Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The dining table was filled with the scent of sizzling bulgogi, the rich, fermented aroma of doenjang-jjigae bubbling in a clay pot, the golden sheen of rolled omelettes neatly sliced into spirals, and a stack of kimchi jeon still steaming. A faint hiss echoed from the kitchen as Joon-ho moved back and forth with smooth, practiced rhythm, plating each dish with a calm precision. Harin hovered beside him, passing napkins, placing bowls, and tossing in playful remarks every now and then as she garnished the food with chopped scallions and sesame seeds.

Coach Min leaned back on the couch with a curious expression, watching the way they worked together. When the final dish was placed before her, she raised a brow and crossed her arms. "Not bad," she said, nodding with approval. "You cook like someone's husband already."

"Occupational hazard," Joon-ho replied with a faint smile. "Cooking calms me. Almost like therapy."

Harin chuckled as she poured cool water into their glasses. "It's also to save our lives from Ji-hye's cooking experiments."

Ji-hye's head snapped up. "Hey—!"

Coach Min didn't even look up. "You almost burned down my kitchen last time. Stir-frying doesn't mean setting the pan on fire."

"It was one time," Ji-hye said with an exaggerated pout, crossing her arms like a scolded child.

Coach Min waved a chopstick in her direction. "One time too many. Just order takeout next time. There's no shame in delivery."

Harin snickered behind her hand as Ji-hye sulked, but the mood around the table was light, familiar. The earlier tension had lifted, replaced by the comforting atmosphere that only a hot meal could provide.

They dug into the food, chopsticks clinking against ceramic, the steam rising in gentle curls. Ji-hye reached for the bulgogi first, placing a few tender slices onto her rice, then taking a bite with a blissful hum.

"This is amazing," she murmured between chews.

Joon-ho looked over. "Eat as much as you want. I made enough for an army."

Coach Min took a bite of the doenjang-jjigae and nodded. "This isn't restaurant-grade. It's better. You cook with care."

"I cook for people I care about," he said simply, his eyes flicking toward Ji-hye, then to Harin.

Ji-hye blushed slightly, focusing on slicing her kimchi jeon into smaller pieces.

As the meal went on, conversation turned to training updates and the upcoming schedule. Ji-hye leaned forward, voice animated as she described new drills Coach Min had introduced, and how her reaction time and footwork had improved. The Olympic qualifiers loomed on the horizon, but instead of dread, she spoke with something like excitement.

"We've been doing a lot of positional rotation drills," she said, picking at her rice. "Coach Kim is really pushing our back-row defense too. It's tiring, but I can feel it working."

"Your timing's sharper," Coach Min agreed. "You're covering more space without overextending."

Harin leaned on her elbow, listening with half-lidded curiosity. "That's sexy in a totally athletic way."

Ji-hye rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Thanks… I think."

As Ji-hye talked, Coach Min kept glancing at her daughter—taking in the subtle changes. The way her posture had relaxed, how the stress no longer weighed so heavily in her eyes. How easily she laughed. The kind of ease that didn't come from training sessions or medals—but from something—or someone—who made her feel safe. Cherished.

Even as she poked bulgogi onto her rice, Coach Min was thinking back to the last few months. The slump, the doubts. How close Ji-hye had come to burnout. And now… this version of her felt like a girl reborn. No pressure in her shoulders. No exhaustion buried under her smile.

Maybe Joon-ho had something to do with that. Probably everything to do with that.

She wasn't ready to say it aloud—but the food, the laughter, the girl across the table smiling like she hadn't in years… it made her stomach soften. Just a little.

After the last bites were had and plates pushed aside.

Harin appeared with a mischievous glint in her eye and a bottle of soju. "Now this," she declared, "is the proper way to end a meal."

Coach Min blinked. "You drink?"

"With you? Definitely," Harin grinned.

Glasses were filled. The soju flowed freely. The warmth of the meal melted into a warm buzz under the amber kitchen lights.

Joon-ho excused himself to clean up the dishes, stacking plates with quiet efficiency while the women stayed behind.

As another round poured, Coach Min swirled the glass between her fingers. "So," she muttered, her tongue loosened by alcohol. "Multiple women, huh?"

Harin didn't miss a beat. "He's got a type: smart, beautiful, high-functioning women who need someone calm to lean on."

"And Madam Seo?" Coach Min added with a squint.

Harin tilted her head thoughtfully. "Even she's not immune. It's his charm. He makes you feel…" Her voice softened slightly. "Safe. Like someone who won't leave no matter what."

Ji-hye was already tipsy, her cheeks flushed and eyes glossy. She nodded slowly. "Mmhmm… feels really safe in his hug…"

Coach Min groaned and reached over to tug her daughter's ear. "You're still an athlete! Don't get carried away with romance when you should be focusing!"

"Ow—ow! Okay, okay!" Ji-hye giggled, swaying slightly in her seat.

From the kitchen, Joon-ho returned with a clean towel draped over one shoulder and a tray of sliced pears, chilled grapes, and sweet rice crackers.

"What'd I miss?" he asked, setting the tray down casually.

"Your personal fan club," Coach Min muttered darkly, downing another shot.

"Must be a small club," he replied calmly, passing out toothpicks for the fruit. "But I appreciate the enthusiasm."

"She's smiling again," Harin added softly, nodding toward Ji-hye, who had gone quiet, her chin resting on her palm, smiling dreamily into her glass. "That's worth something, right?"

Coach Min exhaled slowly, then raised her glass once more. "One more, then I'm done."

They clinked again, a quieter toast this time, more reflective than celebratory.

The conversation drifted—volleyball gossip, useless trivia, stories from university days. Harin teased Ji-hye about her high school haircuts. Coach Min offered ancient wisdom in the form of terrible dating advice. The group slipped into a rhythm of easy familiarity.

But eventually, the warmth turned heavy.

Coach Min's words began to slur, her head bobbing slightly between sentences. Ji-hye had long stopped contributing, her eyes glassy, mouth tugged into a sleepy half-smile. Harin, still more composed than the rest, set her glass down and stood.

"I'll drop her in the guest room," she whispered to Joon-ho, her hand brushing briefly against his arm. "Take care of our goddess, yeah?"

He nodded. "Of course."

Coach Min blinked slowly as Harin hoisted her gently to her feet. "Why are the stairs so tall?" she mumbled.

"Shh, it's okay. We'll fly up them," Harin cooed, wrapping an arm around her and leading her down the hallway.

Joon-ho watched them disappear before turning back to Ji-hye. Her chin was resting on her folded arms now, eyes only half open. Her lips parted in a soft, breathy hum.

Back at the table, Ji-hye swayed slightly, her chin dipping forward until her cheek brushed the back of her own hand.

"I'm fine," she murmured, though her words were softened at the edges, vowels spilling lazily. Her lashes fluttered like she was fighting to keep them open. "Not drunk… just my legs stopped listening…"

Joon-ho's lips curved in quiet amusement, the sound of his chuckle low and warm. "That's drunk, Ji-hye."

She tilted her head toward him, eyes glassy but glimmering with that playful stubbornness he knew so well. "But a happy drunk…" she said, her lips quirking before she let out the tiniest hiccup of a laugh.

Without another word, he stepped closer, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor as he pulled her into his arms. One smooth motion—his forearms sliding under her knees and back—and she was weightless. Her breath caught in a tiny gasp, her fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt as she buried her face against his chest.

The faint scent of soju clung to her breath, mingled with the sweeter trace of the dessert they'd just shared. Her hair tickled his jaw as she shifted slightly, pressing in closer, the warmth of her body seeping through his clothes.

"I feel like I'm floating," she murmured, her voice muffled against him, the heat of her exhale spilling across the side of his neck.

"You are," he replied, his tone low—half a reassurance, half a promise—as he adjusted his hold and carried her toward the quiet of the bedroom.

He brought her into the master bedroom, the hallway light fading behind them as the door clicked softly shut. The space was dim, lit only by the soft golden hue of the bedside lamp. Shadows pooled along the corners, the glow catching on the curve of the bedframe and the faint ripple of the curtains swaying from an open window.

Gently, he lowered her onto the mattress. The sheets sighed beneath her weight, the faint scent of fresh linen rising into the air. Her fingers, still loosely hooked into his shirt, didn't release right away—as if her body refused to let go of him even in her haze.

"Take these off…" she whispered, her voice slow and drowsy, the consonants melting together. She tugged weakly at her dress, the movement clumsy but insistent. "It's too warm…"

He helped her sit up, the motion coaxing another soft, sleepy hum from her lips. His hands moved carefully, slipping the fabric from her shoulders, letting it glide over her skin without a single snag. Piece by piece, he undressed her until she was left in nothing but her underwear. Her flushed skin caught the lamplight, glowing faintly, each rise and fall of her chest steady but unguarded.

He shed his own clothes down to his boxers, the quiet rustle of fabric falling to the floor the only sound between them. Then, reaching out, he flicked off the lamp, letting the room fall into a softer darkness—one where the only illumination came from the faint spill of starlight through the curtains.

Ji-hye shifted instinctively toward him as he slipped into bed. The moment he settled beside her, she pressed close, her arms looping around his torso with a contented hum. Her cheek found his chest, her breath warm and even against his skin. "Mmm… warm…" she murmured, half-asleep already.

Joon-ho brushed her hair back from her forehead and pressed a slow, lingering kiss there. "Sleep," he whispered, the word almost a caress.

She made the faintest sound of agreement before her breathing deepened, her body melting into his as though he was the only anchor she needed.

Outside, the villa rested in silence, the stars peeking through the fading clouds. Inside, Ji-hye slept with a small, untroubled smile—safe, warm, and, for the first time in far too long… utterly at peace.