Ji-hye dumped her backpack on the reception couch and shook the last of the winter air from her hair, eyes glinting with that feral edge she always brought back from a tournament. The clinic was still, lights dimmed for closing, only the low hum of a heater and the drifting, herbal scent of clean sheets lingering in the air. She stretched, spine popping, a contented sound escaping her as she took in the unfamiliar space.
"So this is the famous lair," she teased, glancing around. "Where you work all your magic and ruin the self-esteem of Seoul's finest?"
Joon-ho watched her from the hallway, lips twitching, letting her have the moment. "Not all of them, just the ones who ask nicely."
She flashed a grin, toeing off her sneakers. "That's not what Harin said. I heard you practically make people cry with those hands."
He stepped forward, hands sliding into his pockets, the shadows playing across his face. "You came all this way for a massage?"
