The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside, a reminder that Seoul never truly slept. Inside, though, the atmosphere had shifted into something softer—dim lights, the faint scent of sandalwood from a candle Harin had lit earlier, and the low murmur of voices.
Joon-ho sat on the sofa beside Madam Seo, his hands resting gently on her head. His fingers moved slowly, deliberately, pressing in circular motions at her temples before gliding up into her scalp. Each movement was careful, practiced, carrying both precision and tenderness.
"Breathe slowly," he murmured.
Madam Seo exhaled, the tension in her shoulders sagging just slightly. "Mmm… I've had this damn headache for days," she admitted, voice low and heavy. "Feels like someone's been wrapping a rope tighter and tighter around my skull."
