Long after the thunderous applause had faded, long after the audience had filed out and the stage crew had packed away the chairs, Jaemin remained. He sat curled on the floor of the dressing room, clutching Do-hyun's coat to himself, the lingering scent of cedar on the fabric providing small comfort.
Manager Park had tried to get him to leave. He had hovered by the door, his face filled with worry, urging Jaemin to let him drive him home.
But Jaemin had refused, brittle but unyielding.
"He'll call," he had insisted, staring at his silent phone. "He said he'd call. I have to wait for him."
Eventually, Manager Park had left, defeated by the late hour and the sheer exhaustion of the crisis. The automatic lights in the theater clicked off, leaving Jaemin alone in the dark.
He waited. The minutes ticked by on his phone screen as he watched.
11:00 PM... 12:30 AM... 1:45 AM.
The phone never rang. No messages. No updates. Just a black mirror reflecting his own terrified face.
By 2:30 AM, the silence wasn't just heavy; it was suffocating. The realization settled over him like a cold shroud:
Do-hyun wasn't going to call.
Standing up on stiff legs, Jaemin hoisted Do-hyun's violin case into his arms together with the other things he'd left behind, the alpha's coat hanging large over his smaller frame, and left the theater.
The streets of Seoul were quiet, the city soundly asleep, uncaring of the ruin that had befallen one of its most prominent families. The night air was biting, a sharp reminder that the warmth of late spring could still be a fragile, elusive thing.
He hailed a taxi that brought him to the front of Do-hyun's two-storey house, but as he stood before the familiar gate, he reached into his pocket and grasped air.
I don't have the keys, he realized, a fresh wave of tension rolling through him. I never took them. I was always with him.
He stood there, feeling small and stupid, before reaching up to press the buzzer.
Silence.
He pressed it again. "Do-hyun? Are you in there? It's me."
Nothing. The intercom remained dead. The windows of the house were dark, indifferent eyes staring down at him.
Jaemin slumped against the stone pillar of the gate, sliding down until he hit the pavement. He pulled Do-hyun's coat around himself and the violin case into his lap, trying to capture some warmth from the thin shield of fabric.
He waited. He didn't know what else to do. Maybe Do-hyun was on his way back. Maybe he was just stuck in traffic coming back from Yangpyeong.
He wouldn't leave me out here, Jaemin told himself, though his teeth were beginning to chatter. He promised.
Time blurred. The sky began to lighten, turning a bruised purple. Jaemin was beginning to doze off, but a sudden sound to his left made him jump.
"Is that him?" a voice hissed from the shadows.
Jaemin scrambled up, clutching the violin case tightly to himself. A figure stepped out from behind a parked van across the street—a man with a long-lens camera slung around his neck.
"Hey! You!" the reporter shouted, raising his camera. "Are you Seo Jaemin? Is Kang Do-hyun inside?"
Panic flared in Jaemin's chest. He couldn't be seen here. If they saw him waiting outside like a discarded toy, it would only add fuel to the fire consuming Do-hyun's reputation.
He turned and fled.
"Wait!" the reporter yelled, giving chase for a few steps before stopping, deciding that it wasn't worth the chase.
Jaemin hurried down the block, ducking into an alleyway. His heart hammered against his ribs. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't protect Do-hyun if he was just another scandal waiting to be photographed on the curb.
He stumbled out to the main road and hailed another taxi.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
Jaemin hesitated. He wanted to say home, but he didn't know where that was anymore.
Finally, he gave the driver the address of his own apartment, his voice barely a whisper.
Maybe he's there, he thought, a desperate, foolish hope igniting in his chest. Maybe he went to my place to wait for me. Maybe his phone battery died, and he's wondering where I am.
The ride was agonizing. When he finally arrived at his building, he rushed up the stairs, fumbling with his own keys.
"Do-hyun?" he called out, rushing into the living room the moment the door came unlocked.
But the apartment was silent, the air inside stale and cold. The bedroom was empty.
Do-hyun wasn't there.
Jaemin dropped the violin case on the couch and sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands.
He's gone, he thought. He's really gone.
…
Two days later, Hana sat at a window table in a cafe across the street from the SPS rehearsal hall, stirring a latte that had gone cold twenty minutes ago.
On the screen of the television mounted in the corner, the news cycle was relentless.
FRAUD IN THE FAMILY: KANG FOUNDATION UNDER INVESTIGATION
PROSECUTORS RAID KANG ESTATE IN SEARCH OF ILLEGAL MEDICATION
Hana watched the footage of the police entering the gates of the Yangpyeong estate. She felt... nothing.
She had expected triumph. She had expected Choi Seungcheol to call her, to praise her for handing him his victory on a silver platter.
Instead, there was only silence. Choi Seungcheol hadn't answered her texts or calls ever since he had left her apartment in triumph. He had taken the weapon she gave him, used it to nuke his nemesis, and then discarded her.
I was just the delivery girl, she realized, the bitterness tasting like bile. I didn't win him. I just helped him clear the board.
She looked out the window. A commotion at the artists' entrance of the hall caught her eye.
A figure was walking toward the doors. He was moving slowly, head down under a dark cap, dragging his feet as if each step cost him something.
It was Seo Jaemin.
Hana stood up. She didn't know why she did it. Maybe she wanted to see the damage up close. Maybe she wanted to gloat.
Whatever her intentions, she walked out of the cafe and crossed the street, intercepting him before he reached the steps of the hall.
"Seo Jaemin," she called out.
He stopped, then turned his head slowly to look at her.
Hana froze.
He was a wreck. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, his face hollowed out with exhaustion. He looked smaller than she remembered, fragile, as if a strong wind would blow him over.
He looked right at her, but there was no recognition. No anger. No spark. He looked through her, as if she were just a ghost in his periphery.
He didn't know who she was. To him, she was nobody.
Hana opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but the words died in her throat.
What could she say? 'I did this to you'?
Jaemin turned away dully, dismissing her, and began to make his way toward the door.
Suddenly, a man with a microphone jumped in front of him. A reporter who had been lurking, waiting for prey.
"Conductor Seo!" the reporter shouted, shoving the mic into Jaemin's white face. "Did you know? Did you know about Concertmaster Kang's father being an omega? You hid your own status—did you help him hide his fraud too?"
Hana watched, expecting the broken man she had just seen to crumble under the heavy accusations. To pick up his pace and run for safety.
Instead, Jaemin stopped. He straightened, head snapping up. The haze in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, blazing amber fire.
He grabbed the microphone, his knuckles white on the stem.
"Kang Do-hyun is the most honorable man I have ever known," Jaemin said, his voice shaking but loud, projecting with the authority of the podium. "He dedicated his life to music and to this orchestra, never once thinking to abandon the SPS even when things were going downhill. His family's private medical history has nothing to do with his talent as a musician or concertmaster, or his integrity. Leave him alone."
"But the fraud—" the reporter pressed.
"The only fraud here is the person who stole private medical records to destroy a good family," Jaemin spat, his voice dropping to a low, fierce growl. "Kang Do-hyun is a victim. If you want to attack someone, attack the thief. But you leave the Kangs out of it."
He shoved the microphone back into the reporter's chest with enough force to make the man stumble.
"You wanted a quote? Take it. Publish it. I'd be happy to say it again if you didn't catch it the first time."
Then he turned, pushed through the doors, and disappeared into the sanctuary of the hall.
Hana stood frozen on the sidewalk.
He was an omega on the brink of losing everything—his reputation, his orchestra, his safety, his mate—and she had just watched him transform into a warrior the moment someone dared to speak poorly about the man he loved.
And he does love him, Hana realized, a heavy stone of guilt dropping into her stomach. He actually loves him.
It was a selfless, desperate love that she recognized, because it was the exact opposite of what she had with Choi Seungcheol. She had destroyed innocent people to get attention. Jaemin, it was clear, would not hesitate to destroy himself in order to protect his partner.
She looked at her phone, at the unanswered messages to Seungcheol.
"I'm on the wrong side," she whispered to the empty street.