The Next Morning
Jake woke up feeling like he hadn't slept at all — not because he was tired, but because he didn't want to leave.
The house was busy but warm. Ivory's mother bustling in the kitchen, her dad packing wine boxes, Marco on his phone again but this time laughing as he argued with their dad about vineyard finances. It was chaotic but it was home.
Ivory slipped into his room as he was zipping up his last suitcase.
"You ready, rockstar?" she teased, arms crossed and smiling.
Jake sighed dramatically. "No."
She chuckled, walking over to him and adjusting the zipper on his duffel. "Don't worry. You'll see me sooner than you think."
Jake pouted, clearly not ready to part ways. "Can't you come with me?"
"I will. Soon. Promise," Ivory said, tugging on the chain around her neck — the pearl heart-shaped necklace — and giving him a wink. "Go make the world swoon. I'll handle some last-minute things here."
(What Jake didn't know was that 'last-minute things' meant finalizing the paperwork for launching her surprise JaKed Up Coffee line with Ivory's wine and coffee brands backing it.)
Ivory was wrestling with her shoes then, muttering under her breath about him packing too fast, when her father appeared at the archway — coffee in one hand, his other shoved deep in his pocket.
"Got a minute, ragazzo?" he asked, voice low and rough from sleep.
Jake straightened immediately. "Of course, sir."
Ivory's dad motioned for him to step outside, just into the cool, misty morning air that clung to the vineyard.
For a moment, neither spoke. The vines stretched out like a sea around them, the sky just barely beginning to warm at the edges.
Then, quietly, her father said, "She's stronger than she looks, you know."
Jake nodded, heart thudding.
"She'll always act like she doesn't need anyone. That's how we raised her." The older man took a slow sip of his coffee, then met Jake's eyes, steady and serious. "But even the strongest ones deserve someone who stays. Who doesn't let them carry it all alone."
Jake's throat tightened. He swallowed hard and managed a quiet, "I will."
Her father smiled, a small, knowing curve of his mouth. He reached out and clasped Jake's shoulder — strong, heavy, and full of unspoken trust.
"I know you will," he said simply. "Go make us proud, son."
Jake barely managed a thick, "Yes, sir," before Ivory came bursting out the door behind them, yelling about missing their window to the airport.
Her father just chuckled and shook his head, releasing Jake with one last squeeze.
And Jake realized —
He wasn't just leaving Italy with a full heart.
He was leaving with a family, too.
At the airport, Jake was even worse.
He clung to her hand like a little boy about to lose his favorite toy. Ivory laughed but didn't pull away — just squeezed tighter.
"Text me the second you land?" he mumbled against her hair as they hugged tightly before he boarded.
"Text me the second you miss me," she teased back.
"I already do," he whispered, making her heart nearly burst.
One last kiss — slow, lingering — then Jake reluctantly walked to the gates, his head whipping back every few steps to make sure she was still watching.
She was. Smiling, waving.
****
Back in Korea
****
Jake slouched onto the massive couch in his penthouse, groaning.
Piles of schedule printouts scattered the coffee table. Rehearsals, shoots, meetings, fan events, interviews — packed straight through November.
"Hyung, I'm dying," he whined into the phone, Yoongi laughing lazily on the other end.
Unpacking his luggage felt like a chore... until he opened his duffel and things started spilling out:
A bottle of her perfume, tucked between his sweaters, still smelling like her.
Little notes hidden inside his shoes and pockets: "Miss me yet?"
Photos of their trip to Tuscany, folded carefully in envelopes.
A tiny bottle of her dad's scotch, labeled "For rough days."
Packs of Italian candies, fruits, and nuts.
A cold-cut sampler in vacuum pack (because Ivory said he needed to taste it with his coffee).
Even a small jar of Tuscan honey.
Jake sat on the floor, surrounded by all the little pieces of her love — and just smiled.
His heart ached, sure. But it was full. It was so full it almost hurt.
He pressed his forehead to her bottle of perfume, inhaled deeply, and whispered,
"I'll make you proud, Allegra."
***
Some few weeks later
***
Jake's body felt like it was moving on autopilot as he dragged himself through the empty hotel hallways, exhausted but buzzing after the New York showcase.
Golden was out. The performances were a success.
The fans were incredible.
But the only thing on his mind as he slid his keycard into the hotel door was — God, I wish Ivory was here.
He pushed open the door, shoulders sagging.
And froze.
There, perched at the edge of the bed like she owned the place, was Ivory.
Signature smirk in place. Arms crossed. Eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You're late," she said, in that teasing, scolding tone he loved too much.
Jake made a noise — something between a gasp and a yell — and dropped his bag right there.
"ALLEGRA—!"
He practically tackled her onto the bed, his arms wrapping so tightly around her that she squealed and laughed against him.
"God, I missed you. I missed you so much," Jake mumbled against her neck, peppering kisses along her jaw, her hair, her cheeks.
Ivory was giggling, trying to breathe, "Jake, Jake, let me talk—"
"No talking. Only cuddling," he said dramatically, flopping them sideways on the mattress and tangling his limbs around her like a clingy koala.
She poked his cheek. "I actually came with a proposal."
Jake jerked back, eyes wide.
"No! No way — I'm the one proposing!!"
Ivory let out a shriek-laugh and swatted him in the chest.
"Not that proposal, you hopeless romantic!" she giggled, cheeks flushing slightly at his instinctive reaction. "Business."
Jake narrowed his eyes, pouting. "Business? When I'm like this??" He gestured to himself — messy hair, sweaty post-performance glow, eyes desperate for love.
Ivory just smirked wider.
"Listen carefully, Golden boy," she said, shifting to sit cross-legged beside him, reaching into her bag and pulling out a sleek, minimalistic brochure.
Jake blinked, confused — until he saw it.
Right there, in bold stylish font:
"JaKed Up Coffee"
"Get JaKed. Wake up Golden."
Underneath the tagline was a rough mockup:
A black and gold coffee bag... and his face — looking soft and boyfriend-material, holding a steaming mug. (A picture she has stolen once, and saved under the a folder named Jake <3)
Jake's mouth dropped open.
"You— you actually did it??" he croaked.
Ivory laughed, nodding proudly. "I needed you for promotion. And more importantly, your face. It's your fault, you know. You said it first, back in Iceland. 'You're JaKed Up.' It stuck."
Jake stared at the package mockup like it was a religious artifact. His heart swelled, tripped, burst.
"Allegra..." he said, voice low, overwhelmed.
She grinned and leaned in. "So, Mr. Golden Superstar... you in?"
Jake didn't even hesitate. He tackled her back onto the bed again, laughter spilling between them.
"I'm in. I'm so in. For everything," he whispered against her forehead.
Rooftop in New York – Private Location, Early Morning
A soft golden haze bathed the skyline as the sun rose, casting a warm glow across the minimalist rooftop setup. There were just a couple of stools, a few props, and a makeshift café corner with soft jazz playing from a portable speaker.
Jake — now dressed in cream knits, tousled hair, and a mug in hand — looked like he'd walked straight out of a Pinterest board.
"Try not to make the coffee look like it changed your life," Manager Hyung muttered under his breath, arms crossed.
"It did change my life," Jake mumbled, shooting a look toward Ivory who was across the rooftop in a tailored trench coat, sipping her own mug and overseeing the lighting.
Mr. Lee, ever the stoic professional, was taking notes beside her but cracked a faint smile at Jake's lovesick tone.
Jake adjusted his posture and held the coffee mug near his lips for another shot, photographer calling out gentle instructions.
"Look natural," they said.
Jake smirked. "I'm drinking her, how could I not?"
Ivory barked a laugh from behind the monitor.
Manager Hyung pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, help me."
Post-Shoot Wrap-Up, Rooftop Lounge Chairs
Jake dropped down onto one of the lounge chairs, head resting back, mug still in hand.
"So, how'd you even get this approved?" he asked, squinting up at Ivory who leaned against the railing.
Ivory took another sip and shrugged, eyes gleaming.
"You know that ticket your company gave me? The VIP charity gala red carpet event they wanted me to attend on your behalf?"
Jake blinked. "Wait, you didn't go?"
She shook her head slowly. "I traded it for a greenlight on this. The 'JaKed Up' promo."
Jake sat up straighter. "Ivory— that was a huge deal."
She just smiled, stepping closer, and ran her fingers through his hair. "So is this."
Jake stared at her, heart melting into a soft puddle on the rooftop floor.
Manager Hyung walked by then and muttered, "You two better get married at this point or I want my ten years of emotional investment back."
A Few Days Later — New York, Downtown Loft
The loft smelled like roasted beans and fresh ambition.
Ivory sat at a polished wood table, flipping through the final contract papers while Jake lounged lazily across from her, pen spinning between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Alright," Ivory said, pushing a thick packet toward him, "this officially makes you the face of JaKed Up. Rich Roast edition."
Jake leaned over, squinting dramatically at the contract.
"Feels kinda serious for just putting my pretty face on a coffee bag."
Ivory arched a brow. "You're not just a pretty face, you're the embodiment of rich flavor and emotional damage," she teased, tongue-in-cheek.
Jake chuckled, signing with an exaggerated flourish.
As he clicked the pen closed, he gave her a boyish, wicked grin.
"You know," he said casually, "it would've been more fun if we were signing marriage papers instead."
Ivory didn't miss a beat.
"Sure," she said dryly. "Just make sure the wedding's in Italy. Otherwise, my dad's gonna hunt you down with a vineyard sickle."
Jake laughed so hard he had to clutch his chest, the pen nearly flying from his fingers.
"A vineyard sickle??" he wheezed.
She winked at him, playful but firm.
"Tradition, baby. No Italian wedding, no Italian bride."
Jake pretended to wipe sweat from his forehead, mouthing yes ma'am before sliding the contract back toward her.
Just as Ivory started filing the signed papers, Jake's phone buzzed against the table.
"Jiminie," Jake grinned, answering the video call.
Onscreen, Jimin's smiling face filled the frame, messy-haired and cozy in a hoodie.
"JKayyyy~!! Congratulations!" he chirped. "You finished the New York tour AND you're a coffee model now?? Living the dream!"
Jake flipped the camera to show Ivory grinning behind her laptop.
"All thanks to the boss lady," he said, reaching out to mess up her hair.
Ivory swatted his hand away, laughing.
Suddenly, she paused — an idea lighting up in her eyes like fireworks.
"Hey, Jimin-ssi," she leaned into the frame, voice sweet and sly. "Since you're already on the call... How do you feel about being the face of my other coffee flavor?"
Jimin blinked.
"...Huh?"
Jake snorted. "You're getting dragged into this too, bro."
Ivory smiled, explaining with a twinkle in her voice.
"Jake is Rich Roast — intense, bold. I'm planning a second flavor. Sweeter, lighter, comforting. It's called Sweet Roast. You're perfect for it."
Jimin threw his head back laughing, dramatically clutching his chest.
"ME?? Sweet??"
Jake leaned closer to the camera, deadpan.
"She's not wrong. You're basically a human macaron."
Jimin rolled his eyes but his smile was wide and warm.
"For you two? Of course. Count me in."
By the time the call ended, Ivory had already pulled out a fresh contract draft.
Jake watched her, heart so full it ached a little.
This — the teasing, the plans, the future wrapping around them like vines — this was the life he didn't know he desperately wanted until her.
He reached out, dragging her chair closer to his side, his voice low and playful against her ear.
"Just so you know," he murmured, "after I survive your dad's vineyard sickle... I'm seriously making you sign a marriage contract."
Ivory bumped her shoulder against his but didn't deny it — just smiled so softly that Jake thought he might actually explode.
"Better brush up on your Italian, amore," she whispered back