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

Chapter 127: Uninvited and Unwelcome

"Will you be free later to go over the shelving placement again?"

Noona hesitates. "Yeah... maybe before dinner?"

He nods once and disappears.

The second the front door clicks closed, the room breathes out.

Yoongi hyung shifts, arms crossed.

Jin hyung mutters, "I hate that guy."

"He's not that bad," Hobi hyung says, but no one agrees.

I glance at Y/N noona.
Her smile has dimmed, just a little.

I know it's not what it looks like.
I know she loves us.

But still... the ghost of his presence lingers in the air like cologne we didn't ask for.

Tae notices too.

He tugs her hair playfully and whispers, "You want ice cream, or should I kiss the nonsense out of you?"

She tilts her head back to look at him. "Both."

So he does.
Right there.
Soft and warm and sure.

And in that moment, I stop thinking.

Because it's so clear-how this works. How we all fit.
How much love sits in this living room.

Not conventional.
Not easy.
But real.

I lean over to Yoongi hyung and nudge him with my foot.

He glances at me. "Hm?"

I grin. "Later... wanna teach me how to steal her attention back?"

His smile is crooked. Tired.
But honest.

"Always."

And just like that, I know everything's still okay.

Even if the world's shifting under us, even if something's coming we can't quite name-we have this.

We have each other.
And that's where love lives.

Even in the shadows.
Even in the silence.
Even when we're waiting for the next page to turn.

_____________________________

Y/N's POV

The air in the house tonight feels... thick.
Not heavy. Not stormy.

Just full-like too many stories are trying to speak at once.

There's warmth in the usual ways-laughter echoing from the kitchen, the soft clink of dishes, the low pulse of Yoongi's playlist, mellow and jazzy, curling through the rooms like incense.

Something meant to soothe.
But underneath it, something's coiled.
Taut. Waiting.

The kind of quiet that lingers right before a change.

The dining room is gold-lit and cozy. Candles flicker on the sideboard.

Yoongi sits at the head of the table, glasses low on his nose, hoodie sleeves pushed back, fingers flying across his keyboard with restrained fury.

He's muttering quietly-words only his code can hear.

Joon is diagonally across from him, pen tapping slowly against a paper full of scratched-out metrics.