Security chaos.
It happened in a blink.
Guards swarmed in like a tide breaking loose, pushing through the airport crowd. One of them moved too fast, cutting between H and Ivory, His arm shot out, shoving her back with far too much force—and just like that, her hand was no longer in his.
Ivory stumbled, shocked.
Another guard barked something in Korean and grabbed her by the arm, already trying to drag her away.
"What the hell—" she gasped, panic and confusion flaring in her chest.
"YA!" Jungkook's voice cut through the noise like a whip.
He spun around, eyes blazing.
The tone he used was cold, commanding—nothing like the man who laughed with her just a few hours ago in the plane.
In rapid Korean, he stepped forward and snapped, "She's not a fan. Don't touch her. She's with me. She's mine."
The guards froze. Silence fell for a beat.
Manager hyung appeared from the side, pale-faced and breathless, waving them off with sharp gestures. "Back! All of you—stand down!"
The bodyguard who had pushed Ivory bowed his head slightly, muttering apologies as he stepped away. The others followed, giving them space.
Jake was at her side again before she could say anything. His fingers wrapped around hers—firm, grounding—right in front of everyone.
"You okay?" he murmured low, jaw tight.
Ivory nodded slowly, though her heart was thudding against her ribs. "Yeah... I think so."
"Never again," he whispered, eyes still scanning the crowd. Protective. Angry.
Never again, he thought. No one touches her like that. No one pulls her away from me.
Manager hyung didn't waste another second. "We need to go. Now."
They were rushed toward a private exit. The hallway echoed with noise—fans screaming his name, the click-click-click of cameras flashing behind glass walls. It felt like a storm closing in from all sides.
Ivory gripped his hand tighter, stunned. heart pounding.
She'd seen glimpses before—paparazzi lurking in shadows, hushed whispers about scandals, fans watching from afar. But this... this was different. This was real.
The chaos. The noise. The suffocating pressure.
The walls felt like they were moving.
And Jake... he didn't flinch. Not once. He just kept walking, shielding her with his body, guiding her through it like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Then she remembered something he'd told her, quiet and almost offhanded weeks ago:
"Sometimes I wish I could just be invisible... not because I hate it—but because it never stops."
At the time, she'd nodded, thinking she understood.
But she hadn't. Not really.
Not until now—until she saw it with her own eyes. The cost of the life he lived. The mask he wore. The silence he carried.
This was Jeon Jungkook.
Not just the artist. Not just the idol.
The man who bore it all without complaint.
And she was standing beside him—fingers interlocked, heart exposed—right in the eye of the storm.
Jungkook's Seoul Penthouse
The doors clicked shut behind them. The echoes of the airport still clung to his skin, like a second layer he couldn't peel off fast enough. Security, fans, flashing cameras—noise.
Inside the penthouse, it was nothing but silence.
Jake dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and walked straight to the living room with heavy limbs. The moment he spotted the couch, he collapsed onto it with the weight of a man who had been holding the world on his shoulders.
Ivory hovered by the doorway, unsure—until he reached out a hand and gently tugged her toward him.
"Come here," he mumbled. As he took her hand, his gaze flicked to the scrape on her skin—the one she got when his security had shoved her. He remembered how hard she was pulled, how she'd hit the ground. Her knee had been bleeding through a tiny hole in her jeans.
His expression darkened, rage flashing across his face like a storm. He sat up slightly, muttering under his breath.
"씨발... 개새끼들..." he growled, fists clenching.
(Fuck... those sons of bitches...)
"이딴 식으로 밀어? 좆같은 새끼들..."
(They shoved her like that? Fucking bastards...)
He looked at the scrape again, and his jaw clenched tighter.
"젠장... 너 다쳤잖아... 씨발, 내가 왜 그걸 못 막았지..."
(Damn it... you got hurt... Fuck, why the hell didn't I stop it...)
He cursed again, sharper this time—at the scrape, at himself, at the world. The words came out low, guttural, like venom.
Ivory placed a hand gently on his cheek. "They didn't know," she said, voice soft. "They were just doing their job."
But he didn't stop.
"내가 그 자식들을 쳐냈어야 했는데... 씨발, 병신 같았어...!"
(I should've shoved those assholes off you... Fuck, I was such a fucking idiot...)
It wasn't at her. Never at her. It was all boiling out of him, like he needed to bleed it out.
Until she kissed him—sudden, grounding, silencing him with warmth and skin.
"I don't know what the fuck you just said," she whispered against his lips, "but, babe, come on... you don't have subtitles. I can't understand."
Jake blinked, lips still brushing hers. Then he exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath for hours. A small laugh—barely there—escaped him, low and breathy.
He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, closing his eyes. Then, without a word, he got up and disappeared down the hall.
Ivory watched him go, confused for a second. Then she heard the bathroom cabinet creak open.
He returned with a small white box tucked under one arm. The first aid kit.
Jake knelt in front of her, wordless, opening the kit with practiced hands. He didn't look her in the eye—too focused, too careful. As if touching her now meant more than anything else he could say.
He gently lifted her leg onto his lap, frowning at the scrape. The fabric around it was frayed and stained with dried blood.
"I'm okay, really," she murmured, trying to lighten the moment. "It's just a scratch."
He didn't answer. He unscrewed the cap of a tiny tube, squeezed a bit of ointment onto his fingertip, and very gently dabbed it onto her skin.
His touch was feather-light. Reverent.
"You shouldn't have been hurt because of me," he said quietly, finally looking up at her.
There was no anger now. Just guilt. And tenderness.
"I chose to be there," Ivory replied softly. "With you."
Jake paused, his fingers still resting just above the scrape. His gaze lingered on her for a beat longer before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Then, as if the moment had become too much, he murmured, "I'll get you a Band-Aid with a cartoon on it. Make it feel less serious."
She laughed, and so did he—quietly this time, the kind of laugh that lives in the back of your throat when relief finally settles.
His hoodie was pushed back now. She could see his temple, the faint sheen of exhaustion on his brow. His jaw, clenched. The tightness in his shoulders, screaming tension even in rest.
She placed a hand on his head gently, brushing the long strands of his hair back from his forehead.
"Do you deal with this... usually?" she asked quietly.
Jake hummed low, not opening his eyes. "Every day."
Ivory swallowed. A pang hit her chest so fast and so sharp, she almost lost her breath. So this is what he ran from.
The idol life. The weight of perfection. The pressure of thousands.
"If it were me," she murmured, "I wouldn't have left Iceland. I'd stay."
His lashes fluttered. "You make it sound easy."
"Not easy," she replied, running her fingers gently through his hair again. "But with someone beside you, it can be bearable."
His breath hitched. His body softened beneath her touch, shoulders slumping for the first time since they'd landed.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said suddenly, his voice low and rough. "The guard. That won't happen again."
She didn't respond, just kept stroking his hair.
"It's just—" he added, "there are... a lot of women. Who pretend. That they're with me. That we're dating. They walk beside me, try to hold my hand in crowds. Some even sneak into hotels. It's dangerous."
Ivory blinked, her fingers pausing for a beat before continuing. "So your security always assumes the worst."
"Yeah." He sighed. "But you're not them. And I should've told them earlier. You're not... just anyone."
He looked up at her now, his dark eyes searching. Vulnerable. Raw.
She smiled softly. "You looked like a sulky vampire on the plane. I already forgave you."
He chuckled lightly, the sound muffled into her thigh. "I didn't want to scare you off."
"You scared me a long time ago," she teased. "Remember the wine cellar?"
His laugh was quiet, but real.
And for a moment—under the soft light of his penthouse, with the city humming below them—He didn't feel like the idol everyone chased.
He just felt like a tired man... being held.
They stayed like that for a moment—Ivory's leg resting on his lap, the ointment gently drying on her skin, the world outside utterly irrelevant.
He placed the Band-Aid with quiet precision, smoothing the edges with his thumb.
When he was done, he stayed kneeling there, just looking at her. The tension in his jaw had eased, but something lingered in his eyes—something unspoken.
Ivory tilted her head, eyes softening as they searched his face.
"I think..." she began gently, "now I know why you ran away."
Jake's shoulders tensed slightly at her words—but not from resistance. It was the kind of tension that comes when someone hits the truth dead-on.
He moved to sit beside her on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands clasped together tightly, knuckles pale. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—it was heavy. Necessary.
"Because no one knew me there," he said eventually, voice quiet, raw. "No cameras. No fans. No expectations. Just air. Just silence."
He inhaled deeply, like he could still feel the chill of the Icelandic wind in his lungs.
"After the scandal with my ex, things spiraled. People who said they loved me were suddenly gone. The media twisted it all. I was either a victim or a monster, and no one really cared which. I couldn't go anywhere without someone looking at me like I was a headline."
He paused, eyes fixed on the floor.
"I didn't leave to escape punishment. I left because I didn't know who the hell I was outside of it all anymore. Iceland was far, quiet... clean. And for the first time in years, I could just be human again."
Ivory didn't speak, didn't interrupt. She just watched him. Listened.
"And then I met this weird woman, who almost killed me with the grocery kart, then offered me pasta and wine in a grocery store."
Ivory raised an eyebrow. "Hey. I also offered beer. Don't sell me short."
"Right." Hechuckled softly, his gaze softening.
She blinked, emotion catching in her throat. But she covered it with a teasing smile.
"I did care that you looked like you hadn't eaten in three days."
He laughed, soft and sincere. "That too."
He leaned back, letting the silence wrap around them like a blanket. But this time, it wasn't heavy. It was warm.