The sun had started its slow descent, washing the mountain roads in gold as they rode back down. Side by side, neither of them spoke much—just the hum of engines and the occasional glances when one pulled ahead of the other.
There was a strange comfort in the quiet, like both of them were letting the wind carry whatever unspoken thoughts they had.
When they finally reached the mansion, Ivory parked first and pulled off her helmet, looking toward the sky.
"Sometimes I ride just to feel like time's slower than it really is," she said, her voice soft.
Jake mirrored her. "I get that. Everything else feels like it's rushing past."
She turned to him, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "I don't know what brought you to Iceland, Jake, but... I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."
He looked at her, surprised by how gently she said it.
"I'm not sure if I even know what I'm looking for," he admitted.
"That's okay." Her eyes twinkled. "Some of us just ride until we do."
He smiled—tired, real—and then said nothing more as they walked inside.
Later that evening, Jake slumped onto the apartment's worn leather couch, tossing the keys to the Harley onto the nearby table. They landed with a soft clink, a reminder of the ride, the view, and the girl with the wind in her laugh.
He let out a deep breath, reaching for the remote but pausing when his phone buzzed. Again. And again.
Manager Hyung.
He groaned, pressed the answer button, and leaned his head back.
"When are you coming home?" the voice asked, curt.
Silence.
"You can't keep hiding. The media is pushing. The company wants a statement. Her team is doubling down on everything—saying you—"
Jake's fingers clenched around the phone. "I know."
"You can't just disappear forever."
"I'm not ready," he whispered, voice hoarse.
"You have enlistment coming up. Tours on hold. Sponsors asking questions. You can't keep playing ghost."
"I said—" His voice cracked louder this time, "I know."
The manager sighed on the other end. "Call me when you've figured it out."
Click.
Jake let the phone fall onto the couch, covering his face with both hands. He was seconds away from tossing it across the room—when it buzzed again.
But this time, it wasn't a call. He'd accidentally opened the gallery.
And there it was.
The photo.
Ivory's bright grin. His own relaxed expression. The mountains behind them. The bikes. The blanket. The coffee tumbler between them.
Something about it stopped the storm in his chest.
Her joy. His peace. That day. That moment.
So raw. So unfiltered. So unlike everything else he'd known lately.
The rage that had started to build inside him faded like mist in the sun. And he just sat there... staring.
He didn't want to leave.
He didn't want to go back to a world that demanded so much, that made him forget who he was underneath the fame and chaos.
Here, he felt human again.
He felt like Jake. Not JungKook.
His gaze drifted back to the photo.
And quietly, almost afraid to think it too loudly, he wondered—
If I leave...
Will she even miss me?
Would she even want to see JungKook?
Or will she only remember Jake?
He leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, voice barely a whisper:
"I just want a little more time."
***
Ivory crossed her arms, leaning against the chilly railing just outside the café, her gaze sweeping the usual spots. The bikes parked along the alley. The street vendors setting up their little carts. The sound of coffee machines grinding from inside.
No Jake.
She tapped her boot lightly against the cobblestone.
"Probably on his own little introvert agenda," she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes—but not without a small grin.
Still, something gnawed at her.
She was used to seeing him around by now—either passing through the café, asking about mountain roads, or stealing half of her coffee during breakfast like it was a hostage negotiation. But now? Nothing.
Why am I even thinking about him?
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
But she was thinking about him.
More than she should.
Which is why—half an hour later—she found herself climbing the narrow stairs to that quiet apartment he was staying in, thanks to a vague trail of small-town gossip that started with her gardener's cousin and ended with a gas station clerk who remembered seeing him mope around near the bakery.
When she knocked, there was no answer.
So, she knocked harder.
Then louder.
Finally, the door opened with a groggy click. He squinted at her, shirt ruffled, hair a mess, and dark circles under his eyes.
"...Ivory?"
"Surprised?" she smirked. "You weren't at the café. You weren't at the mountain roads. Harley's at the garage."
He blinked. "How did you even know where I was?"
She shrugged like it was obvious. "I asked someone. Who knows someone. Who knows someone. Who knows someone. Ta-da."
Jake stared.
She grinned wider. "Small town. Bigger gossip."
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I was just... sleeping."
"No kidding. You look like a croissant that fell behind the oven," she teased, stepping past him into the apartment without asking.
He raised an eyebrow but didn't stop her.
"You're coming with me," she said, grabbing a hoodie from the back of his couch.
"Where?"
"Groceries. You're obviously malnourished."
"I'm not—"
She tossed the hoodie at his face. "Hurry up. You've got five minutes or I'm dragging you in your pajamas."
Fifteen minutes later, they were inside a local organic market. Ivory was tossing things into her cart like she owned the place—and, knowing her, she probably did.
Jake trailed behind her, hood up, hair tucked under a beanie.
He kept his head down, but Ivory noticed his eyes darting every time someone passed too close.
"You good?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," he said quickly, but his shoulders were tense.
They were nearing the produce section when a teenage girl did a double-take. Her eyes widened, lips parting, and she took a half step forward.
Jake froze.
Ivory didn't hesitate—she smoothly stepped in front of him, blocking the girl's view with a practiced air of nonchalance.
She leaned closer to him, whispering, "Quick, pick up a bunch of bananas and pretend you're having a crisis about potassium levels."
"What?" he blinked.
"Trust me."
He grabbed the bananas like they were a shield. The girl hesitated, clearly uncertain, then walked away, muttering, "Nah, probably not him. He looked taller on the internet."
Ivory waited a beat, then snorted.
Jake stared at her in disbelief. "Are you always like this?"
"Only on days that end with Y."
She winked, tossing a bag of marshmallows into the cart. "Let's get you fed, mystery man."
And just like that, the tension eased off his shoulders again.
He followed behind her—half hiding, half smiling—and realized that even in a place where he feared being seen, somehow, with Ivory, he felt oddly safe.
***
The cozy pizzeria tucked in the heart of Akureyri smelled like heaven the moment they walked in—fresh herbs, bubbling cheese, and wood-fired crust curling at the edges.
Jungkook's eyes lit up like a child in a candy store.
"You like pizza that much?" Ivory asked, amused, unzipping her jacket as they were guided to a candlelit booth by the window.
"I've been craving this for days," Jake muttered, sliding into the booth with a sigh. "Didn't expect Iceland to have a place this... legit."
Ivory grinned. "You'd be surprised what this place hides. Best margherita in the north."
When the pizza came—still sizzling—Jake practically hummed. He folded a slice like a New Yorker and took a bite, eyes fluttering shut for a second.
"I take it this place is a hit," Ivory said, sipping from her wine glass.
"Marry me," he mumbled at the pizza.
She laughed. "You'd be cheating on your bananas."
Jake choked slightly on his bite.
"Speaking of," he said after swallowing. "Earlier. At the store. The girl who looked at me. You stepped in front of me so quickly it was like... second nature."
Ivory shrugged, swirled her wine, but her expression turned thoughtful. "Yeah, well... I figured you didn't want to be seen."
"I didn't," he said. "But why'd you do it?"
She looked at him for a long second. Then smiled—not teasingly this time, but soft and real.
"Because I know what it's like to wish people would stop looking at you like you're something you're not," she said. "And sometimes... it's nice when someone steps in without asking too many questions."
Jake stared at her, the warmth of the pizza and the low lighting suddenly cocooning the moment between them. He sat back, digesting her words. Something about them hit too close to home.
He looked down at his glass, fingers tracing the stem.
"I didn't just come to Iceland to escape the noise," he finally said, voice quieter. "I ran. I needed to."
Ivory didn't push, just nodded, giving him space to continue.
"My ex... she's a public figure too. We broke up months ago but—she went on this whole media tour... said things that weren't true. Twisted stories. Suddenly, I was the villain. The controlling one. The toxic one."
Ivory's brows knit.
Jake huffed a laugh, but it was empty. "I didn't defend myself. Didn't say anything. I was told to lie low. That it would blow over. That I needed to 'protect my image.' But my silence just made people believe her more."
He took a sip of wine. "So I left. Booked a flight to a place I thought nobody would look."
There was a pause. Ivory's expression was unreadable, but her voice was gentle.
Ivory leaned forward, her elbow on the table, chin resting on her palm as she studied him.
"Protect your image?" she echoed slowly. "Are you a politician or something?"
Jake gave a breathy laugh, almost relieved she still didn't know. "God, no. That'd be worse."
"Then what do you mean?" she asked. Her tone wasn't pushy—it was open, curious. There was a flicker in her eyes though. A thread starting to tug.
Jake stared at the flickering candle between them, then lifted his eyes to hers. "Just... someone people expect to be a certain way. Someone who can't screw up publicly without it turning into a headline."
She narrowed her eyes a little. "So... famous?"
Jake didn't confirm. He didn't deny either.
"What would you have done if it were you?" he asked suddenly, steering the conversation back to her. His voice was quiet but serious. "If you were being dragged, twisted into someone you're not. If the world was watching and waiting for you to snap. Would you stay and defend yourself, or... would you run?"
Ivory blinked. The question hit her harder than she expected. Because she did run. Once.
"...I'd probably run too," she admitted. "Not because I'm afraid. But because sometimes fighting just makes you bleed in public."
Jake's gaze softened. There it was. That unspoken thread tying them—two people hiding in plain sight.
"But," she added with a teasing smirk, "I'd do it with better coffee."
Jake laughed, the tension easing a little. "I'll keep that in mind."
Ivory watched him for another moment, like she was filing something away. She didn't press again. But something in her gut whispered there was more to Jake than he was letting on.
She just didn't know how much.
"Truthfully, it doesn't sound like you ran. Sounds like you were trying to breathe."
He looked at her, and for once, didn't try to hide the weight behind his eyes.
"Sometimes, Ivory," he said, "I forget how to."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Just refilled his wine glass and passed him another slice.
And it wasn't pity he saw in her expression.
It was understanding.