Author's Note: 

Please leave some feedback in the comments!!! 

I am not sure how many people are continuing to read my one-shots, and I would really like to hear what you all think.

I don't know where the inspiration for this came from.  I wasn't planning on the direction the story went.  Hope you enjoy reading.

Thanks!

XX

Jackson just barely registered that his manager had pulled into the familiar back alley of his favorite coffee shop and exited the van, before the passenger door was sliding open and one Heo Youngji was flying into his arms. 

Despite sleeping for most of the 20-hour flight back from Nicaragua, he was understandably still jetlagged and startled at the speed at which Youngji was before him, the sudden weight of her body on his temporarily knocking the wind out of his lungs.  Nevertheless, Youngji was a welcome vision after all of his time in the jungle, and Jackson instinctively wraps his arms around her body.

Youngji’s hair falls over his face and he breathes in her soft, floral scent, and that hint of dark chocolatey roasted espresso underneath that she always gets whenever she helps at Coffee Terior. “You smell good.” He mumbles into the side of her head, his nose buried beneath her ear.

“Mmm, I really missed you,” Youngji whispers, moving out of his tight embrace slightly, so she can rest her hands on his chest as she leans on his body and takes a good look at his rugged appearance.  He is a few shades tanner than when she saw him last, his hair is longer, pulled back in ponytail, slightly overgrown, and his five o’clock shadow more prominent. "Did you have a hard time?" she asks and her brow is furrowed.

He shakes his head and smiles softly, always grateful for her concern.  Jackson stares into her big brown eyes for the first time in weeks and cannot explain the feeling that settles over him. It is as if all of his fatigue has left his body and he just feels calm and content, like he is back where he belongs. He reaches up to cup her cheek and watches as her eyes flutter close at the gesture.  His fingers are calloused from roughing it in the Central American jungle, but she does not seem to mind at all.