Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The clinic smelled faintly of sandalwood and citrus, a clean, comforting scent that seemed to wrap around anyone who stepped inside. The blinds were half-drawn against the afternoon light, muting the brightness into something warm and calm. It was the kind of environment Joon-ho insisted on: serene enough that even the most restless client felt their heartbeat slowing the moment they crossed the threshold.

Inside the main massage room, Joon-ho moved with steady precision. His hands glided over the client's bare back, firm but careful, pressing into layers of muscle that had long forgotten what it felt like to relax. She was one of his old clients, a socialite who had circled back after Madam Seo's subtle nod of approval. Her life was a carousel of events, launches, and charity galas—her smile flawless in photographs, her posture impeccable, but her body always on the brink of collapse from the strain.

Now, under Joon-ho's touch, she melted.

"Oh… god…" she groaned softly into the padded headrest, her voice muffled but desperate. "I didn't realize how bad it was until now."

Joon-ho didn't reply, only adjusted his pressure, digging deeper along her spine before sweeping outward with long, soothing strokes. His silence was deliberate—he believed words often interrupted the body's process of unwinding. Instead, he listened: the sound of her breathing, the little hitch in her throat, the way her shoulders tensed and released under his palms. Each detail told him more than conversation ever could.

Outside at the reception desk, Harin busied herself with her own ritual.

She'd set up her little BboBbo display box right in the center of the table, the dolls propped up proudly. The rare sporty version with its volleyball uniform stood at attention, while the Eclipse collaboration doll—dressed in Kwon Mirae's movie costume—looked effortlessly glamorous. Harin had arranged them like trophies, angled so anyone walking in would see them immediately.

"Perfect," she murmured, stepping back to admire her work.

Her phone pinged with a notification. A few likes had already come in on her selfie with Joon-ho and the dolls from yesterday. She grinned to herself before setting the phone down and returning to her tasks.

The schedule glowed on the monitor: today was comfortably booked. The current client had another thirty minutes left. Then, a two-hour break before the next appointment. Harin scrolled down to check the details, humming softly.

The next client's name jumped out at her: Yoon Hye-jin.

Harin blinked. "Wait… the archer?"

Curious, she typed the name into the search bar. The news articles came up instantly.

"Olympic Hopeful's Future in Doubt After Injury in Germany.""Star Archer Yoon Hye-jin Faces Career-Threatening Relapse.""National Team Silent on Hye-jin's Recovery Timeline."

Harin clicked one of the links. The article was frustratingly vague. It confirmed that Hye-jin had aggravated an old injury during an overseas competition, but there were no specifics about which part of her body was affected. Some speculated her shoulder, others whispered it was her back. Either way, the tone was grim.

"She's only twenty-eight," Harin whispered to herself, frowning. "Last Olympics window… if she misses this one…"

Her eyes softened. It wasn't just gossip anymore. Harin thought of the pressure athletes endured—the brutal training, the constant scrutiny, the way one mistake could undo years of sacrifice. To have that threatened by an injury was cruel.

She leaned back in her chair, chewing her lip. Could Joon-ho really help her?

A low, shivering moan drifted from the massage room. Harin's head snapped up. Then she smiled, shaking her head.

"Poor unnie," she muttered, glancing at the closed door.

She knew exactly what was happening in there—not sex, not even flirtation. Just Joon-ho in his element, every ounce of his attention focused on the knots and tension in that woman's body. His hands had a way of breaking people down. They surrendered to him without even realizing it, tears or moans spilling out as the stress drained away. Harin had been there herself, on that table, undone completely by the simple, devastating tenderness of his touch.

It was almost unfair.

She sipped at her matcha latte, smiling faintly. Watching him in "professional mode" was different from their private moments. It wasn't lust or play—it was reverence. A kind of discipline that made even powerful women like Madam Seo or today's client put aside their masks and simply exist, vulnerable and human.

The soft sound of Harin's SNS feed scrolled on her phone. Pictures of Mirae on set, volleyball players training overseas, a few gossip posts about celebrities spotted in Cheongdam bars. She skimmed idly until her eyes drifted back to the clock. Still time before the session ended.

Another muffled gasp slipped from the massage room, this one edged with relief. Harin chuckled, setting her phone down again.

"Yup," she murmured. "That's the Joon-ho effect."

She turned back to the computer screen, her thoughts already circling the name on booking list—Yoon Hye-jin. If anyone could give that woman even a chance of standing tall in the Olympics again, it was the man whose hands were currently unraveling another soul just a few feet away.

For now, the clinic was calm. The world outside buzzed with news, gossip, and pressure, but inside these walls, everything slowed. The hum of the air purifier, the faint music drifting from the speakers, the quiet professionalism of Joon-ho at work—it was a cocoon.

Harin tapped her pen against the desk, glancing once more at the BboBbo dolls on display. They stood like tiny guardians over the reception table, silly and adorable, but oddly comforting. She smiled at them.

"Don't worry," she whispered, as though the dolls were listening. "We'll take care of her too."

The matcha was half-finished, the articles on her screen still glowing, when another sigh floated out from the massage room. This one was quieter, almost peaceful. Harin closed her eyes for a moment, just listening.

Joon-ho was in there, weaving his quiet magic again. And she had a feeling that very soon, his skills would be tested by someone whose story stretched far beyond the walls of their clinic.

The massage room door opened with a soft click.

Joon-ho stepped out, towel draped loosely over one arm, his expression calm as always. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and there was a faint sheen of exertion along his forearms, as though the session had demanded more from him than most people realized.

Harin looked up from the monitor immediately. "Finished?"

"Not quite," he said, lowering his voice. "She's resting. Fell asleep right at the end." He set the towel into the laundry basket by the wall, glancing back toward the door. "Give her fifteen minutes. Then you can help her change."

Harin smiled knowingly. "Got it." She slid a cup of green tea across the counter toward him. "Here. Matcha latte's mine, this one's yours."

He accepted the cup, sipped, then leaned against the counter, his gaze falling on her screen. The glow showed an article headline in bold:

"Uncertain Future for Archer Yoon Hye-jin."

"You've been busy," he said, eyebrow lifting slightly.

Harin nodded. "She's our next client, right? In two hours."

"Mm."

Her eyes lingered on the article, then she turned toward him. "Do you think you can help her?"

Joon-ho's thumb tapped against the cup, thoughtful. "Depends on the injury. If it's structural—like a torn ligament—then no. But if it's muscular strain, or scar tissue pressing against nerves, then yes. I can at least reduce the pain, maybe even speed her recovery. But she'll need more than one session."

"Her last chance," Harin murmured, her tone soft. "She's twenty-eight. One more Olympics before she retires. If this injury ruins it…"

"She's still young in life," he said simply. "But for an athlete, yes—it's a knife edge."

They both sat in silence for a moment, the gravity of it hanging heavier than the quiet hum of the clinic. Then Harin sighed and checked the time.

"Fifteen minutes," she said. "I'll go in."

Inside, the room was still warm from the session. The faint aroma of the oils lingered—lavender and eucalyptus. On the table, the client lay beneath a neatly folded blanket, her breathing deep and even, hair splayed across the pillow.

"Unnie," Harin whispered gently, stepping closer. She touched her shoulder lightly. "Time to wake up."

The woman stirred, blinking groggily. "Mm… I fell asleep…"

"Yes, you did," Harin said with a small smile. "Means it was a good session. Let's get you dressed."

She helped the client sit up slowly, then guided her into her clothes with the practiced ease of someone who had done this many times. There was nothing rushed about it—just gentle care, steady hands, the sort of attentiveness that made clients feel safe.

When they stepped out together, Joon-ho was already waiting in the lounge. He'd laid out a small tray on the low table: porcelain cup steaming faintly with a pale herbal tea.

"Drink this," he said. "It'll help restore circulation and keep your muscles warm."

The woman accepted it gratefully, lowering herself onto the sofa. She cupped the tea between her palms, inhaling before sipping. "Mmm… that's wonderful."

Her gaze moved between the two of them. "It's been too long. I almost forgot how effective you are, Mr. Kim."

"You remembered enough to come back," Joon-ho replied evenly.

A light laugh. "True. And I hear Madam Seo has been singing your praises again. You know, once word spreads through our circle, you're going to be very busy."

Harin smiled politely from her place near the desk. "We'll make sure everyone recommended by Madam Seo gets proper time."

The client chuckled, sipping her tea again. "I like her. Efficient."

While they spoke, the muted television in the lounge shifted to a sports segment. On the screen, the South Korean women's volleyball team appeared, clips of them warming up in a brightly lit overseas arena. The anchor's voice overlaid with commentary about their friendly matches leading up to the Olympics.

Then the footage cut to a still photo of archer Yoon Hye-jin, smiling stiffly during a press conference. The caption read: "Rehabilitation Ongoing – Olympic Status Uncertain."

The client glanced at the TV, then at Joon-ho. "That poor girl. Everyone's talking about her injury. If anyone could help her… maybe it's you."

Joon-ho didn't reply. His expression stayed neutral, but his silence carried weight.

The client drained her tea, setting the cup carefully back onto the tray. She stretched slightly, then smiled. "Well. I feel lighter already. Thank you, Joon-ho."

She turned toward Harin. "I'll transfer the payment tonight. And please, schedule my next appointment when you see an opening."

Harin nodded. "Of course, unnie. I'll message you with available slots."

The woman gathered her things, offered another grateful smile, then left, her heels clicking lightly against the polished floor.

When the door shut behind her, the clinic was quiet again.

Harin let out a breath, leaning back in her chair. "One down. One to go."

Joon-ho set the tray aside and sank into the opposite sofa, closing his eyes briefly. The day wasn't done—not by a long stretch.

In just a couple of hours, someone with the weight of a nation's expectations would walk through their door.

And he knew, deep down, that his hands alone might not be enough. But he also knew he'd try.