The silence in the car was heavy, filled only by the ragged sound of Do-hyun's breathing, the echoes of his confession hanging in the air between them.
Jaemin looked at the man who had been his rock, now crumbling under the weight of his own expectations. He saw the shadows under the alpha's eyes, the sheer exhaustion of a man who had been fighting a war on two fronts: against Choi Seungcheol, and against his own nature.
A sudden calm settled over him. He understood now. It wasn't reluctance that was making Do-hyun keep his distance; it was guilt.
His mate was tearing himself apart because he hadn't been able to stop him from getting hurt.
Wiping the tears from his face, he reached over and unbuckled his seatbelt. The click was loud in the small, quiet space.
"You can start," he said quietly, "by coming inside."
Do-hyun looked up at him, eyes wide and wet. "Jaemin, I—"
"I'm not asking you to save me, Do-hyun," Jaemin said, his voice gaining strength. "I'm just asking you not to leave me alone."
He opened the car door and stepped out into the chill night air. He didn't look back, trusting that Do-hyun would follow.
A moment later, he heard the heavy thud of the driver's door closing, followed by the beep of the car locking.
When they entered the apartment, it felt different than before. The lingering scent of the family dinner—spicy stew and warmth—had faded, replaced by the cool stillness of an empty home.
Do-hyun stood by the door, hesitant, as if it was his first time inside. As if he hadn't cared for Jaemin through his heat, right inside this house, as if he were a stranger intruding.
Jaemin turned to him. He didn't know how to fix the mess they were in, but he knew he needed to be close to him. He needed to prove that Do-hyun's presence wasn't a burden.
"Hold me," he whispered.
Instantly, Do-hyun moved. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Jaemin, pulling him into a crushingly tight embrace. He buried his face in Jaemin's neck, inhaling deeply, seeking the comfort of the cherry blossom scent he loved.
Jaemin clung to him, closing his eyes as the ache that had filled his chest all day fell away.
For a moment, it was perfect. The warmth, the strength, the familiar cedar scent wrapping around him like a shield.
But then, Do-hyun shifted. His hold tightened, his instincts flaring with the need to comfort and claim. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin below Jaemin's ear, his pheromones spiking in a wave of intense, protective cedar.
Mine, the scent seemed to growl. Mine.
The reaction was instant and violent.
Jaemin's body seized. The phantom scent of black tea and bergamot—sharp, acidic, and suffocating—erupted in his senses, clashing violently with the cedar.
A spike of nausea rolled through his stomach, so intense it doubled him over.
"Jaemin?" Do-hyun pulled back, alarmed.
"Wait—" Jaemin gasped, a hand flying to his mouth. His head throbbed, a sudden, blinding migraine splitting his skull as the old venom in his veins revolted against his alpha's claim, his presence and proximity.
He wrenched away from Do-hyun's grasp, stumbling toward the bathroom. He barely made it to the bowl before he was violently retching, his body rejecting the very comfort he craved.
"Jaemin!"
Do-hyun was there in a second, his hands hovering, terrified to touch him.
Jaemin gripped the porcelain, his knuckles white, heaving until there was nothing left of his mother's stew. He was shaking, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. The smell of black tea was everywhere, choking him, a ghostly reminder that the shackles of his past still chained him tight.
He felt a hand on his back, tentative and light.
"I'm sorry." Do-hyun's voice was a broken whisper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Jaemin squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out. "It's not you," he rasped. "It's... It's him. It's still him."
Do-hyun didn't try to pull him close again. Instead, he did something harder.
Jaemin felt the heavy, protective pressure of the cedar scent suddenly recede. Do-hyun was retracting his pheromones, locking his alpha nature down tight behind a wall of sheer will. He stripped his scent from the air, making himself as neutral, as harmless, as a beta.
"I'm here," he said softly. "No scent. Just me. I'm right here."
He wet a washcloth with water and gently cleaned Jaemin's face, his touch carefully devoid of any possessive weight.
Jaemin leaned into the cool cloth, his breathing slowly evening out as the phantom smell of black tea faded.
Do-hyun wiped him down, then guided him out of the bathroom and to the bed. He helped Jaemin change and settled him in, then knelt on the floor in front of him, taking the omega's cold hands in his own.
At the sight of Jaemin, pale, trembling, floral pheromones smelling of sickness and distress, Do-hyun's face twisted with guilt, an expression of utter devastation.
"I hurt you again," he whispered.
"No," Jaemin said weakly. "Not you. My body... It's fighting. The old bond, it's… it's rejecting you." He shuddered, then looked down at their joined hands. "I told you I was damaged. I told you I was a mess."
"Stop." Do-hyun squeezed his hands. His voice was fierce, though he kept his scent locked down tight.
"You're not broken, or damaged, or any of the horrible things you've been calling yourself all night."
He raised Jaemin's hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles—light, chaste, asking for nothing.
"This isn't a defect, Jaemin. It's an injury. You were hurt, and you're still healing. That doesn't make you broken. So please," he raised his gaze to Jaemin's face, dark eyes full of pain, "please, don't ever say such things about yourself again."
Jaemin looked at him, his vision blurring. "But we can't... I can't even let you hold me without getting sick. How can we—?"
"We wait," Do-hyun interrupted firmly. "As long as it takes. Until your hormones stabilize. Until we get the poison completely out of your system. Until you are ready."
He looked up at Jaemin with an unwavering resolve.
"I told your father I would protect you. Right now that means protecting you from me. I can do that. I can keep you safe from myself."
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Jaemin's forehead.
"The bite can wait," he said softly. "I've been waiting, and I can wait a little longer… as long as I know that you want this too."
When Jaemin nodded, throat too tight to speak, Do-hyun took a breath and continued, "We still have our music. We have us." He gestured to the quiet space between them. "That's enough for me, that you're choosing me. Is it enough for you?"
Jaemin looked at the man kneeling before him, offering a lifetime of patience like it was a simple gift. Do-hyun was willing to live in a state of constant, painful restraint, suppressing his own nature just to ensure Jaemin never felt threatened again.
It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever offered him.
"Is it enough?" Do-hyun repeated, his voice barely a whisper.
Jaemin swallowed past the lump in his throat. He wanted to scream no. He wanted to demand the bite, to purge the poison out of his veins right now, even if with fire.
But his stomach was still roiling from the memory of black tea and bergamot. His head was still pounding from the rejection. If they tried to force the bond now, while his body was this volatile, it wouldn't heal him. Instead, it might end up breaking him completely, and Do-hyun right along with him.
He reached out with trembling hands to cup Do-hyun's face. The alpha leaned into the touch, his eyes closing as if savoring the meager contact, and Jaemin's heart ached.
"It has to be," he whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Because I can't lose you, Do-hyun. I… I love you."
Do-hyun opened his eyes. They were dark and wet, filled with a profound, aching relief.
"I love you too," he whispered. "And I'm staying. Right here, with you."
Keeping his movements slow, every shift careful so as not to startle Jaemin, he rose to lie on the bed next to the omega, leaving a small, respectable distance between them.
"We'll figure it out," he said, his words gaining strength. "We'll find a way to clear the venom. And until then..." He looked at Jaemin with a fierce, gentle determination. "We'll make music."
Jaemin let out a wet, shaky laugh. "Music?"
"It's what we do best. And it's what brought you to me in the first place," Do-hyun reminded him, a small, crooked smile finally touching his lips. "We'll focus on making the SPS undeniable. We'll make sure people listen."
He held out his hand, palm up, resting it on the pillows between them. It was an invitation, not a demand.
"Okay, jagi?" he asked.
Jaemin looked at the hand. It was the hand that had bruised itself punching Choi Seungcheol. The hand that had cooked him porridge, and fed it to him spoonful by spoonful. The hand that had held him through his heat without taking a thing.
The hand of the man who loved him enough to wait.
Jaemin reached out and interlaced their fingers. The contact was warm, grounding, and safe.
"Okay," he agreed, his eyes brimming over. "Okay, jagi."
Do-hyun clasped his hand tight. The cedar scent remained locked away, but the warmth of his skin was promise enough.
For now, in the quiet of the apartment, with the ghost of bitter tea and bergamot still lingering in the corners, it was enough. They were together again, partners and mates against all the odds stacked against them.