Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 225: Summer

Summer came early that year, thick and sticky and sweet, sunlight washing LUNE’s new glass windows until the whole city felt like it was melting. The old winter rooftop felt a thousand years away, replaced by sleek desks and bright studios, the music of ambition humming in the floors, every corner heavy with possibility and the heat of bodies pushing toward something more.

Yura sat in the lounge, a low white couch bathed in gold morning light, her belly stretched round and full beneath the soft cotton of her dress. She ran her hand along the gentle rise, feeling the pulse and twist of new life inside her. Each kick, each flutter, brought a little shock of joy and fear. The doctor said everything was stable now—the danger had passed, but still, the world felt heavier, slower, the gravity of her pregnancy making her body move with a queen’s grace and a private ache she couldn’t put into words.

She scrolled through emails, balancing a mug of warm barley tea on her knee. Sponsorship approvals, a batch of new staff contracts, half a dozen media requests for a "pregnancy shoot." Somewhere, the baby gave a sharp nudge, making her grunt and drop her phone. She picked it up, smiling softly at herself, at the absurdity of this quiet, sunlit exile. In another life, she’d be on a stage or screaming at a boardroom. Now, she was the secret heart of LUNE—watching, guiding, quietly holding the pieces in place as the world rushed on.

In the gym, Ji-hye’s world was all noise and sweat. The air was thick with the stench of effort, the walls vibrating with the sharp slap of sneakers and the barked orders of coaches. Ji-hye glistened under the harsh lights, every muscle in her body alive and burning. She sparred with three club girls at once, shouting encouragement, yelling at them to hit harder, move faster, get the fuck up and do it again. Her voice was low and rough from training, her knuckles raw, hair yanked into a sweaty bun. When the bell rang, she grabbed a towel, wiped her face, and turned straight to her phone—three missed calls from her head coach, a text from her manager reminding her about tomorrow’s shoot, and an email from a TV producer asking for "just a few words about what keeps you going."

Ji-hye snorted, tossing her phone back in her bag, and went straight for the punching bag. She worked it until her hands shook, then jogged laps around the gym, teeth bared, fighting off the exhaustion that clung to her every night. She barely had time for sleep, let alone the media, but every time a younger girl glanced her way, she barked something fierce, forced herself to stand taller. Her schedule was a wall she battered against every day—training, interviews, commercial shoots, and somewhere in between, the hope that if she just kept moving, she wouldn’t have to feel how alone she was in the rush.

On set, Mirae was a storm in the center of a hurricane of attention. Lights flashed in her face. A makeup artist dabbed powder on her nose; a director called for her to hit her mark; a stylist zipped up the back of her sequined dress, hands clumsy from nerves. Mirae moved through the chaos with the easy confidence of someone used to being watched, every step calculated, every smile a weapon. Her phone buzzed in her purse—new CF offers, messages from her fan group, and the endless flood of group chats exploding with hearts, gossip, and envy. She slipped away between scenes, perched on a folding chair outside, sunglasses hiding her eyes as she flicked through her inbox.

Outside the set, paparazzi huddled in the parking lot, cameras ready. Mirae gave them nothing but a flash of leg and a crooked grin, then slipped back inside, letting the door shut on the chaos. She knew how quickly admiration could turn. Every comment, every sideways look from the staff, every headline about her "meteoric rise"—it was all fuel, and every bit of it made her hungrier. She was soaring, yes, but the sky only got higher, and every day she felt the burn of wanting more.

Meanwhile, Harin stalked the corridors of LUNE’s new headquarters, headset slung around her neck, iPad in one hand, coffee in the other. She was a blur of sharp heels and sharper words, her phone glued to her ear as she tore through the day—negotiating contracts, wrangling with investors, arguing with streaming partners and sponsors. She snapped her fingers at the new receptionist, barely looking up as she signed off on a pile of artist portfolios. The first round of LUNE’s new recruitment drive had brought in a fresh tide of hopefuls, and Harin was the storm that tested every one.

She ducked into a glass-walled conference room, scanning the group of nervous, wide-eyed trainees. One, a lanky boy with a shy smile, clutched his phone in both hands. Another—a girl with a streak of blue in her hair and a tattoo curling up her arm—met Harin’s gaze with defiant eyes. Behind them, a DJ with wire headphones looped around his neck fidgeted with a flash drive, while a sullen model scowled at her own reflection in the glass.

Harin gave them a once-over, ice in her veins. "This is LUNE," she said flatly. "You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to work. If you’re not hungrier than the assholes waiting outside, you’re wasting my fucking time." The trainees swallowed, some nodding, some shrinking, but all desperate to be seen. Harin felt the old thrill of power in her chest, but underneath it was something sharper—a need to protect, to shield these kids from the worst of the industry sharks already circling outside. She’d learned the hard way what happened to the ones who trusted too easily. Not on her watch.

In the sunlit corridor outside, Mirae drifted by, sunglasses low on her nose, eyes flicking over the new recruits. For a moment, their chatter stopped. Every boy and girl straightened, hungry for her approval, desperate for a glance or a smile. Mirae gave them a little wave, then vanished behind a door, leaving the air crackling in her wake.

The building felt alive, a jungle of ambition and nerves. Harin watched it all, every move, every glance, planning three steps ahead—money, contracts, safety, and the future of LUNE all crowding her head at once.

Above, Joon-ho’s clinic was in full swing. The reception area buzzed with conversation—housewives comparing schedules, influencers taking selfies, executives checking stock prices as they waited for their turn. The waiting room was full, the air thick with the scent of jasmine oil and anticipation.

Inside one of the treatment rooms, Joon-ho’s hands glided over a client’s thighs, working deep into the tense muscles. The woman—early thirties, elegant, her lips bitten raw from nerves—tried to keep quiet, but a low moan slipped out as his thumb circled the tight knot just below her ass. She bit her lip, pressing her face into the towel, but her hips arched, need and relief warring in every breath.

"You’re tense," Joon-ho murmured, working deeper. "Breathe."

She obeyed, the flush on her cheeks spreading to her chest, her thighs parting slightly as his hands climbed higher, easing the ache out of her body. When the session ended, she sat up, hair wild, lipstick smeared in a streak across the towel. She tried to thank him, words tangled, but he just smiled and handed her a bottle of water.

As she left, she lingered in the hallway, smoothing her skirt, one hand still trembling. Two women waiting in the lounge exchanged glances.

"I told you," whispered one, eyes wide, "he’s magic. Those hands could ruin you."

Her friend grinned. "Ruin me? I’d pay double for that."

Joon-ho stepped out, towel draped over his shoulder, catching the murmurs with a knowing grin. His schedule was stacked, booked out for weeks—a line of clients desperate to feel that touch, to carry the rumor of his magic fingers back into the city’s gossip mill.

At the front desk, Soo-jin waited, typing up invoices with swift, nervous fingers. She looked up and blushed as Joon-ho approached, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were always pink these days, but something had changed in her—her eyes brighter, her voice steadier, her posture just a little prouder. She wore a neat blouse tucked into a tight skirt, and when she shifted in her seat, there was the faintest click, barely audible—a secret reminder of what she wore beneath. Su-bin’s gift, her daily ritual, a plug pressed deep that made her every move electric.

"Morning, Soo-jin," Joon-ho greeted, glancing at the full waiting room. "Holding down the fort?"

She grinned, her blush deepening. "Never boring. New patients every day."

A regular client leaned over the desk, grinning. "How’s your new place, Soo-jin?"

Soo-jin’s eyes sparkled, lips curving into a sly, private smile. "Never boring," she repeated, glancing away. "And my big sister is very... attentive." The way she said it made the older woman arch an eyebrow, a laugh bubbling up, but no one pressed further.

Since New Year’s, Soo-jin’s life had changed shape. She’d broken up with her boyfriend—caught him lying, cheating, always asking for money and never giving anything back. It hurt, at first, the loneliness gnawing at her in the early mornings. But moving in with Su-bin changed everything. Now, every morning started with Su-bin’s hand at her throat or in her hair, reminders whispered against her ear, little rewards and punishments. Every night, she slept with the plug in, Su-bin’s collar locked around her neck. Every day at the clinic, she sat a little straighter, every shift making her ache, every blush a private signal only Joon-ho and maybe a few regulars understood.

Sometimes, Su-bin came in just to check on her, bringing coffee or flowers, a smirk on her lips as she leaned close to whisper something filthy only for Soo-jin’s ears. It made Soo-jin glow, squirm, and sometimes stutter at the front desk, earning odd looks from the other staff and patients who could never quite guess what secret game was being played right under their noses.

At lunch, the clinic was a riot of intersecting lives. Harin called, checking schedules, her voice sharp but warm. Ji-hye messaged, her tone rushed, needing to reschedule her next massage. Mirae sent selfies from the film set, pouting and making faces, always asking if she looked too tired or too sexy. Yura checked in, gentle and calm, asking after everyone, making sure no one was slipping through the cracks. Joon-ho managed it all with a patient grin, his calm a counterweight to all the hungry, tangled energy swirling through their orbit.

As the afternoon faded, the city pressed in hotter and louder, everything moving faster. At LUNE HQ, the new recruits jostled in the break room, stealing glances at the core girls, hungry for any scrap of approval. Harin barked orders, Mirae swept through with a movie star’s sway, and somewhere upstairs, Yura held a meeting, her belly the unspoken center of every conversation, her voice soft but commanding. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Ji-hye finished another round at the gym, hair plastered to her face, shoulders burning. She checked her phone again—another missed call, another interview. She didn’t care. She had a goal and she would bleed to reach it. At night, when she stumbled home, she sometimes caught a glimpse of Mirae on TV, or a photo of Harin in a trade magazine, or Yura’s face glowing on LUNE’s social. They were all running, always running, but sometimes their lives crossed—at a shoot, at a late-night meal, in the bright, echoing halls of their shared dreams.

Evenings at the clinic brought a different pace. The waiting room thinned. Joon-ho saw his last client, soothed tired shoulders, sent her off with a promise of rest. He stepped out to the front, finding Soo-jin tapping away, her energy softer but still bright, her secret glinting in her eyes. Outside, the city roared with traffic, the sun slipping down behind the towers, heat clinging to every window.

Joon-ho leaned over the desk, voice low. "You okay?"

Soo-jin looked up, a secret smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. "Always, now."

As he turned to lock up, their lives—Yura’s calm, Mirae’s rush, Ji-hye’s grind, Harin’s authority, the new talent’s ambition, Joon-ho’s slow, steady fire, and Soo-jin’s restless, shining ache—spun together for a moment, all of them humming in the heat of May, all burning for what came next.

Soo-jin watched him walk down the hallway, her hand drifting unconsciously to her lower back, pressing just above the plug, her heart thudding with secret pride and hunger. She smiled, sunlight catching in her hair, the promise of the summer and everything after lighting her up from within.