Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The wide atrium of Starfield COEX Mall buzzed with the usual Saturday energy. Families trailed after squealing kids, couples drifted hand in hand, and clusters of teenagers crowded escalators with shopping bags dangling from their arms. Joon-ho walked beside Harin, his stride calm, hers a little bouncy—half the time she was turning her head to gawk at window displays.

"Over there!" Harin tugged his sleeve suddenly, pointing across the floor. A bright pastel sign with a chubby cartoon creature stood over a pop-up booth. A few staff in matching aprons were setting up stacks of boxes, a half-open roll-down shutter still covering half the display.

"BboBbo Official Pop-up," the sign read in big bubble letters. The creature—big-eyed, mischievous, half-monster-half-doll—was instantly familiar.

"Oh my god, it's real," Harin breathed, eyes shining. "The BboBbo booth. I thought we'd have to line up for hours."

Joon-ho glanced at the booth. A couple of women in uniforms were scurrying back and forth, unboxing products and arranging them into neat pyramids. A short rope line had already formed with a handful of eager fans hovering nearby.

As the two approached, one of the sales staff noticed them and gave a polite bow. She looked tired but smiled. "I'm sorry," she said, "we're not ready yet. The shipment for today is still on its way. Yesterday's sales… wiped us out faster than we expected. We'll reopen after lunch once stock arrives."

Harin pouted immediately, lips puffing out. "After lunch?"

"Yes," the girl nodded apologetically. "We're really sorry. But if you come back then, we'll have fresh stock."

Joon-ho inclined his head politely. "Got it. Thank you."

The salesgirl hurried off to help her colleagues. Harin lingered, staring longingly at the unopened boxes stacked behind the rope. "Look at them," she sighed. "They're so cute… I want at least three. No, four. Maybe one in every color."

"You'd attach them all to one bag and rattle like a keychain store when you walk," Joon-ho said dryly.

She shot him a glare, then giggled, hooking her arm through his. "Maybe. But it would be adorable, right?"

Joon-ho gave her a look that was somewhere between fond and resigned. "Let's walk around first. We can come back after lunch."

"Fine," she said, though she was still glancing over her shoulder as they moved away from the booth.

Wandering the Mall

They strolled through the sprawling levels of the mall. Harin slipped easily into her usual chatter, pointing out clothes, perfumes, even pastries behind glass counters. Every so often she would stop and try to push something against Joon-ho's chest.

"This jacket would look so good on you. Try it."

"No."

"Look at this scarf! You'd be so stylish—"

"Pass."

"You're no fun, oppa."

"I'm practical."

She huffed, but her hand never left his arm.

After a while, as they paused in front of a shoe store, Harin tilted her head up at him mischievously. "So…" she began, drawing the word out, "what's the deal with Madam Seo?"

Joon-ho raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Harin smirked, poking his side. "Don't play dumb. The way she looks at you. The way you took care of her last night. If this keeps up, she's totally going to be hooked. You're like… irresistible bait for lonely rich women."

He chuckled low in his throat. "Are you jealous?"

Her pout returned, but this time her cheeks colored faintly. "Me? Jealous? Hah. As if." She folded her arms dramatically. "I already know I can't keep you to myself. You'd break me if I even tried."

His smirk widened. "Stamina issues?"

"Yah!" She swatted his arm, eyes narrowing. "Don't say it like that." Then she muttered under her breath, "It's true though…"

Joon-ho laughed softly, enjoying her flustered expression.

Harin grumbled, then glanced at him sidelong. "But if Madam Seo really does… join… then I'm doomed. She'll be the main wife, and I'll be stuck as the little wife, running errands."

Joon-ho thought about it for a beat, then shook his head. "I doubt she'd even bother. She'd probably be too busy to micromanage. That would fall to you."

Her jaw dropped. "So I'd have to manage your harem?!"

"Looks that way."

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Unfair. Why did I fall for you again?"

"Because I'm charming," he said simply.

She peeked at him through her fingers and stuck her tongue out. "More like infuriating."

Mirae in the Picture

They took the escalator up to the next level, drifting toward a quieter wing of the mall. Harin slowed as they passed a cosmetics store, but her voice turned sly again.

"What about Mirae?" she asked.

Joon-ho's brow lifted slightly. "What about her?"

"When are we seeing her?"

He thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone and scrolled through messages. "She's filming a big variety show in Jeju next month. She mentioned her agency might approve her request to have me fly over as her therapist on set."

Harin blinked, stopping mid-step. "Wait. She actually asked her agency to bring you? That's… bold."

"Apparently." He slipped the phone back in his pocket. "She said the workload has been brutal. CFs, movies, variety shoots—it's piling up."

"Still," Harin muttered, shaking her head. "Most idols or actresses would be secretive about that kind of thing. But her? She's practically waving a flag."

Joon-ho shrugged. "Maybe it's just my charm."

This time Harin pinched his arm sharply. He didn't flinch.

"Ugh," she groaned. "It's like pinching a wall. You're impossible."

He chuckled, resting his hand briefly against the small of her back.

Lunch

By then their stomachs had started growling, and Harin dragged him toward an Italian restaurant tucked into one corner of the atrium. Inside, soft music played and the air smelled of garlic, herbs, and fresh bread.

They settled into a booth by the window. Harin ordered pasta with cream sauce; Joon-ho chose a steak risotto.

As they waited for the food, Harin rested her chin on her hand, studying him with mock suspicion. "So let's recap. You've got me, Ji-hye, Madam Seo on the horizon, and Mirae waving a flag in Jeju. How many girls are you planning to collect, oppa?"

"Is this an interrogation?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I deserve to know my competition."

He leaned back, amused. "You sound like you're preparing for war."

"Maybe I am," she said, narrowing her eyes. Then her lips curved. "But don't think I'll ever give up my spot. Even if Madam Seo turns into some glamorous queen bee, I'll still be here. Little wife or not."

Joon-ho reached across the table, flicked her forehead gently. "Idiot."

She squeaked, rubbing her forehead. "What was that for?!"

"For overthinking."

Their food arrived then, and the conversation mellowed into laughter and comfortable bites. Harin twirled her pasta around her fork, leaning forward to steal a taste of his risotto. He let her.

For a brief span, it felt like nothing more complicated than two lovers enjoying a lazy lunch date. The weight of family politics, business empires, and jealousies seemed far away.

By the time they left the restaurant, Harin's mood had lightened again, her hand naturally finding his as they made their way back toward the atrium.

The clock on Joon-ho's phone ticked just past one. The BboBbo booth would be opening any moment now.

And the chaos waiting there was nothing either of them expected.

When Joon-ho and Harin returned to the atrium, the atmosphere had changed entirely.

The neat little rope line they'd seen earlier was gone—swallowed by a sea of people crowding the booth. Security guards in black windbreakers were shouting for order, arms stretched out to keep bodies from pushing forward. The pastel-colored sign that had looked so innocent now seemed almost mocking above the chaos.

"What the hell…" Harin muttered, clutching Joon-ho's arm as they stopped just short of the crowd.

The booth itself was already surrounded by a wall of fans. Boxes of the wide-eyed BboBbo dolls were stacked behind the counter, but every time a staffer tried to bring one forward, a dozen hands reached and shoved.

"Step back, please!" one of the security guards yelled. "Everyone will get a chance if you queue properly!"

No one listened.

A cluster of young men near the front—older than the usual fan demographic, sharp-eyed and aggressive—were barking complaints at the sales staff. Joon-ho's gaze sharpened. They weren't fans. They were scalpers.

The signs were obvious: they carried empty bags, a few had receipt slips already in their hands, and their voices carried the practiced entitlement of people who saw toys only as profit.

"Yesterday they bought out the booth in under an hour," one of the nearby onlookers whispered to a friend. "Now they're reselling online for five times the price."

"Company's putting a cap today," another murmured. "One per person. Scalpers are pissed."

The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Amidst the noise, the same tired salesgirl from earlier wove through the crowd, holding a small megaphone. She bowed repeatedly, her voice trembling but loud.

"Everyone, please understand! We are limiting purchases to one per customer today. We want to give as many fans as possible a chance to buy. We apologize for yesterday's shortage—please be patient, stock is still being processed inside!"

Her words were drowned by angry shouts.

"One per person? Are you kidding me?!" a scalper barked, his voice carrying over the crowd. "I came early, I waited, and now you're telling me I can't buy more?"

Others echoed his anger, pushing against the rope line.

Harin winced at the volume. "This is insane. It's just a doll…"

Joon-ho said nothing, his eyes scanning the pressure points of the crowd. Security guards were barely holding the line. If one more person shoved, the whole thing could tip into a stampede.

The Breaking Point

And then it happened.

One of the scalpers, a broad man in his thirties with a cheap gold chain around his neck, suddenly lunged forward. His hand shot out, grabbing the megaphone from the salesgirl's hand.

"Stop with your excuses!" he shouted, face red with fury. "This is a scam! You're hiding stock in the back for resellers!"

Security moved in, grabbing his arms, but the man thrashed violently. In the struggle, he swung his elbow wide—striking not at the guards but at a frail figure who had been standing quietly to the side.

The old man stumbled back, eyes wide. His cane clattered to the floor. He crumpled, hitting the ground hard.

Gasps and screams tore through the booth.

"Ahjussi!"

"Call an ambulance!"

The sales staff froze in shock, rushing belatedly toward him. The scalper was wrestled down by two guards, his curses drowned by the uproar.

Joon-ho's body moved before his mind caught up. He pushed forward, Harin at his heels, cutting through the ring of gawking shoppers.

The old man lay on his side, his face pale, his breath shallow. His expensive-looking jacket was rumpled, his thin hair stuck to his damp forehead. He was conscious—his eyes flicked weakly up—but his body wasn't responding.

A trembling saleswoman crouched beside him, sobbing. "Chairman, please—don't move—someone's calling 119—"

Joon-ho dropped to his knees beside them, his voice steady. "Give me space."

The woman blinked at him through her tears. "W-who are you—"

"I'm a therapist. I can help stabilize him until the ambulance comes," Joon-ho said, already sliding his hands under the man's shoulders. His tone brooked no argument.

The crowd parted instinctively around his confidence. Harin knelt at his side, placing a hand on the saleswoman's shoulder. "Let him work. He knows what he's doing."

Joon-ho tilted the old man gently onto his back, adjusting his neck to keep his airway open. He placed his palm against the man's chest, feeling the uneven rhythm of his breathing. Not cardiac arrest—not yet—but his muscles were seizing from the impact, and his circulation was weak.

"Sir, can you hear me?" Joon-ho asked quietly.

The old man's lips moved faintly. "…hurts…"

"I know. Don't try to move. Just focus on breathing with me."

His fingers pressed against the man's temples, then slid down to his neck, massaging key points in practiced, precise motions. Pressure and release, coaxing blood flow, calming the nervous system.

The crowd had gone quiet, dozens of eyes watching. The earlier anger and chaos had collapsed into anxious silence.

The old man's breathing steadied slightly. His eyes fluttered, then focused on Joon-ho with faint clarity.

"There you go," Joon-ho murmured. "Just keep following my voice."

Beside him, Harin kept people from crowding too close, her voice sharp but calm. "Everyone step back. He needs air. Give him room."

The salesgirl clutched her apron, nodding frantically. "P-please, everyone, give the Chairman space!"

Security had subdued the scalper and dragged him out of sight, but the damage was done. The booth's staff looked shaken to their core.

Joon-ho stayed steady, his thumbs pressing into the old man's upper chest, loosening the tight muscles. Slowly, the man's hands unclenched, his shaking eased.

The faintest sigh escaped his lips.

Joon-ho exhaled quietly, glancing up at Harin. "He'll need proper care at a hospital, but I've stabilized him for now."

The old man's gaze flickered toward him—clouded by age, but sharp enough to linger with unexpected weight. For a brief moment, Joon-ho felt as though those eyes were studying him, memorizing him.

"Stay with me," he murmured, his hand still steady on the man's chest. "Help is on the way."

Sirens wailed faintly in the distance, growing closer. Around them, the booth was silent, everyone's attention pinned on the fragile figure on the floor and the calm young man holding him steady.

It was just another moment of Joon-ho stepping in where others froze. Or so it seemed—until much later, when he would discover the old man he had just saved was tied to his life in ways he never imagined.