Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The drive back to Seoul passed quietly, the hum of the tires blending with the steady rhythm of the highway. For long stretches, they said nothing, simply letting the landscape roll by—mountains fading into silhouettes, the horizon bleeding from soft twilight into the deep indigo of night. Every so often, Harin reached across the console, her fingers brushing against Joon-ho's hand as if to confirm his presence, her touch warm and grounding.

By the time the road narrowed and the distant orange glow of the city began to rise, the silence felt less like fatigue and more like comfort. Towers of glass and steel loomed closer, neon signs flashing alive, traffic thickening into the familiar chaos of Seoul. The rural quiet was gone, replaced by the restless pulse of the metropolis, but instead of weariness it brought a strange relief—like stepping back into their element.

Joon-ho guided the car off the main avenue, weaving through narrower streets until the soft glow of his clinic-apartment building came into view. He pulled into the parking spot with a smooth ease, engine humming low before it cut off.

For a moment neither of them moved, sitting in the cocoon of the car as the city's noise pressed faintly against the windows. Harin stretched, rolling her shoulders, then leaned her head against the seat with a tired grin.

"Back to reality," she murmured, voice half-teasing, half-sincere.

Joon-ho's lips curved faintly. "If this is reality, I'll take it."

The heaviness of travel still clung to them—the stiffness of the road, the weight of long days—but as they stepped out, the cool night air filled their lungs. It smelled faintly of gasoline, fried food from a nearby stall, and the crisp sharpness of late evening. Home.

Harin linked her arm through his as they walked toward the entrance, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. The glass doors slid open with their familiar hiss, spilling warm light across the lobby tiles. Whatever chaos or secrets the coming days would bring, tonight there was the comfort of return—the quiet knowledge that they were no longer on the move but back on solid ground.

Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of citrus and detergent. Everything gleamed—the coffee table free of dust, the floors polished, even the plants watered and trimmed. Harin slipped off her heels and let out a low whistle.

"Aunty's been here," she said with a grin, walking further inside. "Not a single speck of dust. She must have cleaned while we were away."

Joon-ho smiled faintly, setting their bags by the sofa. "She always does."

As if summoned by their words, the doorbell rang. Harin opened it to find Shin Hye-sook standing there, arms burdened with a grocery bag. The older woman gave a small bow before stepping inside, her hair tied back in a messy bun, face bare but fresh.

"Oh—you're back," she said warmly, eyes lighting up at the sight of them. "I brought some things from the market. Fresh vegetables, pork, and some side dish ingredients. Thought you might want something home-cooked after being away."

Harin clapped her hands together instantly. "Yes, please! I've missed your cooking, Aunty." She looped her arm through Hye-sook's like a daughter.

But Hye-sook shook her head quickly, flustered. "No, no, I'll just prepare something and leave it here for you two to enjoy."

"Not happening," Joon-ho said evenly, already slipping the bag from her arms. "You'll eat with us. And call Da-eun. She should come too."

Hye-sook blinked at him, caught between surprise and reluctance. "Oh, no, Joon-ho-yah, that's too much. My daughter has cram class—"

"She can come after class," Harin cut in, tone playful but firm. "Don't refuse. We won't let you cook and then send you away." She gave a little pout that made the older woman laugh despite herself.

Hye-sook sighed, defeated but touched. "You two… always too kind." She pulled out her phone, dialing quickly. Her voice softened when she spoke, "Da-eun-ah, come by Joon-ho oppa's place after class. We'll have dinner together."

When she hung up, there was a glimmer of something unspoken in her eyes—gratitude mixed with relief. She wasn't used to being included like this.

She set her things down and bustled toward the kitchen, already slipping into the role she knew best. "I'll get dinner started. It won't take long."

"Take your time," Joon-ho replied. He gathered the luggage and disappeared into the bathroom, tossing their travel clothes into the laundry basket. The steady hum of running water and the sound of zippers filled the small space as he unpacked.

From the kitchen, he could hear Harin's laughter. Her voice floated down the hallway, warm and bright, mixing with Hye-sook's lower, steadier tone.

"…You really kept everything spotless, Aunty."

"I just don't like leaving things untidy. Besides, he works too much already."

"And you still manage the market runs on top of everything? You're amazing."

"Ah, stop flattering me, Harin-ah. My hands are just used to it."

Their voices carried, unpretentious and easy, like family. Joon-ho paused for a moment, folding one of his shirts, listening. A rare softness touched his expression.

For the first time since they returned, the apartment truly felt alive.

The dining table looked almost festive when Hye-sook finished setting it. Steaming bowls of soybean stew, marinated pork belly, kimchi fresh from the jar, and a spread of banchan that filled every small plate. Harin peeked from the kitchen doorway, eyes widening.

"Aunty, you didn't just cook dinner… this looks like a holiday feast," she teased, placing chopsticks neatly at each seat.

"It's just simple food," Hye-sook said, brushing off the compliment, though her cheeks colored slightly. "I didn't want you to come back to an empty table."

The sound of her phone buzzing broke the moment. She checked the screen and smiled. "Da-eun's here. I'll go bring her up."

She disappeared toward the elevator, leaving Harin and Joon-ho alone at the table. Harin leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh.

"You know," she said slowly, "for someone who's been through hell with her ex, Aunty really carries herself with so much strength. But…" Her lips pressed together, brows furrowing. "I can't stand men like him. Even after the divorce, he still stalks her, begs for money, harasses her. Pathetic. Instead of fixing his mess, he dumps it on her."

Her voice sharpened with heat. Joon-ho poured her a glass of water, sliding it over with a faint smile.

"You sound angrier than she does."

"Of course I am," Harin shot back, taking the glass. "She deserves peace. Not to be chased by some drunk who wasted his life away. Honestly, if I ever see that man, I might just…" She mimed punching the table.

Joon-ho chuckled softly at her fire. "You'd probably win, too."

Harin rolled her eyes, but her mouth tugged into a reluctant grin.

Just then, the apartment door opened again. Hye-sook stepped in with her daughter at her side. The girl was seventeen, slim and fresh-faced, her school uniform neat but her backpack heavy on her shoulders. She bowed politely the moment she saw them.

"Hello. Thank you for inviting me," she said, her voice soft but clear.

"This is Da-eun," Hye-sook introduced proudly, her tone shifting into something warmer, almost protective. "My only headache and my only joy."

Da-eun blushed at that but quickly turned to Joon-ho and Harin. "I really appreciate you both taking care of my mom. She talks about you a lot."

Joon-ho nodded gently. "We're just lucky to have her around."

Harin leaned forward with her usual brightness. "Sit, sit! You must be starving after cram school."

Once everyone gathered around the table, Joon-ho gestured. "Let's eat before it gets cold."

The clatter of chopsticks and the aroma of food filled the room. At first, conversation was light—how the food tasted, how Harin had nearly burned herself helping with the soup. But soon, Da-eun began talking about her school life between bites.

"Everyone's so stressed with exams," she said with a sigh. "A lot of kids in my class are already talking about university choices. Some of the richer boys though… they're not even planning to go. They keep bragging about crypto trading, saying they'll make money faster that way."

Harin arched a brow. "Crypto, huh?"

"Yeah," Da-eun continued. "There's this new app going around. Some of them said it lets you trade with bigger amounts than you actually deposit. They said it's an opportunity to get rich instantly."

Her words made Harin's lips twitch. She masked it with a sip of water, but inside she already recognized the name. Madam Seo's husband's company. Her old workplace. The memory made her jaw tighten, though she said nothing.

Joon-ho, on the other hand, leaned back with calm authority. "Da-eun-ah," he said gently, "it's tempting, but don't let that kind of talk distract you. Quick money sounds exciting, but it can vanish even quicker. Focus on your studies, build something solid. A steady life is worth more than gambling your future."

Both mother and daughter nodded immediately. Hye-sook gave him a grateful look across the table. "He's right. Better to take the hard road now than regret it later."

Da-eun smiled faintly. "I know. I'm just… tired, I guess. But I'll keep working hard."

"There's the wise side of Joon-ho again," Harin teased, nudging him with her elbow. "Who knew he could sound like a philosopher?"

Laughter rippled around the table. The mood lightened, voices mingling with the clink of chopsticks and the warmth of shared food. For a moment, the apartment felt like the kind of home all of them had quietly longed for—messy, imperfect, but full of connection.

Then the sound of the front door unlocking shattered the calm.

The latch clicked. The door swung open.

And standing there, framed by the hallway light, was Madam Seo.