The café was quiet, the air thick with the smell of roasted coffee beans and stale pastries. It was an odd choice of venue for a meeting, a sterile, anonymous space away from the vibrant chaos of the main streets, or even the warm bustle of the rehearsal hall. Kang Do-hyun sat at a corner table, his heel tapping a restless, anxious beat against the tiled floor. He had spent the last hour mentally rehearsing his apology, preparing to beg for forgiveness from the man he had wronged. But he wasn't ready for what actually happened.
The café door swung open, and the crisp scent of the winter night air outside followed Jaemin in. But this was a different person from the Seo Jaemin in the rehearsal hall, the one who radiated confidence and a quiet, unassuming power. His shoulders were slumped, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket, and his gaze was fixed on the ground as he approached the table. His normally-neatly slicked hair was mussed and unruly under a nondescript black cap, and under it, his face was pale, dark shadows under his eyes. He looked small, vulnerable.
He sat down, not in the crisp, confident way Do-hyun was used to, but with a weary sigh. As he moved, Do-hyun caught a whiff of the same old sandalwood shield, but now that he knew what the man's real scent was, he could pick up strains of it from under the beta mask.
Cherry blossoms, but bitter with fatigue. Like they had been crushed on the ground underfoot.
Jaemin looked at Do-hyun, and for the first time, Do-hyun saw a vulnerability in his dark eyes that made his heart ache.
"I'm sorry," Jaemin said, his voice a quiet whisper that was barely audible over the low murmur of the café. "I'm sorry for lying to you, Kang Do-hyun-ssi. I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble."
Do-hyun stared at him, the carefully rehearsed words of his own apology dying on his tongue. What was he supposed to say to that? That he hadn't caused this trouble? That the fault had been entirely his own? Jaemin was taking the blame for something that wasn't even his failing, for the consequences of a situation he never should have been in.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said finally, his voice raw with a overwhelming rush of guilt. "I am the one who owes you an apology, not the other way around. I said terrible things, and I behaved horribly towards you." He took a deep breath, the confession a bitter pill on his tongue. "I accused you of things that weren't true. I'm truly sorry, Conductor Jaemin-nim."
Jaemin didn't reply. He simply looked down at the table, a strange, haunted expression on his face.
Do-hyun reached out instinctively, his hand hovering over the table, only drawing back at the last moment when he remembered what had happened at their last rehearsal together. "Please," he said, a quiet, desperate plea. "I need you back at the orchestra. Not just for me, but for everyone. We can't… We can't play without you. You're our soul."
Jaemin shook his head. "I can't."
His words were a quiet, final thing that hung in the air, a wall between them.
"Why?" Do-hyun asked, his voice cracking. "Is it because of what I did? I swear it won't happen again. We'll all be different. I'll be better. I won't question your leadership. Whatever you say, I'll do it."
Jaemin shook his head again. "It's not you, Kang Do-hyun-ssi. It's… it's too much. The spotlight. The expectations. The hope… your hope. I can't do that to you." His mouth curved in a soft, sad smile. "You've all worked so hard, poured all your energy and soul into your music… I can't drag you down with me."
Do-hyun's alpha instincts, which had been simmering just beneath the surface, suddenly flared, not in anger, but in a profound sense of protectiveness. He wanted to shield this man from whatever was tormenting him. But he knew that instinct was not what was needed here. What was needed was the truth.
"It's not about the spotlight, is it?" Do-hyun said, his voice a low, certain murmur. "It's about him, isn't it? The Conductor's Oath."
His words were a quiet bomb. Jaemin's gaze, which had been distant and unfocused on the table, snapped to him. His head shot up, and his pupils dilated in shock, a flash of pure, unadulterated fear. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His reaction said it all.
"I know about Choi Seungcheol," Do-hyun continued, his voice softer now, calmer. "I know what he did to you.
"I know he stole your masterpiece."