The wind had softened by the time they stepped out of the restaurant, grocery bags in hand and full stomachs between them.
"That pizza was actually criminally good," Jake muttered, adjusting his grip on the bag in his left hand.
"Told you," Ivory said smugly. "Locals only know the best spots. You're welcome."
"Still think you're just luring me into random places to mess with me."
She smirked. "And yet, here you are, following me around like a lost pup."
He scoffed. "I wouldn't follow you. I'm just conveniently walking in the same direction."
"Oh, so that explains you letting me carry the heavier bag?"
Jake rolled his eyes. "It builds character. And biceps."
They both laughed, their breath misting in the cold night air. The town was quiet—peaceful, like the world had shrunk into this small bubble where nothing else existed but the sound of their boots on pavement and the clink of wine bottles in a paper bag.
They reached the foot of the stairs leading up to his apartment. Jake glanced up at the dark entryway and winced.
"I should probably get a lamp installed out here," he muttered.
Ivory tilted her head. "Or you could... not stay here at all."
He looked at her. "What?"
"I have a friend," she said casually, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Owns an Airbnb just near town. It has a view. And light. And functioning heating. Also—less creepy stairs."
Jake stared at her, suspicious. "You already booked it, didn't you?"
She raised a brow and gave him a small shrug. "Check-in's at nine tomorrow. Here's the map, she'll expect you on time so—Don't be late."
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "You really don't ask for permission."
"Only from people who matter," she teased.
He opened his mouth to quip back, but she was already turning away. "Goodnight, Jake," she called, walking off without looking back.
The next morning — Ivory's POV
Ivory sat on the windowsill of her room, nursing a mug of coffee as golden light pooled into the corners of the kitchen.
Her thoughts wandered back to last night—to Jake's words, soft but heavy. "Some people expect to be a certain way."
There was more he hadn't said. She'd felt it in the weight behind his voice, in the way his eyes flickered away when hers tried to hold them.
She exhaled. Why do I keep thinking about him?
Her eyes drifted to her phone.
A sudden jolt hit her. "Oh my god—" She jumped up, grabbing her coat and the phone with it. "I don't even have his number—"
Ten minutes later, she stood outside his Airbnb, a cup of coffee in one hand, determination in the other. When Jake finally opened the door, still groggy from sleep and hair a chaotic mess—
Smack.
"Ow—!" he clutched his forehead. "What was that for?!"
"For not giving me your number, dumbass," she said, already opening her phone's contact app.
Jake blinked. Then grinned, rubbing the sore spot on his head. "You could've just asked."
"But where's the drama in that?"
Once again she came in without permission, but this time, Jake slightly shifted his body, so she could have more room to come. She handed the cup of coffee to him, an iced americano. She came straight to the kitchen while he freshened up in the bathroom.
"You cooked again?"
Ivory, already at the stove in her green floral midi dress and ankle high socks, glanced back and smiled. "You act surprised every time."
"I am. Who wakes up early just to cook for someone else on a vacation?"
"Iceland is my home, not a vacation," she said, flipping the eggs with a flourish. "And I like cooking. It's peaceful."
Jake grunted and dropped into a chair at the table, watching her move around with effortless rhythm. The way she hummed off-key. The soft curve of her mouth as she concentrated. The sunlight hitting the edge of her cheek.
He picked up his phone from the table, angled it slightly, and—click.
A quiet photo. Her mid-laugh. Caught in the glow of morning and eggs and freedom. He stared at it for a second longer than he should have before slipping the phone into his hoodie pocket.
"You good there, stalker?" she teased without looking.
He smirked. "Just documenting how you keep feeding me."
"Better than you passing out from hunger."
They ate together on the bar stools. No rush. No weight. Just laughter, bites of toast, shared butter knives, and refills of black coffee that burned the tongue in the best way.
After breakfast, Jake stretched, muttered something about a warm shower, and disappeared into the bathroom.
The apartment went quiet.
Ivory stood to clean up but noticed he'd left his phone on the table.
It lit up. Manager Hyung.
She didn't touch it. Didn't move. The screen went dark. A few seconds passed, then it lit up again—another call.
Still, she kept her hands to herself.
When the call finally ended, the screen returned to its wallpaper.
And that's when she saw it.
Jake. His back to the camera. A mic in his hand. A sea of lights before him—glimmering like stars, a crowd stretching beyond imagination. Purple and white lights filled the stadium like a heartbeat. A galaxy of people.
It hit her like lightning.
A whisper of a thought she had ignored. The way he always wore a cap. The long sleeves. The hesitation when people got too close.
He wasn't just "protecting his image."
He was someone people watched.
And now she knew.
But she didn't say a word.
Sometimes, she hated how quickly she caught on.
Instead, she smiled to herself, picked up the plates, and let him keep that secret—for now.
Because whatever storm he came from, whatever weight he carried—he deserved a little more peace.
The bathroom door creaked open, steam trailing behind him like mist. Jake stepped out, toweling his damp hair, shirtless and relaxed in black joggers that hung a little too low on his hips.
"Hey, Ivory—have you seen my phone?"
She, seated on the couch with a mug of coffee in hand, nodded toward the table. "Left it there. It vibrated. Someone named 'Hyung' keeps calling you."
He grunted as he walked past her, but she didn't hear it.
Because her eyes had found his arm.
Fully exposed now—inked from shoulder to wrist in intricate, beautiful patterns. Soft curves, sharp edges, symbols she couldn't understand but wanted to trace with her fingers. Her jaw may or may not have gone slightly slack.
She gnawed on her lip—subtly, okay?—but it wasn't subtle enough.
Jake glanced over and raised a brow, smug. "You good?"
"Yeah," she said a beat too fast, blinking back into reality. "Totally. Just... surprised."
"At what?"
"That you're secretly hot."
He laughed, actually laughed, shaking his head as he tapped on his phone. "You keep feeding me like this, I'll be fat soon. I need to buy gym clothes or something. Where can I get those around here?"
"You work out?"
He gave her a look. "Of course I do. I'm not just pretty tattoos and sad boy energy."
"Pfft," she laughed. "You're on your own from now on, then. I'm done cooking for you. Starve."
She was halfway to the door when he called out, "You say that, but I can cook too, you know."
"Yeah? Scrambled eggs and instant ramen don't count, Jake!"
They bickered their way out the door, shoulders bumping. The easy laughter bouncing between them like they'd done this for years.
The air smelled like grass and dusk. They were sitting side by side on a wooden bench, takeaway tea cups in hand, the last orange sliver of sun bleeding into the horizon. Paper bags full of gym clothes on the floor.
Jake leaned back, eyes half-closed. "This is nice."
Ivory turned her head, watching his profile soften against the sunset. "You always this chill back home?"
He chuckled. "Not really. Back home... everything's fast. Eyes everywhere. People expecting things from you before you even open your mouth."
A pause.
"You sound like you're hiding," she said gently.
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at his cup, steam curling upward.
"I guess I am," he said eventually. "But not from the world, really. Just... from the noise. From who people want me to be."
She didn't press.
Didn't mention the wallpaper.
Didn't say she knew.
She just sipped her tea and whispered, "Well, I like this version of you. The one who rides big bikes and gets grumpy when he can't eat pizza."
That made him laugh again, low and breathy.
He glanced at her, eyes darker than dusk. "Thank you... for making me feel sane."
And then, softer: "Let me have this. Let me collect a few more warm memories... before I go back. Before I face whatever war's waiting for me."
Ivory looked down at her cup, fingers tightening around it.
And then, like a quiet breeze, she said, "What if I come with you?"
He stilled.
Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them, thick with meaning, soft with yearning.
She smiled, eyes gleaming. "I don't even know what Korea looks like, anymore."
Ivory's words still lingered between them like mist.
"What if I come with you?"
A beat of silence stretched too long. The kind that curls into your stomach and makes you question everything.
Jake swallowed.
He glanced at her—her face turned toward the trees now, pretending she hadn't said anything of importance, like she didn't just knock the wind out of him with a single sentence. Like her words hadn't just cracked something open between them.
She hoped for a rejection. She hoped he'd say no. Not because she didn't mean it, but because she wasn't ready if he said yes.
His lips quirked, trying to play it cool. "You say that like you don't have a private jet tucked in a mountain somewhere."
She snorted, relieved at the change of tone. "I do not have a jet."
Jake leaned closer, mock whispering. "You do. Don't lie."
And then—he said it, quietly, truth slipping through the cracks in his voice.
"I felt butterflies when you said that."
Ivory blinked. "What?"
"It was a joke, right?" he added quickly, flashing a smile. "But yeah... real butterflies. Like middle school crush-level. My stomach's still doing somersaults."
She flushed.
Actually flushed.
And for the first time, he saw it. That flustered look. That tiny loss of control. That split second where her extroverted, quick-witted self didn't know what to say.
Jake's smile turned sly. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"I found your weakness."
"No, you didn't."
"Oh yes, I did," he said, standing. "This is gold. I'm weaponizing this."
She rolled her eyes as she stood too. "Don't flatter yourself."
"I will. Happily. Now come on, mystery jet lady. Let's get you to your secret lair."
And just like that, the question disappeared—left hanging between them, untouched.
***
They stood by her driver's side door outside his Air BnB, the soft night breeze tugging at her hair. The porch light behind him made the air glow a little warmer than usual.
"Thanks for dragging me out today," he said, looking at her like she was something worth holding on to.
She smirked. "Well, you're welcome, I guess. For saving you from your hermit tendencies."
He raised a brow. "Yeah, I'm totally putting that in the gratitude journal I don't have."
She opened the car door, but before stepping in, he added—cheesy, smooth, and straight-up illegal levels of charm:
"I'll dream of the pizza... and your laugh."
Ivory blinked.
"Shut up," she said. Ears turning red again.
"I think I wanna go hiking tomorrow, wanna come with me? Or you're busy with your riches?"
Ivory scoffed, "Text me what time and where. You don't know the mountains like I do, you could get swatted by moose or bear, with your dumbass."
Jake laughed. A real one. The kind that reached his eyes and scraped something clean inside his chest.
The sound made her smile despite herself.
They stood there for a second longer than they should've, caught in the warm lull of maybe.
His hand brushed against hers on the door handle. She looked up. He looked down.
Their faces were close. Too close.
But not close enough.
She cleared her throat. "See you tomorrow."
Jake stepped back, hands in his pockets, that smile still lingering. "I'll be counting down."
Ivory's heart was fluttering in her chest as she drove away, cheeks warm, thoughts spinning.
Back on the porch, Jake watched her tail lights disappear into the night—and finally let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
His heart was doing full-blown backflips.