Jake, Ivory, and Jimin lounged in the airport's VIP waiting area, surrounded by coffee cups, duffel bags, and the chaotic aftermath of their camping trip.
Jimin was relentless.
"So, Kook," Jimin said, loud enough for half the lounge to hear, "how's the hickey crime scene tape holding up? Still covering the evidence?"
Jake groaned, pulling his hoodie over his head.
"Jimin, please. Let me live."
Ivory was dying of laughter, trying — and failing — to hide behind her laptop.
"And don't even get me started," Jimin continued, grinning wickedly, "on you flipping that kayak like a Disney princess losing her slipper."
Jake flipped him off without looking.
Ivory piped up, teasing, "You did look very graceful though, babe. Like a very, very wet swan."
Jake let out a loud, dramatic sigh. "This is betrayal. Absolute betrayal."
As they lined up to board, Jimin leaned closer to Ivory, voice dropping into mock seriousness.
"Just a warning, Ivory. Jungkook's dad? Uptight. Traditional. Major poker face energy."
Ivory chuckled nervously, trying to brush it off, but Jimin saw the flicker of worry in her eyes.
"I'm serious," Jimin said, squeezing her shoulder. "Jake's mom? She loves me. She's pure sunshine. But it took me years to get his dad to even nod at me."
Jake, overhearing, added miserably, "And you're Park Jimin. Imagine what he put me through growing up."
Ivory laughed shakily. "Awesome. Thanks, guys. Very comforting."
"Don't worry," Jimin said, grinning. "If you survive the first fifteen minutes, you're in for life."
Jake bumped her gently with his shoulder. "You've already got him beat, baby. He just doesn't know it yet."
They boarded the flight, Jake slipping his hand into Ivory's, anchoring her with silent warmth.
Outside the plane window, the sun was just beginning to set, streaking the sky with gold and soft violet.
They were going home —
To new beginnings, deeper roots, and a family waiting to meet the woman who had unknowingly turned Jungkook's whole world right-side up again.
---
The morning of the big meeting, Jake could not sit still.
He was practically pacing in his room, one hand ruffling through his hair every five seconds, the other flipping his phone open and closed like it was a stress ball.
"Jake," Ivory said from the bed, trying to keep her voice calm. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor."
"I can't help it," Jake muttered, glancing at her with wide, panicked eyes.
"My dad is... intimidating. My mom is sweet, but my dad—"
He mimed an explosion with his hands. "BOOM. Scary."
Ivory smiled gently, though her own stomach was twisting itself into knots.
She tucked her legs underneath her, smoothing the hem of her simple, soft cream dress. She had even braided her hair loosely, wanting to look polished, but not... fake.
"You met my family just fine," she teased lightly, hoping to calm him down.
"You even survived my dad and Marco."
Jake groaned dramatically, falling face-first onto the bed beside her.
"That's different!" his voice was muffled against the pillow. "Your family served wine and focaccia! My dad serves questions and judgment!"
Ivory laughed despite herself, reaching over to poke his side.
Jake squirmed but grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles before lifting his head to look at her.
"You're not nervous?" he asked, voice softer now, almost hopeful.
Ivory held his gaze.
"I am," she admitted honestly.
"But if I survive your dad... you owe me a date. And maybe... a puppy."
Jake's eyes widened.
"A puppy?"
"Or a vineyard cat," Ivory said, grinning mischievously.
Jake groaned but couldn't help but laugh too, pressing their foreheads together.
"Fine. If you survive this... you get both."
Ivory closed her eyes for a second, feeling his breath against her skin, feeling his heartbeat steadying hers.
"Jake," she whispered. "We're gonna be fine."
He opened his eyes to find hers.
And for a second, everything — the nerves, the fear, the pressure — melted away.
Because she was right.
She was here.
They were together.
And no matter what happened at that lunch table today — they'd still be Jake and Ivory.
Unshakable.
Unstoppable.
Maybe a little chaotic.
But always together.
"Let's go get judged," Jake whispered back with a crooked smile.
Ivory smirked and stood, tugging him up by the hand.
"Lead the way, superstar."
And off they went — hand in hand — toward a whole new chapter of their story.
Looking at Jake, Jeon JungKook, the global superstar who swooned the hearts of his fans worldwide. In here, holding her hand, the one who's nervous, as she meets his parents.
In truth, her heart hammered. She felt like she had countlessly straightened an imaginary crumple on her dress. Put on lipgloss for God knows how many times until she rubbed it off with a tissue and applied a thin amount.
Ivory told herself she wasn't supposed to feel this much. It could have been easier with anyone else. Someone less complicated. Someone less breathtaking. Someone less... Jake.
But here she was, heart in her throat, lipstick shining, because there could never be anyone but him.
*
*
*
Jake's childhood home was quiet.
Private.
Exactly the way Jake's dad liked it.
A peaceful refuge that seemed to stand still in time. The house itself was a blend of traditional Korean architecture with a modern twist—wide, open spaces, wooden beams high above, and floors that creaked with memories. The scent of incense, fresh air, and the hint of polished wood filled the rooms.
Jake practically tripped over his own feet, pulling out Ivory's chair for her before sinking into his own seat like he was about to be sentenced for life.
Across from them sat Mr. Jeon:
Sharp eyes, stern mouth, a pressed black suit that looked like it could cut glass.
Beside him, Mrs. Jeon, all warmth and soft pink cardigan, waved enthusiastically at them like a proud soccer mom who snuck cookies into her purse.
"Annyeonghaseyo," Ivory greeted, bowing respectfully, her Korean polite but natural.
Mr. Jeon nodded once, curt.
Mrs. Jeon beamed so brightly it could've powered all of Seoul.
Jake cleared his throat awkwardly.
"This is... Ivory, Appa. Eomma."
"Yes," Mr. Jeon said, voice low and even.
"I gathered."
Jake winced.
Ivory, somehow, only smiled — serene, steady, glowing like a lighthouse against the storm.
Mr. Jeon looks at her, her piercing blue eyes.
"Korean," he said.
"While you're here, you'll speak Korean. I won't adjust."
Jake tensed beside her, ready to intervene, ready to smooth it over, but—
Ivory only smiled, her posture still poised, serene.
"네, 괜찮습니다," (Ne, gwaenchansseumnida — "Yes, that's fine.") she answered in clean, natural Korean, dipping her head slightly.
Mr. Jeon blinked.
Just the slightest flicker of surprise — quickly masked — but Jake caught it.
One point for Ivory.
Mrs. Jeon, ever the soft-hearted one, covered a small giggle behind her hand.
Mrs. Jeon quietly put down plates and plates of food, conversation stiff and formal, mostly carried by Mrs. Jeon's enthusiastic chatter about Jake's New York concerts and how "cute" he looked on TV.
Jake looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
Ivory was delicately buttering her roll, Mr. Jeon set down his utensils with a small, deliberate clink.
He turned to Ivory, his full attention landing heavy on her.
"I only have one question," he said.
Jake sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his water.
Mr. Jeon didn't flinch.
His voice was calm, but every word landed like a test.
"My son has been hurt before," he said quietly.
"Badly. Publicly. To the point he almost didn't come home."
Jake closed his eyes, jaw tight.
"I will not allow that to happen again," Mr. Jeon continued.
"So... tell me."
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. Even. Korean sharp like a blade.
"내 아들을... 왜 믿어야 하지?"
(Nae adeureul... wae mideoya haji? — "Why should I trust you with my son?")
The world stilled.
Jake flinched, already opening his mouth— but Ivory's hand brushed his under the table.
Calm.
Steady.
Even Mrs. Jeon tilted her head, curious, watching Ivory carefully.
And Ivory...
She set down her knife.
She folded her hands politely over her napkin.
She met Mr. Jeon's piercing gaze without a single flinch.
"You shouldn't," she said softly, surprising everyone.
"Not just because I'm sitting here. Not just because Jake loves me."
Mr. Jeon's brow twitched — a subtle flicker of interest.
"You should trust me," Ivory continued, voice steady as stone,
"because I know what your son is worth. Because I will never, not even once, let him forget it.
Because he is more than his stage name, more than his mistakes, more than what the world tries to turn him into."
Jake stared at her, heart hammering against his ribs.
"And if he ever forgets," Ivory added, her eyes gentle but fierce, "I'll be right there to remind him — who he is, who he can be, and how deeply he is loved."
Silence.
She held Mr. Jeon's gaze — no fear. No flinching.
Only the truth, worn proudly on her sleeve.
"그리고 그 빛을 절대 꺼뜨리지 않게 지킬 겁니다."
("And I will protect that light so it never goes out.")
Even the chirping of the birds outside seemed to hush.
Mr. Jeon stared at her for a long, weighted moment.
And then, slowly—slowly—the tight line of his mouth eased.
Finally, his phone buzzed harshly against the table.
He grunted, picked it up without breaking eye contact, and said, "나가서 받을게." ("I'll take this outside.")
With that, he stood and exited to the garden, shutting the sliding door behind him.
The moment he was gone, Jake let out a huge breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He slumped back dramatically against his chair.
"How did you survive meeting him?" Jake whispered, wide-eyed.
Ivory giggled under her breath, reaching for her glass of water, the tension rolling off her like water off a duck's back.
Before she could answer, Mrs. Jeon — who had been silently observing the whole time, heart swelling — leaned in conspiratorially.
"He was much scarier when we were younger," she said in a whisper, winking.
"But once you find the key to his heart..." She mimed turning an imaginary key, smiling.
"He's just a quiet puppy inside."
Ivory stifled a laugh behind her hand.
Jake gawked at his mother like she had just revealed a state secret.
"That man?? Puppy?!"
Mrs. Jeon only patted Ivory's hand fondly.
"You've already found the key, dear," she said warmly.
Before Jake could process that, the sliding door creaked open again.
Mr. Jeon returned, face unreadable.
He sat down slowly.
Then — so subtle it could've been imagined — he glanced at Jake.
And gave a tiny, almost imperceptible thumbs-up.
Only visible to his son.
Jake froze, nearly choked on his water.
Blinking like he couldn't believe it.
His mother barely hid her smile behind her teacup.
Beside him, Ivory just continued sipping her water, pretending not to notice — but Jake knew she saw everything.
Because when he glanced at her, she shot him a tiny, smug wink.
And in that moment, Jake knew:
She wasn't just surviving his father's intensity.
She was thriving.
He leaned back in his chair.
His shoulders, always so square, relaxed a fraction.
And with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like approval, he reached for his chopsticks again.
Mr. Jeon said nothing else for a while, but he filled Ivory's bowl with more side dishes.
A silent, traditional Korean dad way of saying:
You're welcome here.
Jake caught her hand under the table, squeezing it tightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a silent thank you.
Ivory squeezed back, smiling at her plate, heart soaring.
Jake was home.
And now...
So was she.
They all settled around the dinner table, a beautiful spread of homemade Korean dishes laid out — japchae, bulgogi, kimchi stew, crispy jeon pancakes — the works.
Ivory, ever the respectful guest, waited for Mr. Jeon to pick up his chopsticks first before touching anything.
Jake watched, still on high alert, wondering if he'd need to throw himself across the table if his dad asked any more intimidating questions.
But then—
Mr. Jeon, silent for a moment, cleared his throat and leaned slightly toward Ivory.
When he spoke, his tone was different.
Still low — but softer somehow.
"음식 괜찮아요?"
(Eumsik gwaenchana-yo? — "Is the food okay?")
Ivory smiled brightly, the same radiant smile that Jake loved more than anything.
"네, 정말 맛있어요, 아버님."
("Yes, it's really delicious, Father.")
—SHE EVEN CALLED HIM FATHER FORMALLY.
Jake almost dropped his chopsticks.
Mr. Jeon's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but the closest thing to it Jake had ever seen directed at someone other than his mom or him.
Jake's brain short-circuited.
What the hell??
Did someone flip a table?? Did he enter a parallel universe???
He shot a look at his mom — who was beaming into her rice bowl like she just won the lottery.
Ivory continued chatting politely, answering Mr. Jeon's quiet questions in fluent, respectful Korean.
About her company, her work ethic, how she handled the coffee business alone before Jake encouraged her to expand.
All while Mr. Jeon nodded approvingly, eating slowly, actually listening.
Jake kept gawking between them like a spectator at a magic show.
At one point, Mr. Jeon even offered her a piece of galbi (beef short rib) from his own plate.
FROM. HIS. OWN. PLATE.
Jake nearly choked on his water.
Ivory accepted it with a bright "감사합니다!" ("Thank you!") and a little polite bow, her cheeks pink with gratitude.
Jake leaned in toward his mother, whisper-shouting behind his hand.
"Is this real life???"
Mrs. Jeon just chuckled, patting his arm like he was the child again.
"She's good for him," she whispered back.
"Your father sees it too. That's why he's... like this."
She gestured to Mr. Jeon casually offering Ivory another dish, like they were old family friends.
Jake slumped back in his chair, still stunned, heart doing backflips.
He had survived years of Mr. Jeon's cold, intimidating stares.
And now — in front of him — was Ivory, completely melting the man with nothing but honesty, grace, and love.
Jake couldn't help the dumb, lopsided grin that stretched across his face.
He really, really wanted to marry her someday.