Noona doesn't need dessert. She's already spoiled."