The drive to the quiet, residential neighborhood on the outskirts of the city was familiar, yet this time it felt different. The last time he was here, Do-hyun's mind had been a frantic mess, a potent blend of apprehension and gnawing guilt. He had approached the building then with no roadmap, no guidebook for what came next.
Now, as he found the same modest complex on the quiet side street, his focus wasn't on the address but on the man beside him. The only stop they'd made was at his own place, where he'd hurriedly thrown together a bag of basics he would need for the week ahead.
He stole a quick glance at Jaemin, who was dozing in the passenger seat. The omega looked impossibly ethereal and fragile in the soft evening light, far from the commanding figure at the podium that Do-hyun was used to. He leaned softly against Do-hyun, a precious, vulnerable weight.
As Do-hyun half helped, half carried him out of the car and to the front door, his heart pounded a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. He had stood on this doorstep once before, but this time, he was being allowed to enter; no longer an aggressive threat, but someone who was there to help.
The door closed behind Do-hyun with a quiet click, sealing him inside a world that was entirely Jaemin's. The home was a stark contrast to the man's bold art. It was clean and minimalist, decorated with muted tones and natural wood. There was a small, untouched music stand in the corner, and a single, perfectly arranged bouquet of lilies on a low table. The air smelled of polished wood and that same subtle sandalwood that had protected the omega for so many years, although the strains of his cherry blossom scent were stronger here, nesting in the corners of the room and sleeping in the shadows tucked around the furniture.
It was a place of quiet order, of refuge and peace, but for some strange reason, Do-hyun's instincts immediately bristled. Beneath the sweet cherry blossoms, there was a faint, discordant note—a lingering, bitter edge he instinctively knew didn't belong to Jaemin, a remnant of a scent he had no right to be holding.
The journey from the front door to the bedroom was a quiet struggle. Jaemin's face was feverish, his eyes half-lidded, his body limp as it surrendered slowly to the heat. Do-hyun's other arm came around to support Jaemin's head as the omega leaned heavily on him, his body giving off waves of scent—cherry blossoms in full bloom, soft and sweet and impossibly fragrant.
Do-hyun brought him to the bed, helping him under the covers. The frantic, floral scent that had been a storm in the room was now settling like a soft spring rain. It mingled with the steady, grounding presence of Do-hyun's cedar, creating a new, warm aroma that clung to them both. It was a scent that didn't demand or possess, but simply filled the space, a quiet assurance of safety. He sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand still holding Jaemin's.
He stroked his thumb gently over Jaemin's knuckles. "Jaemin-ah," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Just breathe. I'm right here."
Jaemin's burning hand tightened in his. "Kang Do-hyun… This… It's too much," he whispered, trembling. For a brief, agonizing second, his scent seemed to twist, and Jaemin flinched, his body tensing against a phantom threat, a misplaced echo. The feverish haze had him momentarily lost, unable to distinguish between the safety of his home and the ghosts in his mind. He had spent his whole life building walls against it, and now, in the most vulnerable moment of his existence, in the presence of this alpha, they were crumbling.
"No, it's not," Do-hyun said, his voice a firm, steady anchor. "It's just you. It's just us."
He knew the man before him was fighting an internal battle. He had spent a lifetime in denial, and now his body had betrayed him. But Do-hyun wasn't a threat. He was a safe harbor in a raging storm, a silent promise he could finally believe.
Jaemin's shivering slowed, his body finally finding a quiet peace in Do-hyun's warmth, the steady presence of his scent. Even as the heat consumed him, the instinctive panic was replaced by something else entirely—a deep, visceral sense of relief.
He closed his eyes, his hot hand still clasped tightly in Do-hyun's, and gradually fell into a proper, deep slumber. Do-hyun simply sat there, his arm a pillow, his presence a shield. He didn't have to do anything. He just had to be.