The first thing Jaemin registered when his consciousness swam up to the present was the silence.
Not the silence of his apartment in Seoul, which always carried the low pulse of traffic and the clatter of his neighbour's pipes as a constant underscore. Not the silence of Do-hyun's bedroom, which always had someone else in it.
This was a different silence entirely. The silence of distance. Of altitude. Of a world that did not know he existed, and was entirely unbothered by that fact.
He sat up, and the room that met his gaze was decidedly unfamiliar. Cool air. A bed that was not his own, not Do-hyun's. The smell of old oak and cool plaster, of beeswax and the faint, papery ghost of old books drifting from somewhere down the hall. Clean linen. The very distant, barely-there smell of coffee drifting from somewhere far below.
The ceiling was high and pale, raw plaster crossed with exposed beams of dark honey wood. The window was tall and narrow, and beyond the glass: pine trees, their upper branches still threaded with mist, a ridge of mountain cutting a clean line against a sky just turning from grey to pale blue in the early morning light.
On the nightstand: a glass of water, a small bottle of electrolyte tablets, a clean towel, neatly folded.
Someone had taken care of him. Someone had been careful.
He did know, in the way a body remembers things the mind is still catching up to, that something had been done to him last night. He could feel the shape of it—a sensation like a handprint left in wet clay, an impression pressed into the place behind his sternum where his own will lived.
Sleep.
The word arrived in Do-hyun's voice, and Jaemin flinched. His hand flew to cover his mouth, then reached trembling toward the back of his neck.
The skin was tender, the scar beneath a fresh dressing tugging uncomfortably. There was no fever, no raging riot of pheromones, but his head felt thick and sluggish, as if it had been filled with mud… the residual aftertaste of a will that had been flattened by a Command.
It was coming back to him now. Standing before Do-hyun's gate in the cold, unresponsive gray to whisper his goodbye… the rain battering down on him as he stood on the curb fighting dread with resignation… the glare of headlights reflecting off the sodden asphalt, Choi Seungcheol stepping out of the car, and then—
Get in.
Jaemin shuddered. But he didn't know whether the nausea rising in his chest was from the memory of how it felt to have his will completely overridden by his mate, the betrayal of trust… or the broken look in Do-hyun's eyes as he'd issued the final Command.
Where is he? The anxiety was building inside him now, warring against the dizziness that threatened to flatten him once more into the mattress. He fought it, throwing on the clothes that had been left for him without paying too much attention.
They didn't smell like Do-hyun. Nothing here smelled like him. Jaemin remembered how Do-hyun had been able to retract his pheromones, his scent, and a sob rose in his throat.
Where is he? Did he leave me here alone? The questions whirled in his mind as he stumbled out the room. Is he safe?His mother—
"Alive, then."
Jaemin spun towards the voice. A girl stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. She was tall, almost as tall as Do-hyun, with the same sharp, aristocratic jawline, but her eyes were darker. She wore an oversized cashmere sweater and sweatpants, long hair looped up in a messy bun carrying herself with a loose, comfortable ease.
She was regarding him with the unguarded curiosity of someone who had decided to simply look rather than pretend they weren't, taking in his pale, unsteady demeanour.
Jaemin stared back at her, blinkered. "Who—"
"Hmm, not too quick up there, it seems." The girl sighed. "Kang Nakyung, Do-hyun's sister. Oppa said not to bother you, but technically, I'm just standing here."
Jaemin swallowed. "Where is he?" His voice came out slightly ragged.
"Around." She shrugged, then tilted her head as she looked him over, her expression inscrutable. "You're shorter than I thought you'd be. Taller than the average omega, but still. Maybe conductors always look taller because everyone else is sitting down."
How was he supposed to respond to that? "I—"
But Nakyung was already pushing herself off the doorframe and stepping away, with the clear assumption that he would follow. "Are you hungry? We would have brought you some juk, except we didn't know when you were gonna wake up."
She led him down the hallway and then the stairs, the upper floor giving way to the ground floor's wider proportions. The walls were lined in warm wood panelling, painted a deep muted sage above it. Framed photographs ran the length of it at intervals: a group of musicians in rehearsal black on the steps of a European concert hall, squinting into the sun; Nakyung, a bass guitar slung over her shoulder, mid-laugh; and in another, multi-coloured stage lights flashing to reveal her four-man band.
Jaemin slowed at each one, subconsciously seeking out Do-hyun, until there he was, standing in the angular lankiness of adolescence beside a man with a gentle smile.
When Nakyung finally pushed open a door at the end of the hallway without knocking, Jaemin stepped into a room that was somewhere between a formal dining hall and a sitting room, furnished with the ease of a space that had long since decided its own purpose. The mid-afternoon light slanted in across the floorboards, catching the steam rising from a teapot at the centre of the round table by the window, where a woman was already seated.
The woman looked up from the documents in her hands when the door opened, then set it aside and rose with the unhurried ease of someone who had been expecting them.
"Seo Jaemin-ssi." Her voice was warm, measured. "I'm glad you're up."
It was simply said, but landed as something more than pleasantry. Jaemin dipped his head in a bow. "Thank you, um…?"
"Kang Ji-young. I'm Do-hyun and Nakyung's mother." She gestured toward the chair across from hers. "Please, sit. Have you had anything to eat yet?"
"He just woke up." Nakyung saved Jaemin from answering as she dropped sideways into the nearest armchair with the same loose-limbed ease with which she had sauntered into the room.
"Why didn't you bring him to the dining hall?"
The girl's reply was simple. "Because it's tea-time. So I brought him here, to the tea room. I already told them to serve his meal here."
Ji-young considered this for a moment, then nodded, reaching for the pot and pouring unhurriedly into fresh teacups.
Jaemin watched her. Her presence carried no pheromonal weight: no crushing wall of dominance, no scent-driven pressure. Instead, she moved with the calm softness of deep, habitual care.
She nodded at his thanks when she handed him one of the teacups, now filled. "How are you feeling?" she asked, as she settled back in her chair.
"I—I'm alright." Better now, with the warmth of the hot tea moving through his body and hands.
"Are you sure? Your scent is off." Nakyung, curled comfortably in her armchair, took a pause from blowing into her cup. "What?" she asked in response to the sharp look her mother shot her. "I'm just saying."
"Nakyung." There was a note of quiet warning in Ji-young's gentle voice.
"Alright, alright." Nakyung retreated into her teacup, but not before mumbling, "Just, most omegas don't smell this distressed, normally. We haven't even asked him anything yet."
"Seo Jaemin-ssi has been through quite an ordeal recently," Ji-young said before Jaemin could begin stuttering a reply. "It's not surprising for him to be under stress. And while we would wish to know more," she gave him a reassuring smile, "there will be plenty of time for them later, but only when you are better rested. Please, don't mind my daughter. She's observant to a fault."
There was no edge to her words, which were almost fond: the complaint of a woman who had raised an intelligent child and couldn't entirely object to the result.
Jaemin smiled hesitantly back at her. "If you don't mind my asking… where is Do-hyun?"
Ji-young paused briefly at his question, a beat of consideration. "He's resting," she said. "The trip here was hard on him as well."
Her answer held more information than Nakyung's had been, but was just as opaque. But it led Jaemin's gaze out the window, to the rolling landscape beyond the garden. "And… where are we? Do-hyun didn't tell—I wasn't awake for the drive."
Ji-young's expression softened. "You're in Pyeongchang. The Kang family estate. Nobody gets in without an invite and a background check. Not friends, not the press, not lawyers… not anyone who might try to follow you."
She held Jaemin with her gaze, then finished softly, "You'll be safe here."
Her eyes, steady and dark, rested on him. They were nothing like Do-hyun's, which had always been direct to the point of challenge. Ji-young's were patient in a way that, Jaemin found, made a lump form in his throat. He swallowed, blinking.
"Thank you," he whispered.