[Ivory's POV]
People said time flies when you're happy.
They forgot to mention it disappears when you're in love with someone who's about to leave.
The last 22 days blurred together, like a reel on fast-forward. And yet, every moment etched itself in me like scripture.
After that night-the one where we sat on cold concrete, sharing a pack of smokes and a can of beer-I knew. Jake wasn't just someone I loved. He was someone I would stay with, through storms, silence, and scars. That night, he let me in again, and I let myself fall deeper than before.
When we went home to the penthouse, we didn't speak at first. We just touched. Every surface of his skin felt like a goodbye I refused to say. I traced the veins on his arms, kissed the tattoos that told stories before I came into his life, and memorized the softness behind his rough edges. I told him, "I want to remember this, in case my memory forgets."
The next few days were quiet and warm. We slept in, made breakfast together, had dance breaks in the kitchen when a song reminded us of Jeju, or Iceland, or that rooftop dinner. He would hold me tighter now, longer, like the clock was chasing him.
Then the day came-his haircut.
I cried before the razor even touched his scalp.
His longtime stylist was silent, her hands trembling slightly as if she, too, couldn't believe this was happening. Jake smiled through it. Of course he did. That kind of smile that tries to protect everyone else. But when I saw the first lock fall, my chest cracked open. And when he turned to me after, his new military buzzcut making him look younger, rawer, I burst into tears. He hugged me like he was afraid he'd break me. "I'm still me," he whispered.
We spent the rest of the days with more pillow talks than plans. I told him about my teen years-my rebel phase, my late-night rides, the way wine saved me after I lost my grandfather. He told me about dreams he never said in interviews. We laughed. We cried. We made love like the world might end.
We visited Mr. and Mrs. Jeon again. Mr. Jeon wrapped me in the warmest hug and said, "When he gets his vacation, bring him home again, alright?" Mrs. Jeon gave me a Tupperware full of side dishes and whispered, "You're the reason our son laughs again."
Then it was the night before he had to go.
We just lay there. Staring.
No more distractions. No playlist playing. No TV humming. Just us-two souls pressing time to stay still.
He reached out on my hand, my fingers. "It's not for show," he said. "It's a promise."
Right then, he slid this beautiful diamond ring-elegant, brilliant, nothing too loud, but impossible to ignore.
"When distance comes... when it hurts, when it's hard-this will remind us," he said. "We're stronger than the days trying to separate us."
I didn't cry this time.
I just said, "I know."
Because I did.
He was mine.
And I was his.
Even when he leaves, we don't end.
The morning was too quiet. Too still. As if time decided to slow down just to make everything harder to endure.
I found him in the living room, standing in front of the mirror. Dressed in uniform. Adjusting his collar, then his beret. Then the hem of his sleeve. Then back to the collar again, like it still wasn't sitting right.
But it was perfect. He was perfect. Except for the expression on his face-tense, unreadable.
He noticed me.
I walked over with fingers that trembled despite my best efforts to steel myself. I reached up and fixed the collar he'd already adjusted five times. Smoothed the shoulders. Touched the side of his cheek. He leaned into it with a sigh.
Then, without saying anything, he took my hand. Kissed it.
And there it was-his promise, glinting on my finger. That diamond ring he gave me on the night before. A vow sealed without fireworks, but with silence and eyes too full of unspoken words.
"It's just service," he whispered. "Not goodbye."
I smiled even though I felt like my chest was splitting.
A few hours later, the doorbell rang.
His parents arrived. His mother burst into tears the moment she saw him. I watched her fold into her son's arms as if she was holding a boy again-not the man the world saw, not the idol millions cheered for, but her baby. "It's different now," she cried. "Now I won't see you on TV."
His father, ever more reserved, gave him a shy but tight hug. "Come home when it's your day off," he muttered, tapping his back like he was afraid to hold on too long.
We rode in a black van. I sat quietly in the back seat. This was their moment. I didn't want to steal it.
Mrs. Jeon never let go of his hand, clutching it like she was sending him to kindergarten all over again-but this time, the goodbye was heavier.
At the base, only three of the six dorks came. Yoongi, Hobi, and Seokjin.
Yoongi teased him, "Tuck your ears in or you'll get yelled at first thing."
Seokjin gave him a literal pack of snacks. "Eat these before they turn you into a stick."
Hobi kept it together until he didn't. "I'm proud of you, man," he said, pulling Jake into a hug that lasted too long.
Jimin arrived later, with his own family. His mother was crying too, watching both her son and mine disappear soon.
Then came our moment.
I reached out. He met me halfway. One last hug. One last kiss. His beret nearly fell off and I didn't fix it. I didn't care. I just needed to remember how he felt.
"I'll update you," he murmured. "Pictures, texts. Everything. If there are times that I can't. Jimin will. My secretary." He joked, winking. As if lighting the mood.
"Okay," I breathed.
"I love you."
"I love you," I said back, "Always. More than anything. Anyone but you."
He smiled. My favorite boyish, bunny smile. He gently placed a finger on my cheek. Then held my hand, caressing the diamond on my finger. Reminding me silently his promise. Then he walked with Jimin through the gates. No tears, just a straight back and strong shoulders. That was Jake. My Jake.
The gate closed.
I stood still. Lingering. Like if I stared long enough, they'd open again.
But they didn't.
And suddenly, the world felt too quiet again.
This is where we are now. The beginning of a pause. A slow burn of longing stretched over days I haven't lived yet.
And I think about the words I once told myself: anyone but you-because falling for someone like him? An idol, a ghost to the world, a name too loud to hold quietly in my hands?
But fate had other plans.
It was always him.
It would never be anyone but you.