Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The Grand Hyatt Jeju lobby glowed in the evening light, polished marble floors reflecting chandeliers that shimmered like constellations. Guests lingered near the fountain centerpiece, the soft rush of water mixing with the muted hum of conversations and luggage wheels rolling across the tiles.

Joon-ho stepped away from the reception desk, check-in complete. His blazer hung sharp over his shoulders, casual but elevated — the kind of look that made people pause, uncertain whether he was a model, an actor, or simply someone out of their league. A sleek suitcase rolled behind him as he adjusted the strap of his duffle bag.

Across the lobby, Mirae appeared with her manager, Kang Soo-yeon.

Mirae's casual chic stood out even among the luxury tourists — a cropped cream sweater tucked into high-waisted jeans, a cap pulled low but not enough to hide her radiance. The days of stress that had knotted her features seemed to soften the moment she spotted him. Her lips parted, a flicker of warmth lighting her face like a sunrise.

"Joon-ho!"

Her voice carried despite the buzz of the lobby, and Soo-yeon's sharp glance reminded her to lower her tone. Mirae tucked her chin but quickened her steps, suitcase wheels rattling behind her as she reached him.

"This is my manager, Kang Soo-yeon," Mirae said, tugging lightly at the sleeve of the woman beside her. "Unnie, this is Joon-ho."

Kang Soo-yeon was in her mid-thirties, poised and professional in a tailored blazer that spoke of Seoul boardrooms rather than island retreats. She extended her hand without hesitation, her grip firm. Her eyes skimmed Joon-ho up and down in a single practiced sweep, assessing more than greeting.

"So this is the famous Joon-ho." Her tone carried the faintest edge, a blend of curiosity and warning.

"Nice to meet you," Joon-ho replied evenly, his own handshake steady. He didn't shrink under her measuring gaze.

Around them, the murmur in the lobby shifted.

"Isn't that Mirae?" someone whispered, not even trying to lower their voice.

"She's prettier in real life."

"Who's that guy with her? Her boyfriend? Manager?"

A subtle click of a camera phone cut through the air. Another. Mirae stiffened, lowering her cap further, but the damage was done — attention gathered like moths to flame.

Joon-ho leaned slightly closer, voice low but firm. "Too many eyes. Let's take this upstairs. My suite will be quieter."

Soo-yeon's gaze darted across the room, tallying the glances, the phones raised just high enough to be suspicious. She gave a small nod. "Agreed."

The trio moved quickly toward the elevators, Mirae instinctively falling into step beside Joon-ho. She wanted to slip her hand into his, her fingers twitching with the urge, but Soo-yeon's presence behind them anchored her restraint. The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected their unspoken tension — Mirae stealing glances up at him, Soo-yeon watching silently from her corner.

The suite opened with the soft chime of the keycard, and the world outside fell away. A panoramic window stretched across the far wall, Jeju City spilling out in glittering lines of traffic and neon. The room was expansive, modern minimalism balanced with warm wood and muted gold accents.

Joon-ho set his luggage down by the wall with casual ease, shrugging off his blazer. Mirae drifted automatically toward the sofa, sinking beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kang Soo-yeon raised an eyebrow as she chose the single chair opposite them. Her lips quirked with dry amusement. "You sat down a little naturally, Mirae. Didn't even hesitate."

Blood rushed to Mirae's cheeks, but she didn't move. "It's… comfortable, that's all."

Joon-ho rested one arm lazily along the backrest, his posture relaxed but protective. "It's normal," he said simply. "She belongs here."

That made Mirae's blush deepen, but she smiled faintly into her lap.

Soo-yeon sighed, crossing one leg over the other. "Fine. Just don't make me clean up the agency's mess if anyone finds out. I'm a manager, not a miracle worker."

"You've been both for her," Joon-ho countered smoothly. "But you won't have to cover for us tonight."

The tension cracked just enough for Mirae to let out a nervous laugh.

Joon-ho leaned forward, changing the subject. "Should we order room service? Or call delivery?"

"Delivery," Soo-yeon said instantly, her tone decisive. "You can't come to Jeju and not eat black pig barbecue. And bibim guksu." She pulled out her phone with practiced efficiency. "I'll order takeaway."

At that, Mirae's eyes lit up, her earlier nerves evaporating. "Really? Yes, please. I haven't had Jeju black pig in weeks."

Joon-ho chuckled at her eagerness. "I'll take your word for it. Order whatever you think is best."

As Soo-yeon made the call, Mirae shifted closer against him, her thigh brushing his. The contact was fleeting but deliberate, and though her face stayed composed, her fingers twisted in her lap, betraying the storm of nerves beneath.

He didn't move away.

The city lights painted the room in shifting patterns, the hum of the island beyond their glass wall. For the first time since arriving, Mirae felt the weight of the past few days lift slightly, like the air in the suite was easier to breathe.

Soo-yeon ended the call briskly, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Food will be here in forty minutes. Black pig barbecue, bibim guksu, and side dishes. Enough for three." She gave them both a look that hovered between maternal and exasperated. "Try not to get distracted before then."

Mirae sputtered. "Unnie!"

Joon-ho only smiled faintly, reaching for the remote to flick on the muted jazz playing through the suite's sound system. "Plenty of time," he said calmly, though his eyes lingered on Mirae just a little too long.

The knock at the suite door came just as the jazz track faded into silence. A savory aroma had already seeped through the crack even before Joon-ho rose to answer.

"Room service?" Mirae asked hopefully, springing halfway to her feet.

"Delivery," Soo-yeon corrected, sliding her phone back into her pocket. "Jeju black pig barbecue and bibim guksu. Only the essentials."

Joon-ho opened the door to a hotel staffer with two large insulated bags. The smell burst into the room—sizzling pork, garlic, sesame oil, the tang of vinegar-soaked vegetables. Mirae's eyes widened, her stomach betraying her with a very audible growl.

"Perfect timing," Joon-ho said with an easy smile, taking the bags and sliding the staffer a generous tip before closing the door.

They gathered at the suite's dining table, a sleek wooden slab positioned near the window. Plates clinked, containers opened. In minutes the table was a spread of glossy pork belly slices, cold noodles glistening with red sauce, kimchi, and fresh lettuce leaves stacked like green fans.

Mirae's chopsticks darted first, snapping up a piece of meat and rolling it quickly into lettuce with garlic and ssamjang. She took a huge bite and melted into her seat with a moan. "Finally. Real food."

Joon-ho chuckled, mixing his own bite. "Was Seoul starving you?"

"More like the schedule," Mirae said around her mouthful. "Diet meals, protein bars, iced coffee. You forget how actual food tastes until you eat like this again."

"Chew before you talk," Soo-yeon scolded lightly, though her own chopsticks were already busy arranging noodles into her bowl. She looked far more relaxed now than she had in the lobby, shoulders loosening as she bit into her own wrap. "But I'll admit—this is worth breaking diet rules for."

For a few minutes, the room filled with the steady rhythm of eating, sighs of satisfaction, the crackle of meat between lettuce, the refreshing snap of cold noodles.

But it couldn't last.

Joon-ho set down his chopsticks, watching Mirae finish her bite. His voice, though calm, cut through the warmth. "So. How bad is it?"

The chopsticks in Mirae's hand stilled. Her expression dimmed, the earlier sparkle fading as though someone had pulled a curtain over her. She glanced at Soo-yeon, then back at him.

"The higher-ups insist we continue shooting," she said finally, her voice quieter. "Do-jin's sponsor money is too big to ignore. PD Jin-ho's hands are tied."

Soo-yeon's mouth tightened. "We're worried about the backlash. If fewer guests come—or worse, if protestors show up. SNS is already boiling. You've seen the posts?"

Joon-ho nodded once. He had. Hashtags calling for boycotts, clips of Do-jin's outburst replayed with furious captions. Netizens dissecting every frame of the incident.

"Do-jin should have been pulled the moment he laid hands on someone," Soo-yeon continued, frustration sharpening her tone. "But his sponsor is shielding him. Money buys silence… at least from executives."

Mirae set her chopsticks down entirely, staring at her untouched noodles now. "And while they argue about contracts, everyone else has to keep smiling for the cameras. Like nothing happened."

Joon-ho's gaze softened, but his tone stayed practical. "What about the man he hit? Mr. Choi, right?"

Soo-yeon dabbed her mouth with a napkin, shifting into professional mode. "He's still in Jeju Hospital. No broken bones, but his leg was strained badly when he fell. They're monitoring him for now."

Mirae's lips pressed tight. "He's a respected elder here. They invited him to highlight Jeju's specialties, to share the culture with the younger audience. And then this happens to him…"

Her voice trembled with frustration she tried to swallow down. Joon-ho noticed the way she twisted her napkin in her lap, small hands tight enough to crumple it.

"Which hospital?" His question came sharply, more abrupt than he intended.

Both women blinked at him. Soo-yeon raised an eyebrow. "Jeju Hospital. East wing. Why?"

"Just asking," he replied evenly, though his jaw set.

They returned to eating, though the mood had shifted again—quieter, heavier, the weight of uncertainty pressing down.

When the last pieces of pork were gone and only a tangle of noodles remained, Joon-ho pushed back his chair. "Excuse me for a minute."

He stepped aside, pulling out his phone. His thumb scrolled down contacts he hadn't touched in years, pausing on a name: Lee Dong-wook.

The line clicked after the second ring.

"...Hyung?!" The voice on the other end erupted with disbelief. "Do you know how many years it's been? You vanish after graduation and suddenly call me from Jeju?"

Joon-ho couldn't help the small laugh. "It has been a while, hasn't it?"

"A while? Try a lifetime!" Dong-wook's tone was half mockery, half genuine relief. "Last time I saw you was… what, project finals? You promised we'd grab drinks and then disappeared. Hyung, you're impossible."

"Life got busy," Joon-ho said smoothly. "But you sound the same."

"Not the same. Busier. And older," Dong-wook said. "I'm working with Soo-jin now, remember her? From our capstone project? We both ended up at Jeju Hospital. Imagine that."

Joon-ho's smile faded into seriousness. "Then maybe you can tell me about Mr. Choi."

The other end went quiet. When Dong-wook spoke again, his voice had dropped lower. "...You've heard, then. He's stable. No major injuries, thank God. But recovery's slow at his age. He strained his leg badly, and the fall shook him more than he admits. Media's been circling—hospital director is nervous. Too much attention."

"Can you handle his treatment personally?" Joon-ho asked, voice clipped with intent. "Keep it discreet?"

Dong-wook exhaled hard. "Hyung, you don't ask for small favors, do you?"

"It matters," Joon-ho said simply.

Another pause. Then: "...All right. I'll need to clear it with the director. But if it's you… I'll see what I can do. I'll call you tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, Dong-wook."

"You owe me drinks. Years' worth."

"Deal." Joon-ho smiled faintly as the call clicked off.

When he turned back, both Mirae and Soo-yeon were staring at him, chopsticks forgotten, bowls half-finished.

"You…" Mirae's voice was breathless. "You know someone at Jeju Hospital?"

Joon-ho shrugged casually, slipping his phone into his pocket. "Old connections. If I can help Mr. Choi, it'll calm things down before it explodes further."

Soo-yeon leaned back, crossing her arms. Her expression carried both suspicion and reluctant admiration. "You move fast. If you can really manage that, I'll coordinate with PD Jin-ho. He'll be desperate for a lifeline."

Mirae's shoulders eased for the first time since dinner began. The corners of her lips tugged upward, almost shy.

"Oppa…" Her voice softened, hesitant, as if the word itself carried more weight than usual. "Are you… staying here tonight?"

The question hung in the air, delicate and heavy all at once.

Joon-ho smirked, leaning back into his chair. "Suite room. Big enough. Do you want to stay with me?"

Color rushed to Mirae's cheeks, blooming hot across her ears. She hesitated, lips parting, before she nodded once, almost imperceptibly. "…Yes."

Soo-yeon groaned, pushing her chair back noisily. "And that's my cue. I'll go before I turn into a third wheel." She gathered her bag, standing with dramatic flair. "But Mirae—don't forget, we still have prep tomorrow morning. No excuses."

"Unnie!" Mirae squeaked, mortified.

The older woman only smirked, adjusting her blazer. "Have fun, lovebirds. Just keep it quiet enough the neighbors don't complain."

The door clicked shut behind her.

Mirae lingered in the silence, her pulse thundering. The storm around her career, the chaos of the show, the boiling SNS feeds—they all still loomed. But here, in this room with Joon-ho, she finally felt like she wasn't bracing against it alone.