Jaemin was a flurry of nerves as he got ready to meet Kang Do-hyun. He felt a surge of uncharacteristic rebellion. He had had to announce the day a rest from rehearsing, even with the Gala looming closer and closer.
For the first time in his life, he was putting his own desires before his professional duties.
He found himself walking toward a small, secluded art gallery he had always loved, but never had the chance to visit. Kang Do-hyun was already there, leaning against a sunlit wall, his profile calm and serene.
Sensing Jaemin's approach, he looked up, and a slow, delighted smile spread across his face.
"Conductor-nim," he said, his voice soft. "You came."
"Please," Jaemin replied, the word coming out in a rush, "Just 'Jaemin'. We're not in rehearsal now."
Do-hyun's smile widened, a flash of relief in his dark eyes. He took the lead, guiding Jaemin into the gallery. They walked through a quiet exhibit of abstract paintings, their steps and conversation hushed. The music had given them a language, but here, surrounded by stillness, they found it difficult to speak. The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of all the things unsaid.
Do-hyun stopped in front of a large canvas filled with bold, chaotic slashes of vibrant blues and deep crimson. "This artist isn't trying to hide the mess," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the canvas. "He's putting it all out there for the world to see."
Jaemin's eyes, which had been scanning the room, settled on the painting. "That's a very public way of being vulnerable," he said quietly.
"Maybe," Do-hyun said. "But sometimes, you have to show someone the whole picture, the chaos and the color, so they know you're not afraid. That you're in it for the art, not just the beautiful outcome."
When they were satisfied, Do-hyun took Jaemin by the arm and guided him out of the gallery, his hand a warm, confident weight. "That was enough art for one day," he said. "Are you hungry?"
They found a small, sun-drenched café with checkered floors and the scent of freshly baked bread. The late afternoon sun found its way through the window and settled on Jaemin's face.
It caught in the strands of his hair, illuminating the rich tones the way a brushfire catches on dry honey. It wasn't the kind of light brown that was easy to pin down—instead, it was a complex shade of dark honey, a swirl of deep umber and liquid gold that made his gentle expression feel as warm and delicious as the color itself.
When Do-hyun offered him a wine list, Jaemin recoiled with a theatrical shudder.
"No, absolutely not," Jaemin said, shaking his head vehemently. "Look what happened last time we drank together. I wouldn't be sitting here with you now otherwise."
Do-hyun's smile was a flash of pure mischief. "But you would be missing out on this, too," he said, gesturing to the delicious meal that had just been placed on their table. "And you give too much credit to the alcohol."
"Oh stop." Jaemin rolled his eyes, but he couldn't seem to meet Do-hyun's gaze, and his cheeks were dusted pink. "What else could it have been?"
"Mmm… my handsome face and irresistible aura?" He leaned in closer, the look in his deep brown eyes starting to sharpen…
… only for Jaemin to smack a clean serviette on the handsome face in question, pushing him away. But he couldn't hide the twitching corners of his mouth.
Their easy laughter filled the small café, and for the space of those few hours, the weight of all responsibilities seemed to vanish. As they walked out of the café and down the street, Do-hyun noticed Jaemin's shoulders relax. The tension that had been a constant companion seemed to have finally receded, replaced by a quiet contentment that lit up his face.
Do-hyun realised that he liked Jaemin looking this at ease… that he wanted him to look this happy more often. Even better: always.
As they walked down the street, Jaemin was laughing at something Do-hyun said when a light breeze blew past, carrying a whiff of bitter-citrus tea. Turning instinctively towards it, he glanced across the street, and froze.
A tall figure, his back to them, was just getting into a taxi. The posture, the cut of his suit, the way he moved… Jaemin's breath hitched. It couldn't be him. It was impossible. But a cold, primal fear seized him, a scent of bitter tea rising in his memory.
No. No. He can't be here. Not now… Not so close to the Gala!
The man at the taxi paused, beginning to turn towards them, and Jaemin whimpered, a small, pained sound, his hand instinctively flying to his throat. His knees threatened to buckle as he struggled to breathe, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Do-hyun was beside him in an instant. He didn't ask what was wrong. He caught the smell of Jaemin's panic, and looked out in the same direction. But the taxi was gone.
Without a word, he put a firm hand on Jaemin's back, a solid, grounding weight, and began to guide him toward a quiet spot, away from prying eyes. When they were alone, Do-hyun sat Jaemin down and knelt in front of him, his voice a low, soothing murmur.
"What did you see?"
Jaemin shook his head, unable to speak. His eyes were wide with terror.
Do-hyun didn't push. Instead, he reached out and took both of Jaemin's hands in his. As his thumbs stroked the back of Jaemin's knuckles, he felt a shiver of pure, cold terror that wasn't just from the passing taxi, but from a pain embedded deep in Jaemin's soul. He felt the rapid, chaotic beat of Jaemin's heart, the clenching tension in his muscles, saw the way his lips had gone white. This wasn't just a fear; it was trauma.
His alpha instincts, usually so focused on asserting his will, softened into a profound, aching empathy. He wasn't just a pursuer anymore; he was a protector. He had to show Jaemin that this time, he wasn't alone.
He stayed that way, large hands engulfing the thin, cold ones, until Jaemin's panicked breathing slowed and stabilised. To distract his thoughts from fixating any longer on the encounter, Do-hyun spoke.
"I… lost my father a few years ago," he began, voice low. "He was always the hero, you know. To me at least, as his son. Strong, uncompromising. Everything a good leader, a good concertmaster, should be.
"But after he passed, I found a secret stash of suppressants in his desk, and a journal." He paused, looking Jaemin directly in the eye. "Turns out, my father was an omega. He lived his entire life in a world that wouldn't let him be who he was, and he chose to hide from it instead."
He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "I saw him lose sight of himself because of it, even though I didn't understand what was happening at the time. I watched him live in fear of being discovered, of having his nature used against him.
"As an alpha, I know I would never be in such a position. But more than that… I swore I would never let that happen to anyone else. Especially not someone… like you." He leaned in, his voice now a low, fierce murmur. "You can trust me, Jaemin-ah. I've seen this before. I will not let you be hurt again."
Jaemin's breath hitched. He had been so used to running, to hiding, to being alone, but now… here was someone who not only saw his pain, but understood it. Do-hyun's words were a balm, and a dam broke in Jaemin's heart, a sudden, overwhelming wave of relief.
Softly taking Do-hyun's handsome face in between gentle hands, he leaned forward, not even aware of what he was doing until his lips met Do-hyun's in a soft, desperate kiss.
The instant their lips touched, the now-familiar electric jolt was there, but it was different. It didn't feel like a shock of static; it felt like a current flowing between two frayed wires, finally connecting and completing a circuit. It was a simple, profound joining of two broken souls.
As their lips melded together, one of Do-hyun's hands flew up to slide along the side of Jaemin's jaw. Do-hyun's lips were warm and gentle, his scent of cedar a comforting anchor, chasing away the bitter, stale scent of his memories. The soft pressure of his other hand at the crook of Jaemin's elbow deepened, a silent communication that grounded him, told him he was safe.
The kiss was a gentle, consuming fire, a slow, deliberate exploration that tasted of promises and unspoken truths. It wasn't about passion; it was about the profound, aching need to be seen and accepted.
When Do-hyun pulled away, his eyes were full of a quiet, fierce determination. He reached up and gently wiped away a tear that had slid silently down Jaemin's cheek.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I've got you."