Jaemin's hands still trembled as he took his place on the podium. He could feel the eyes of the audience on him, a thousand silent witnesses… His eyes. Everyone in the auditorium seemed to have taken note of his long pause on the walk from the stage door to the podium. The soft glow of the stage lights felt too hot, his suit too tight. He was a small, pale figure, and his heart pounded against his ribs in an uneven, frantic rhythm. He could hear the nervous buzz of the orchestra behind him, a reflection of his own inner turmoil. He was no longer the confident maestro from the first half of the concert; he was a terrified child, exposed and vulnerable.
From his chair, Do-hyun watched, never taking his eyes from Jaemin as he struggled to gain his balance in the turbulent sea of his anxiety. As Jaemin's hand, a white-knuckled fist, came up to prepare for the downbeat, Do-hyun raised his violin, his eyes locked on Jaemin's face.
The conductor's hand trembled so violently that he couldn't begin. The audience, having witnessed the first half of the performance with such confidence, was now confused. An uncomfortable murmur rippled collectively through the audience.
Do-hyun's eyes met Jaemin's, and with a silent, determined gesture, he took charge. The alpha's scent, a cedar steady and firm, washed over the front rows of the orchestra, a quiet, comforting command to steady themselves. He gave an almost imperceptible nod to his section, a signal to wait. He held his violin still, waiting for Jaemin to regain his balance.
The moment stretched, an eternity of painful silence, but Jaemin's trembling subsided just enough for him to lift his hand, and Do-hyun knew his scenting had found its mark.
Jaemin's fearful eyes found his again, a raw plea for help. Do-hyun gave a small nod, and with a confident, deliberate move, started the first note of the Schubert. The sound, a pure, perfect tone, was a lifeline, a bridge to a world where there was only music.
The other instruments followed the lead of their concertmaster, their sound a quiet, hesitant river that gradually grew in strength.
As the music flowed through Jaemin, the familiar current began to calm his panic. He closed his eyes for a moment and willed himself to forget the audience, the cameras… even the man in the balcony. The only things that mattered were the notes, the rhythm, and the unspoken conversation between himself and Do-hyun. His baton, once so stiff, now moved with a graceful, fluid motion as he stepped away from the self that was a frightened, abandoned boy; he was the conductor now, and this was his orchestra, with Do-hyun right beside him.
He was home.
Do-hyun, sensing this, smiled.
As the piece swelled, reaching a majestic crescendo, Jaemin's confidence returned in a rush. He was lost in the music, a triumphant wave that crested and crashed against the shore of the auditorium. His movements became a dance, a celebration of sound and fury. He was no longer leading a symphony; he was commanding an entire army of sound.
The orchestra, fuelled by his renewed, unshakable resolve, played with a passion they had never known before. The music was a living, breathing entity, an almost tangible reflection of the power of a conductor who had stood to face his demons head on.
At long last, the final, soaring note hung in the air, a perfect, crystalline sound that hung in the air for a full ten seconds.
The silence that followed was absolute. The audience, stunned, sat in perfect stillness. They had witnessed a miracle—a hesitant, broken beginning that had blossomed into a triumphant, powerful finale.
For a long moment, there was nothing. The orchestra, equally astonished, stared at their conductor, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and awe.
And then, it happened.
The roar of applause broke the silence like a thunderclap. The audience leapt to their feet in a standing ovation that shook the very foundations of the hall. Jaemin, who had been powering through on sheer willpower and the sense of Do-hyun's unwavering support, flushed with victory, turned shakily to bow, a shy smile spreading across his face.
He had done it. He had faced his fear, and he had won. A wave of relief washed over him, and a new sense of pride, one that had nothing to do with the accolades and everything to do with his own newfound strength.
He turned to Do-hyun, reaching toward him to offer his thanks and to share the audience's applause, and watched him with eyes filling with moisture and dawning hope as the alpha rose.
It was over. They had done it. They had won. Exchanging a single look, they turned in unison to take their bow to the crowd.
As he straightened, a flash of red caught his eye. A beautiful bouquet of blood-red roses, tied with a black ribbon, was being passed up from the front row to the stage. It was a gesture of congratulations, but as the bouquet reached the stage and was passed into his hands, Jaemin's heart, which had just found its rhythm, seized in his chest.
His eyes whipped to the balcony, immediately latching on to the handsome, cold face that had tormented him through so many lonely, excruciating nights. The moment their gazes met, the world shrank to a pinpoint.
The applause continued, a wave of sound, but Jaemin was deafened by a scent—the rich, smoky aroma of black tea, sharp with a lingering, bitter edge of bergamot. For years it had been a phantom remembrance, but it was not a ghost of an aroma that now slammed into him with the force of a physical blow.
It was him. It was really him.
The magic shield of the music drained away from Jaemin as Choi Seungcheol's handsome mouth dropped open in a delighted laugh.
Jaemin didn't even have time to tremble before the bouquet was shoved into his limp arms. Breaking eye contact, he looked down, barely registering what he was seeing except for the single slip of paper attached to the ribbon binding the gathered stems under pastel crepe, embellished with an elegant script:
Just for you, my fragile omega.
Jaemin's eyes fell to the note. The cruel, familiar flourish sent a shiver down his spine. But before the cold dread could fully settle, a different sensation—a sharp, unexpected sting—pierced the pad of his thumb.
He barely felt it, a tiny prick of pain that was gone as soon as it arrived, masked by the frantic rhythm of his pounding heart and the thunderous applause of the crowd, which was slowly being swallowed up into a chaotic buzz of static in his ears. But barely a heartbeat later, a wave of liquid heat, disorienting and nauseating, surged through his veins. It wasn't a spike—it was a violent, shattering torrent as his suppressants were completely compromised, and his omega hormones exploded into a wild, frantic storm.
The world, which had just been in a beautiful, triumphant focus a few moments ago, began to spin wildly. His stomach lurched, His scent, which he had so struggled to hold in check all night, now screamed into existence. It was a raw flood of panicked cherry blossoms, cloyingly sweet and sickeningly potent. His vision blurred, the faces in the audience melting into a kaleidoscope of colors. The buzzing in his head grew louder, a painful, insistent thrum that threatened to smother him.
From his place a few steps away on the stage, Do-hyun's triumphant smile vanished when the sudden, overwhelming scent slammed into him. He watched, aghast, as Jaemin stumbled, trembling and swaying like a reed in violent winds, sheer terror and confusion clouding the clear amber of his eyes.
Jaemin's hands flew to his head, a strangled cry escaping his lips as the anti-suppressant tore through his body, forcing his omega hormones into an unstoppable climax. The bouquet, that venomous beauty of red roses, slipped from his shaking fingers and fell with a soft thud to the stage floor. The buzzing in his head exploded into a roar, a painful, white-hot sensation that made him clench his eyes shut.
He didn't even register when his knees buckled and hit the wooden boards of the stage. The wave of his victory was completely gone, replaced by a black, suffocating panic. His head swam, and his vision blurred.
Do-hyun's violin crashed to the ground, a harsh, discordant sound that was completely drowned out by the audience's collective gasp. Already in motion, he leapt, a blur of protective, terrified fury as he reached for Jaemin, his own alpha scent roaring to life in the face of danger.
But it was too late. The violent assault of his newly-liberated omega hormones crashed over him in another crippling, humiliating wave, and Jaemin's body gave out completely, crumpling to the ground with a quiet, helpless sob that was swallowed in the chaos and went unheard.