The air was thick with the rich, heated scent of cherry blossoms, a potent fragrance that belonged entirely to Jaemin. Do-hyun lay still, panting, his heart thrumming against the weight of Jaemin's body on top of his. A raw, uninhibited desire still lingered, a musky heat that left him breathless. The damp from the omega's release was seeping through the layers of clothing between them. Do-hyun would have to clean him; it was as good a task as any to keep his mind preoccupied and away from his own lack of release. But first, he needed to clear his head.
Gingerly, he slid out from underneath the other man, who mewled softly before curling back into slumber. Do-hyun watched him with a mix of envy and affection in his gaze for a moment, before stepping into the bathroom.
In the coolness of the white-tiled room, he threw himself immediately under the blast of an icy shower and held himself there until he could no longer sense the cloying florals. Objectively speaking, it might not have been the wisest decision considering the weather was still chilly, but Do-hyun desperately needed the cold shock and clarity. Furthermore, he had no idea how long the suppressants would hold for, so keeping his body temperature down wasn't such a bad idea.
The cold was a jarring slap to his senses, a welcome distraction that did little to numb the memories that rose, unbidden, of another partner all those years ago, who had needed him too.
Gan Minseo. The thought of her, accompanied by that familiar pang, made Do-hyun pause. They had been the perfect couple, or so he thought, but Minseo had left him because he had been cold. She had needed him to reveal parts of himself that he had kept tightly locked away. He didn't even know how to do it.
But caring for Jaemin was a different kind of challenge. He needed care: the gentle act of providing comfort and food and relief from his heat. This was a vulnerability that was far more instinctive and easier to give. It felt… natural.
A stray thought—Dr. Lee Jisoo's ridiculous diagnosis of fated mates—flitted through his mind. Could this ease he felt, this instinct to care for Jaemin, be a confirmation of what she said? He shook the notion away. No. It wasn't about some fantastical destiny; it was simply that providing physically and protectively was something he was far more comfortable with than the emotional exposure Minseo had asked for.
He turned off the shower.
Fresh and alert, he went to the kitchen and found the pantry was mostly bare, as expected, with just a few essentials remaining. A couple of eggs, a small bag of rice, and some dried seaweed. A flicker of concern went through him; the man had felt so feather-light when he'd picked him up after he'd collapsed at the Revival Gala, only yesterday but a lifetime ago. Jaemin needed to eat more, but he would just have to make do for now.
Setting a pot of water on the stove, he started a simple rice porridge, whisking two eggs into a bowl for a fluffy scramble. He worked quickly and quietly, the domesticity of the task a welcome anchor. Once the food was ready, he carefully balanced a tray with the steaming bowl of porridge and scrambled eggs, carrying it back to the bedroom.
Jaemin was still asleep, his peaceful breathing a stark contrast to his earlier fervor.
"Jaemin-ah," Do-hyun murmured gently. "Have some food. You need to eat."
Jaemin blinked his eyes open, groggy and disoriented, but when his gaze slowly focussed on the tray, a small, appreciative smile spread across his lips.
Do-hyun sat on the edge of the bed and helped him sit up, placing the tray on his lap. He fed him small spoonfuls of the warm porridge, a tender, unspoken exchange passing between them with each mouthful. Jaemin rested his head against Do-hyun's shoulder as he ate, his body relaxed and pliant. The quiet intimacy of the moment was a different kind of intensity, a gentle solace after the storm.
He finished the food, a soft hum of contentment escaping his lips as he leaned his head back against Do-hyun's shoulder. His movements were slow, still heavy with sleep. Do-hyun waited a moment, then gently moved the tray from Jaemin's lap to the floor.
"Ready to get cleaned up?" he asked, his voice a low murmur against Jaemin's ear. When Jaemin gave a small nod in reply, he slid one arm under Jaemin's knees and the other around his back, effortlessly lifting him from the bed—he really was too light for how tall he was—body pliant and warm in Do-hyun's arms as he carried him into the bathroom.
Forcing himself to face Jaemin's body with clinical detachment, Do-hyun carefully undressed the omega and began to wipe the remnants of their passion from his skin with a warm cloth. But just as he was reaching for a fresh towel to dry him off, there was a sudden shift in the air.
The scent of cherry blossoms intensified into an overwhelming, cloying cloud, and Jaemin's skin, which had been cool just moments ago, now felt warm and flushed beneath his touch.
Do-hyun's head snapped up to meet Jaemin's, just in time to see the last vestiges of sleep fading away, replaced by a desperate, renewed longing. The rawness of it made Do-hyun's breath catch in his throat. His hands stilled, the washcloth forgotten.
Jaemin reached out to tug on Do-hyun's shirt. Do-hyun felt a flicker of surprise and tried to pull away, but his moment of hesitation was overcome by the sheer need in Jaemin's eyes.
The grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him closer until their foreheads were touching. "Don't go," Jaemin's voice trembled. "Please… don't go."
The words were a direct hit to Do-hyun's chest, a low plea from a place so raw it felt like a command. He was still trying to process the shift in the omega's scent and body temperature, a sure sign that his heat was surging again, when Jaemin's knuckles went white against his shirt.
The clinical detachment he had imposed on himself shattered in that instant. Do-hyun couldn't deny it anymore. This wasn't a sick patient, a stranger needing help, or a friend with a temporary ailment. This was just Jaemin, his wounded omega, fragile, pleading, and trusting. And he was asking him not to leave.
Do-hyun's own scent, which he had been trying to suppress, surged forth again in a torrent of cedar, an instinctive response to Jaemin's distress. The washcloth slipped from his hand, splashing into the shallow bathwater with a soft sound that was swallowed by the silence.
He didn't try to pull away again. Instead, his free hand came up, cradling Jaemin's face, his thumb stroking a tender line across the flushed skin of his cheek.
"I'm here," he murmured, meaning every word. "And I'm not going anywhere."