The Airport (The Next Day)
Neither of them cried—not right away.
They hugged tightly, arms lingering, noses brushing. Ivory looked up at him, smiling despite the way her heart clenched.
"Don't ghost me," she said.
"I won't. I'll call. I'll text. I'll even send voice memos if the Wi-Fi sucks."
"I'll hold you to that."
He kissed her—slow and deep and full of everything they couldn't say.
"I'll come back to you," he whispered.
"I'll be waiting."
And with one last squeeze, she was gone.
Days Later: JungKook's Revival
The foreign interviews trended everywhere.
Gone was the tired, guarded JungKook of old. On screen, he looked alive—his smile boyish, his tone confident. He laughed with interviewers, teased fans in English, shared stories of "healing in quiet places."
One clip went viral:
"You seem different, JungKook. Happier?"
"Maybe I met someone who reminded me how good life can feel."
Ivory saw it all.
Her laptop buzzed with incoming orders for her wines—her business was thriving. But her favorite notifications? Those late-night video calls from JungKook.
"What are you wearing?" he'd ask jokingly.
"A potato sack. Jealous?" she'd smirk.
"Hell yeah. I miss that sack."
"You miss me."
"Yeah," he'd whisper. "I really do."
She blew him a kiss across the screen.
He caught it, smiled—and somewhere across oceans and time zones, love remained in flight.
His Golden album was a hit globally. Interviews poured and his schedule packed. Time flew by and it's his last concert.
Golden, Just Like You
The stage lights burned like constellations, chasing him as he ran across the massive stadium platform. The roar of tens of thousands echoed in his chest, but inside, his heartbeat pounded for a reason entirely separate from the stage.
His final concert.
The last of the Golden era.
He should've been elated. Instead, there was a hollow ache he hadn't been able to shake all night.
He hadn't heard her voice all day.
Ivory had sent him a congratulatory message that morning—a video of her toasting with her staff during the Rose Blush post-launch brunch. She looked beautiful. Her hair tied up, cheeks glowing, holding a wine glass and saying, "Finish strong, my Jake." But she hadn't said when she'd come back.
His eyes flickered to the front rows. No sign of her.
He reminded himself not to expect it. She said she might not make it.
He dove into the next song.
He didn't see it at first. The crowd was a sea of lights, faces, colors. But then, mid-way through Standing Next To You, as he caught his breath between notes, something shifted in his periphery. A glimmer of black lace and beige trench coat by the tunnel entrance. A figure the crowd hadn't yet noticed.
She was standing there. Hair down. Eyes locked on his.
Ivory.
She was here.
His knees nearly buckled.
For a split second, JungKook forgot the lyrics. He stood in place, mic raised, lips parted. Then chuckled through the mic.
The band played on.
And then he smiled.
Wide. Wild. Disbelieving.
The crowd screamed louder, thinking it was for them. It wasn't.
It was for her.
Ivory gave him a tiny wave, like the time she saw him in the alley behind that grocery store in Iceland. Only this time, she didn't offer pasta. She offered presence—unshaken, undeniable.
He turned around, blinking fast, before facing the audience again and letting out a soft chuckle into the mic, again.
"She made it," he whispered.
His fans didn't know who. But Yoongi, in the wings, grinned knowingly. And Jimin, backstage, mouthed "She's here?" with wide eyes.
By the time JungKook hit the bridge of the song, he was a man transformed. Fire lit through his veins. Every note sharper. Every lyric soaked in feeling.
He was electric.
He ran harder, danced freer, sang louder. He smiled more—beaming like the whole world had just given him everything he ever wanted. Fans noticed. The difference was obvious.
Ivory watched from the wings, tears forming. That wasn't just a concert—it was a love letter.
He was golden.
And she was the reason.
The concert had ended. Fireworks fizzled in the sky, fans slowly began to trickle out, and the staff buzzed with after-show adrenaline backstage.
But JungKook had other plans.
With his hoodie pulled over his damp curls and a surgical mask in place, he grabbed Ivory's hand and tugged her through the maze of backstage tunnels.
"Where are we going?" she whispered through a giggle.
"Seoul doesn't sleep," he smirked. "Let's not waste the night."
They slipped past the side exit—Manager Hyung giving an exaggerated sigh of surrender—and stepped out into the cool Seoul night. The city glowed golden under the streetlights, the air still vibrating with the aftershocks of his performance.
They walked along the Han River, hand in hand, still half-buzzed from the music. Ivory couldn't stop smiling.
"Was that encore for me?" she teased.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said innocently, eyes twinkling. "I always perform like a maniac when a goddess randomly shows up."
They stopped by a little street vendor and ordered tteokboki. Jake practically inhaled his food while Ivory laughed at the sight.
"Idol boyfriend caught on camera eating like a caveman," she joked, pulling out her phone.
"I dare you to post that," he challenged with a raised brow.
Instead, she snapped a blurry candid—him mid-laugh, sauce on his lips, eyes crinkled—and whispered to herself, mine.
Soon, they found a tiny jazz bar tucked into a side alley—barely a dozen people inside. No one recognized him under his disguise. They sat in the corner, sharing a local beer, swaying to the soft rhythm of a saxophone.
And in that dim light, surrounded by strangers and old soul music, he looked at her like she was his entire world.
"I still can't believe you're here," he murmured, his thumb brushing against her knuckles under the table.
"I'd cross continents just to see you," she whispered back.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers—soft, grateful. A kiss that said thank you for finding me again.
The city hummed with life, even in its quietest corners. Seoul after midnight was magic—old, storied, and alive with hidden energy.
Jake and Ivory found two electric scooters parked near the curb. With a mischievous grin, he scanned the app and handed her one. "Ever ridden one?"
"Only in Reykjavík," she grinned, stepping on like a pro. "Don't cry when I leave you behind."
"Oh, you're so on."
They zipped through the empty cobblestone streets, laughter echoing between old buildings. Ivory's black dress fluttered beneath her coat jacket, and Jake's oversized hoodie billowed behind him like a cape.
They raced past murals and cafés, down graffiti-lined alleys and neon-lit corners, with no destination in mind—just the thrill of freedom and each other's presence.
At a red light, a small group of fans walking home from the concert spotted them.
"That's... JungKook?" one whispered, eyes wide.
"It is!" another said, smiling. "He looks so happy."
They didn't rush over. They didn't scream or film. They just smiled, watching from a respectful distance as their favorite idol laughed, carefree and in love, with a woman riding beside him.
Ivory turned and caught the warm glances, offering a thankful nod. The fans returned it with wide grins and quiet cheers.
Jake reached for her hand while still riding, intertwining their fingers.
"Do you feel that?" he asked over the wind.
"What?"
"This moment. Like we're weightless."
She looked at him, her heart thudding.
"I do."
As they rode off into the heart of Seoul, the streetlamps casting golden glows over their path, it felt like something out of a movie. Not the kind with grand declarations or scripted endings—but the kind where love felt real. Where happiness lived in scooter rides, late-night tteoks, and borrowed moments no one could steal.
Jake's penthouse door clicked shut behind them, laughter still buzzing between their lips. Ivory kicked off her boots first, nearly tripping over her own feet from giggling too hard. Jake caught her waist, spinning her into him, nose brushing hers.
"You're trouble," he whispered, breathless.
She smirked, hands sliding under the hem of his hoodie. "You love it."
Clothes were left like a breadcrumb trail—his hoodie on the chair, her dress on the floor, socks flung somewhere far and forgotten. The city's muffled noise remained outside, Seoul's heartbeat traded for the wild rhythm of theirs.
They didn't rush.
They took their time.
Skin on skin, breath against breath, Jake held her like she was fragile and fire all at once—like he couldn't believe she was real. Her fingers traced the ink on his arm, the lines on his back, memorizing him like scripture.
"I missed you so bad," he murmured against her shoulder, voice gravelly with emotion.
"I missed you more."
And when they moved together—slow, deep, like a song only they knew—it wasn't just desire; it was everything. Reunions. Late-night cravings. Longing. Love. Promises unspoken and hearts unguarded.
After, tangled in sheets that smelled like skin and something sacred, he held her close, lips brushing her temple.
"I don't want this night to end," he said.
Ivory smiled against his chest, lazy fingers drawing soft circles. "Then let's never let it go."
And they didn't.
Not even when the sun slowly stretched through the windows—finding them bare, safe, and still wrapped in each other.
The next morning, Ivory stirred at the faint smell of coffee and something buttery wafting through the room. The sheets were still warm beside her, but Jake was gone. Moments later, the door creaked open—he walked in, shirtless, hair messy, holding a tray with breakfast and that signature smirk that made her weak.
"Good morning, angel," he said, setting the tray down on the bed. "Croissants, strawberries, scrambled eggs, and a very smug boyfriend who just discovered you're... different in bed."
Ivory's eyes narrowed in amusement. "Different how?"
He leaned in, brushing his nose against hers. "So soft. So... wild." His tone dipped teasingly. "Didn't know Iceland made women like you."
She shoved his shoulder playfully. "Must be the fresh air."
They shared breakfast under the sheets—her feeding him strawberries, him stealing kisses between bites. The mood was lazy, cozy, like the world outside didn't exist.
*
*
*
The rooftop shimmered under the city lights, the clink of champagne flutes and murmured conversations blending with the gentle hum of a jazz quartet. It was an elegant gathering—Ivory had insisted on it. A small celebratory dinner-slash-sendoff at a five-star hotel rooftop, surrounded by close friends, warm food, and music. Just enough to make everything feel normal before everything became not.
Jake hadn't planned on feeling this tense.
He stood quietly near the bar, nursing a glass of wine, eyes zeroed in on her.
Ivory was glowing. Her silk champagne-colored gown hugged her figure just enough to make every head turn. And her laughter—God, that laugh—rung out across the rooftop, melodic and unfiltered. The kind of laughter she used to reserve for just him. Now it echoed across a crowd, laced in charm and light.
She was talking to his friends. His other friends. Not the 6 dorks—though they were scattered around, keeping low profiles—but people from the industry. Men he used to party with before everything became too loud. Now they circled Ivory like moths to flame. And she, like always, didn't seem to notice the way she shined.
One of the guys leaned in too close, whispering something that made her snort with laughter. She smacked his arm lightly. Another playfully offered her his jacket despite the mild air. Jake watched, teeth gritted.
Her friendliness—something he usually loved about her—suddenly made his stomach twist.
She wasn't flirting. He knew that. But they were still drawn to her. And why wouldn't they be?
Jake had been watching her all night, and it felt like someone pressed slow-motion on the world around him. Her smile. The sparkle in her eyes. The sway of her gown. The effortless way she made everyone around her feel important.
But he'd never felt more like a ghost.
The pressure of his upcoming enlistment, the pile of final projects, music videos, goodbyes, and the gnawing ache of fear—it all swirled into a sick cocktail. And he found himself standing too still, fists clenched at his sides.
Across the rooftop, Ivory caught his gaze. Her smile faltered.
His face wasn't like before. It wasn't the soft, adoring Jake she loved.
It was cold. Distant. Strained.
Ivory's heart dropped.
Sayuri's words, uninvited, crawled into her mind like static: "You don't know how violent he gets."
Jake set down his glass with a sharp clink. Then turned.
And walked out.
Ivory blinked.
Did he just—?
Her heels clicked across the rooftop as she quickly excused herself and followed.
Down the private hallway.
Through the empty lobby.
Out to the parking lot where she saw him—jacket off, shirt halfway unbuttoned, tie yanked loose—slipping into the black car they came in.
"Jake!" she called, rushing over.
He slammed the driver's side door shut. Locked it.
"I swear to God—Jake, open this door."
He didn't even glance at her.
She knocked once, then again—more frantic this time. "What is this? Are you seriously—?" She swallowed, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Did I do something wrong?"
Still, no answer.
Inside, Jake leaned his head against the steering wheel, breathing heavily. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned.
He knew she didn't do anything wrong. He knew it.
But everything had been piling up like bricks on his back. And tonight? He cracked.
Outside, Ivory stood frozen. Her hands dropped from the window as her mind raced.
She wasn't going to cry.
She wasn't going to fall apart—not tonight.
Instead, she placed her palm against the glass. "You promised I could be there for you," she whispered.
From inside, Jake's shoulders tensed.
"I said I would stay, didn't I?" she murmured. "For the next twenty-two days. I meant that. But I won't knock on this window forever, Jake. You don't get to shut me out just because you're like this."
That hit him like a punch to the ribs.
Ivory took one last deep breath before stepping back.
"Whenever you're ready," she said quietly, "I'll be upstairs."
She turned and walked away—slowly, but without looking back.
And Jake, left alone with nothing but the suffocating silence and the echo of her voice, realized—
He had exactly twenty-two days left.
And he just wasted one.