Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

Min-kyung lounged across the sofa like she owned the place, legs crossed, dress riding high on her thighs. The soft fabric of her one-piece shimmered under the clinic lights, and the playful curve of her smile had Harin bristling already. She twirled a strand of her wavy hair, eyes glued to Joon-ho with a girlish intensity that looked far too practiced.

"You know," she purred, voice low and honeyed, "you didn't even ask me how long I've been waiting to see you. That's cold, oppa."

Joon-ho, unbothered, leaned against the edge of the armchair across from her, his arms folded loosely. "When did you arrive in Korea?"

"Just now," Min-kyung answered with exaggerated drama, lifting her chin like a spoiled little sister trying to win attention. "Straight from Incheon. Didn't even go home. My chauffeur dumped my luggage in the car downstairs and I came directly here. Can't you tell how much I missed you?"

Her pout deepened, but her eyes sparkled, betraying the tease.

Harin sipped her coffee behind the reception desk, muttering under her breath, She's laying it on thick.

"I thought about you all the time when I was in New York, then London," Min-kyung continued. "Every time I had to deal with those boring models and their fake smiles, I told myself, 'Just wait until you see him again.' And here you are."

"Mm," Joon-ho said simply, not giving her the satisfaction of flattery.

She gasped, clutching her chest theatrically. "Is that all I get? After all my suffering? A grunt?"

"You're here for work, aren't you?" he countered. "To help Yura with Seoul Fashion Week?"

Her lips curved slyly. "Of course. But I'll be damned if I let her monopolize you while I'm in town." She wagged a finger like a naughty child. "No, no, no. I came back to Seoul for both business and pleasure."

"Have you contacted Yura yet?"

"Not yet." She reclined further into the sofa, showing off her legs. "Why ruin the fun? I wanted to play first."

Joon-ho sighed softly, pushing himself upright. He reached for his phone.

Her eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"Calling her."

"Oppa!" she whined, scrambling upright. "Don't—"

But the line was already ringing. Harin smirked, folding her arms in delight.

The call connected with a soft chime, and a familiar voice poured through the speaker. "Joon-ho?"

Yura's tone was warm, almost girlish, nothing like the sharp executive mask she wore in public. There was noise in the background—shuffling papers, muffled voices, the faint clink of cups—her office at full throttle. But her attention shifted the instant she heard him.

"Yes," Joon-ho said.

Harin and Min-kyung leaned in unconsciously, both wide-eyed at the sound of Yura's voice.

"Are you busy?" he asked.

"For you?" she replied instantly, her voice melting with affection. "Never. I always have time for you."

Harin's jaw dropped, a laugh bubbling out before she could stop it. She slapped a hand over her mouth, giggling. Min-kyung snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. "Oh my god, listen to her. Sugar-sweet Seo Yura—what happened to the ice queen of Lumina?"

On the line, Yura asked curiously, "Why? Did you need something?"

Joon-ho glanced at Min-kyung, who was now biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard. "Min-kyung's here. At my clinic. You're on loudspeaker."

There was a pause. Then, sharp as a whip: "Min-kyung."

The designer winced dramatically, mouthing busted! at Harin, then leaned closer to the phone with a sing-song lilt. "Unnie~ don't be mad. I just landed! I wanted to say hi to him first before heading over."

"Say hi?" Yura's voice dropped into steel. "You're supposed to be at the office. We have schedules to finalize, sponsors breathing down our necks, models to approve—and you're playing around?"

Min-kyung flopped against the sofa with an exaggerated groan. "Unnie, can't I have a little fun before you chain me to a desk? You'll work me to death once I step into that building."

"Correct," Yura snapped. "Which is why you should be here already. Joon-ho, bring her with you."

Joon-ho's reply was simple. "Alright."

Min-kyung gasped, pointing at him as though betrayed. "You traitor! You're taking her side?"

"She's right."

"Nooo," she whined, clutching her head like a child denied candy. "Oppa, you're supposed to protect me. Not sell me out."

On the phone, Yura's voice carried a dangerous amusement. "If she doesn't walk into this office with you, I'll double her workload for the next two weeks. Min-kyung, don't test me."

The line clicked, the call ending abruptly.

Silence fell for a beat. Then Harin burst out laughing, her hand smacking the table. "Oh my god, Seo unnie's going to kill you."

Min-kyung pouted, crossing her arms and kicking her legs. "She's no fun. And you—" she jabbed a finger at Joon-ho—"you're no fun either. How could you betray me like that?"

"You're here to work," he said, unmoved.

She groaned louder, collapsing against the sofa cushion. "This is why I missed you. You're infuriating."

Joon-ho slipped his phone into his pocket, already moving toward the bedroom. "Change your clothes. We're going to Lumina."

Min-kyung sat up, glaring with faux indignation. "You're lucky you're handsome, or I'd throw a fit."

Harin rolled her eyes, muttering, "She's already throwing one."

Joon-ho ignored them both, disappearing into the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, the clinic buzzed with quiet urgency.

Joon-ho reemerged in a tailored blazer and dark slacks, the clean lines of his outfit transforming him from laid-back therapist into someone who looked right at home in a corporate boardroom. His calm authority radiated even more sharply now.

"Harin," he said, handing her his phone. "Contact the next client. Reschedule the therapy session."

She nodded, already tapping into the clinic's schedule.

"And change," he added, his gaze brushing over her casual skirt and loose cardigan. "Formal clothes. We're heading into Lumina headquarters."

Harin blinked. "Me too?"

"Yes. You're with me."

Her heart skipped, a strange warmth bubbling in her chest. She tried not to show it, muttering, "Fine, fine. But you owe me lunch for this."

Meanwhile, Min-kyung had freshened up, slipping on a blazer of her own over the revealing dress as though that alone made her business-ready. She still pouted like a sulking child, but her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"You're both too serious," she sighed, standing with a dramatic flourish. "If Yura's going to kill me, at least I'll look good dying."

Joon-ho only shook his head, grabbing his keys. "Let's go."

The three of them left the clinic together, Harin still muttering under her breath about secretaries and CEOs, Min-kyung clinging to Joon-ho's arm like she'd won a prize, and Joon-ho walking steady, unbothered, as though her theatrics bounced harmlessly off him.

But beneath the playful chaos, something weightier stirred. Lumina, Fashion Week, Mirage Capital—the storm was gathering, and they were walking straight into it.

The ride to Lumina headquarters cut through the heart of Seoul, the city lights spilling across the car windows. Harin sat stiffly in the back seat, tugging at the hem of her hastily chosen blouse, wishing she had something sharper, more businesslike. Beside her, Min-kyung lounged with one arm hooked through Joon-ho's, leaning close enough that Harin hid a small smile, quietly amused at how Min-kyung clung to him like a spoiled lover.

The sleek black sedan pulled into the glass-front tower of Lumina, its name gleaming in silver across the entrance. Even from outside, the building pulsed with activity. Staff hurried in and out with garment bags slung over their shoulders, models in casual chic smoking by the curb, assistants juggling trays of coffee.

Inside, the lobby was a hive of motion. Receptionists answered phones nonstop, stylists in headsets crossed paths with interns carrying racks of shoes. It wasn't chaos—it was choreography. The kind that only existed when the city's biggest fashion house was weeks away from its most important event of the year.

At the marble front desk, a secretary in a fitted navy suit looked up and broke into a smile. "Min-kyung-ssi! Welcome back. I heard you were arriving soon."

Min-kyung glowed, clearly used to the attention. She accepted the greeting with a kiss on the cheek, then gestured lazily toward her companions. "This is Joon-ho. An important guest of Yura's. And this is Harin—his assistant."

The secretary's eyes flickered briefly over Joon-ho, surprise evident, before she straightened quickly. "Ah—I see. Then of course, please follow me. Madam Seo has been expecting you."

Harin raised a brow at assistant but bit her tongue, falling in step as the woman led them toward the private elevators.

As they ascended, the atmosphere only grew denser. Every floor they passed buzzed with its own storm—rows of designers draping fabric on mannequins, makeup teams testing palettes under bright lights, PR staff pacing with phones pressed to their ears.

Harin muttered, half to herself, "This feels like walking into a war zone."

Min-kyung grinned. "That's Fashion Week for you."

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open into a wide corridor lined with glass walls. Beyond them, Harin glimpsed models strutting under harsh lighting, stylists pinning fabric, a dozen different teams working as though the fate of the city depended on it.

At the end of the hall loomed a set of double doors. The secretary pushed them open, ushering them into Lumina's main conference room.

The space was sleek and modern, dominated by a long table scattered with portfolios, tablets, and cups of untouched coffee. At the head sat Seo Yura, every inch the queen of her empire. Her fitted black dress was severe, her hair pulled into a perfect knot, her eyes sharp as blades.

"Finally," Yura said, rising from her chair as Min-kyung swept in. The two women embraced like old friends, cheek to cheek, their laughter genuine for a moment. But Yura's hand pressed firmly against Min-kyung's shoulder, guiding her down into a chair with just enough force to make the scold clear.

"You should've come straight here," she said, voice like velvet covering steel.

Min-kyung shrugged, utterly unbothered. "I had to say hi first. Don't glare—it gives you wrinkles."

Harin nearly choked at the audacity.

"Sit," Yura commanded, turning her gaze toward Joon-ho and Harin. "You two as well. Next to her."

They complied without protest, Harin trying to shrink under the weight of Yura's authority.

The room quieted. Staff members shuffled their notes nervously, glancing between their CEO and the guests.

"Continue," Yura ordered.

An assistant cleared his throat, launching into the updates. "The overseas brands have submitted their full lists—dresses, accessories, approved models. Schedules for fittings and rehearsals are finalized. Sponsors are mostly confirmed—except…"

His words faltered. Everyone's eyes shifted nervously.

"Except Mirage Capital," another staffer finished reluctantly. "They're withholding their sponsorship funding. Their condition is that Lumina allows them to select the main male and female models for the show."

A heavy silence dropped over the table.

Then Yura's palm slammed against the glass, the sharp crack ringing through the room. Harin jolted at the sound, her breath catching.

"Unacceptable." Yura's voice sliced through the air like a blade. "We do not bow to demands. Reject their sponsorship. We don't need their money if it comes with strings."

The staff shifted uncomfortably, exchanging worried glances. Rejecting Mirage meant tossing aside millions in funding, and everyone in the room knew it. But not one dared open their mouth to argue.

Yura's gaze sharpened, narrowing on the group. "Find out who in marketing approached Mirage in the first place. Check their accounts. If I discover anyone took a bribe—" She didn't bother to finish the sentence. She didn't have to. The icy weight of her voice said everything.

Several heads ducked instantly, as though trying to disappear into the table. Pens stilled, throats bobbed nervously. Harin caught the flickers of expression—fear, dread, and under it all, a bitter edge of resentment. She could almost hear their thoughts: Damn that fool who went to Mirage. Whoever it was, they've dragged us all into hell now.

Harin felt a chill climb her spine. The sweet, affectionate tone Madam Seo had used on the phone earlier with Joon-ho was gone, replaced by the steel of a woman who had built an empire and crushed anyone who crossed her.

Satisfied with their fear, Yura turned her attention back to the agenda. "Moving on. Lumina's showcase will feature Min-kyung's designs."

At this, Min-kyung brightened, sitting taller.

"But we haven't confirmed the lead models yet," Yura continued. "We waited for her input. Now that she's here, we finalize today."

All eyes turned to Min-kyung. For once, she looked serious, her playful mask slipping as she straightened the papers in front of her. She had come prepared.

"Good," she said. "Because I already have names in mind."

Yura's lips curved faintly, sharp and satisfied. "Then let's hear them."

The room leaned in. The tension shifted—no longer just fear of Yura's wrath, but the anticipation of seeing which faces would walk the runway draped in Min-kyung's creations.

Beside them, Joon-ho sat calmly, observing, while Harin tried to process the whiplash. From whining pouts to decisive authority—Min-kyung was clearly more than the spoiled little lover she'd pretended to be at the clinic.

And in this room, under Yura's gaze, every move carried weight that could change the course of Fashion Week itself.