The car ride was a blur of flashing streetlights and a low, panicked hum of the air conditioner. Kang Do-hyun gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached. Every other moment, he glanced in the rear-view, heart clenching at the sight of Jaemin's flushed face and the way his body trembled uncontrollably as he lay shivering across the back seat. Every shallow breath Jaemin took was a jolt of pure panic to Do-hyun's core, a terrifying reminder of the man's fragility and the immense task ahead. His cedar scent, usually a quiet anchor of calm, now pulsed out of him in great, worried waves, trying to soothe the tempest of cherry blossoms that filled the car. He could sense the fever that was burning through Jaemin, a physical manifestation of the body's desperate fight to reclaim its natural rhythm after years of being forced into silence.
They needed to get him to the specialist without a moment to lose.
They arrived at the clinic, a sleek, modern building that felt cold and sterile compared to the chaos they had just escaped. Urgency in his step, Do-hyun rushed Jaemin inside, a flash of black in a world of muted grays and whites, and surrendered him to a team of nurses.
It was only when they closed the treatment room doors behind them that the true weight of the situation surged over him. He was on the outside, a spectator, utterly helpless. He paced the waiting room, his gaze fixed on the closed door, the feeling of uselessness a lead weight in his stomach. He was an alpha. He was supposed to protect. But here he was, his conductor in emergency, and he could do nothing but wait.
…
The 24-hour specialist clinic was a small, quiet space, a stark contrast to the sterile clinic and the deafening chaos of the concert hall. In here, minutes bled into an eternity. His frantic pacing had given way to a quiet, simmering fear as he stared out the large window, gazing unseeingly out at the glittering city lights, the anxiety from the waiting room now a quiet, simmering fear.
By the time a doctor finally emerged, wearing a calm, kind face and a name tag that read 'Lee Jisoo', Do-hyun had almost chewed his thumbnail to a stub.
"The patient is stabilized," she said, her expression a mix of professional composure and empathy, a face carefully constructed to bring an air of gentle authority and comfort.
Do-hyun nodded, eyes still fixed on the twinkling city scape as his taut shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. "What happened? The suppressants… Is it always like that when they fail?"
Dr. Lee sighed. "Based on our preliminary findings, it's a complicated situation. We've found traces of a highly aggressive anti-suppressant in his system."
Do-hyun's heart seized, and he turned from the window. "What?"
"It's a powerful compound, and, like the name suggests, likely designed to overwhelm his beta blockers. But that wasn't the sole cause of his collapse."
He swallowed, throat dry, mind pinwheeling as it struggled to decide what to focus on. "What do you mean?"
The doctor paused. "Seo Jaemin-ssi seems to have been on a very high dosage of suppressants for years. The body is a funny thing. When it's in a state of prolonged stress, especially emotional and psychological stress, it begins to fight back. The suppressants stop working. The anti-suppressant you mentioned was simply the final, violent catalyst that forced a reaction that was already building up."
A sad look crossed Do-hyun's face, his mind flashing back to a dusty journal, filled with his omega father's neat handwriting, pages upon pages chronicling a life dictated by pills and appointments. "My father was a renowned concertmaster in the music world. He was also an omega. The stress of his career, the demands of the stage... The doctors told him something similar."
Dr. Lee simply nodded, a new layer of understanding in her gaze. "That's exactly what seems to have happened here. Has Seo Jaemin-ssi been under a lot of stress lately? His body, his omega instincts, seem to have decided they've had enough. The suppressants were simply no match for the natural need to express what had been forced into silence for so long. His heat is his body's way of finally, forcefully, letting go.
"We've given him some medication to manage the immediate symptoms and bring down the fever." She sighed deeply, then stated, "But I need to be frank with you. His heat is coming. It's already started."
Do-hyun's stomach dropped, then gave a mysterious flutter. "Is there… nothing we can do about it?"
The doctor's expression was somber as she shook her head. "I can't give him any more suppressants. His body, his condition right now, is too unstable. He's been on a very aggressive regimen, hasn't he?"
Do-hyun nodded mutely. The body can only take so much, his father had written, a desperate scrawl under a date circled in red. Sometimes, it simply gives up.
"Giving him more suppressants now would be like trying to dam a river that's already burst its banks. The strain would likely kill him."
The words hung in the air, a chilling, final verdict. A fresh wave of helplessness returned, threatening to pull him under. He stood up, running a hand through his hair. "So… what… what's going to happen now?"
"It will be intense," Dr. Lee said, her gaze unwavering. "His body has to do in a few days what it should have been doing over many years. He will be in a great deal of discomfort. But the good news is, it's not a medical emergency as long as you can help him manage it. He is physically strong, and his heat, while overwhelming for him, is a natural process. This is not a time to try to suppress it. It's time to let it happen."
"Then what do I do? What can I do?" he pleaded, his voice raw.
The doctor's gaze, incredulous, met his. "You're an alpha, aren't you?"
"Yes?" he answered, his gaze askance.
"Are you this omega's mate?"
Do-hyun hesitated for just a split second, struck by the enormity of the question. He thought of the electric feeling during their first touch, the scent that had haunted his dreams, the absolute conviction that he would protect Jaemin at any cost which had taken root deep inside him without him knowing.
He met the doctor's gaze and didn't flinch. "I am."
She raised an eyebrow slightly, looking at him like the answer should be obvious. "Then be his anchor. His body is fighting to find its natural rhythm again, and it needs a strong, calming presence to guide it home."