Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 230: We’re Winning

Morning light cut through the blinds, painting slow stripes across the bed and the tangled bodies within it. Ji-hye woke sore, every muscle humming, the memory of the night’s wildness etched into her skin in bite marks and bruises. For a moment, she just lay there, letting herself feel it—the ache, the afterglow, the strange and delicious certainty that she was alive and wanted, not shamed or exiled. Joon-ho shifted beside her, one arm draped heavy around her waist, his breathing deep and slow.

She wriggled free, stretching with a soft wince, then padded to the bathroom to splash her face and tame her wild hair. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed—her neck was a map of purple and red, teeth marks at her collarbone, love bites curving over her shoulder. She blushed, but didn’t bother to hide them. They felt like armor.

When she came out, Joon-ho was already half-dressed, running a towel through his hair. He caught her eye and smiled, gentle, wordless. She stepped into his arms for a quick hug, letting her cheek press to his chest. For a long moment, the world held still.

"We should go down," he said finally, brushing her hair behind her ear. "They’ll want to see you."

Ji-hye hesitated, nerves fluttering under her skin, but he just kissed her forehead and nodded toward the back hall. "Come on. It’s safe."

They slipped into the small service stairwell that connected his apartment above the clinic to the floor below. The girls’ apartment was always a little chaotic—shoes in a pile by the door, the scent of coffee and toast and some half-burnt attempt at breakfast drifting up the stairs. As they opened the door, laughter rang out, voices overlapping.

Mirae spotted them first. She leapt up from the kitchen counter and launched herself at Ji-hye, arms wide. "You’re here!" she cried, grabbing her in a fierce, crushing hug. "You’re really here, you absolute idiot—I missed you so much I was ready to kidnap you myself!"

Harin was right behind her, cool as ever but with that rare, real smile that made her seem almost soft. She wrapped her arms around both of them, squeezing until Ji-hye squeaked.

"Jesus," Ji-hye laughed, wiggling between them. "Can I breathe?"

"No," Mirae declared, holding tight. "Not until you promise you’re never running away again."

Ji-hye rolled her eyes but hugged back, letting herself sink into the warmth of it, the familiar tangle of bodies and voices that had always felt more like home than any place she’d lived. Harin ruffled her hair, then leaned in, whispering, "You look like hell. In a good way."

Yura stood at the breakfast bar, spatula in one hand, a mountain of scrambled eggs and toast on the plate before her. Her belly was prominent now, straining against a loose tank top, but her eyes were sharp and full of mischief. "Ji-hye!" she called. "Sit. Eat. Or I swear I’ll force-feed you in front of everyone."

Ji-hye grinned and obeyed, sliding onto a stool. Mirae perched beside her, already piling food onto Ji-hye’s plate.

The girls kept up a steady stream of chatter—Mirae’s new CF shoot, Yura’s baby kicking, Harin’s ongoing war with the landlord over a leaky faucet. It felt ordinary, blessedly so, like they could freeze this moment and never let the outside world in again.

Inevitably, the teasing began. Mirae nudged Ji-hye, eyes sparkling. "So... you and Joon-ho, huh? You always said you liked a guy who could keep up with you. But those marks—damn, girl, did he try to eat you alive?"

Ji-hye choked on her orange juice. "Shut up."

Yura cackled, waving her spatula. "You should’ve seen the look on his face when he came down to borrow salt this morning. I thought he’d gotten mauled by a tiger, not had sex."

Harin just smirked, sipping her coffee. "Honestly, I’m impressed. I thought you’d be too exhausted to walk, let alone come down for breakfast."

Ji-hye blushed fiercely, burying her face in her hands, but couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up. Mirae leaned over, inspecting the bruises at her collarbone, grinning wide. "You know you can’t hide these, right? I can see bite marks on your shoulder from here."

"Can we not," Ji-hye pleaded, half-laughing, half-mortified.

But the teasing was gentle, never cruel, and beneath it was a river of relief—she was wanted, she was welcome, she was home. Even the pain in her body felt like a celebration.

Breakfast stretched out, easy and warm, the girls trading jokes and complaints and plans for the day. Ji-hye felt herself relaxing for the first time in weeks, letting the noise and affection settle in her bones.

Eventually, the conversation turned serious. Harin checked her watch, stood, and straightened her blouse. "I have a meeting with your club’s management," she told Ji-hye, tone businesslike. "LUNE’s PR team is ready to step in—if they’ll let us. If not..." She trailed off, eyes sharpening. "We have other ways."

Ji-hye stared. "You’re... going to my club?"

Harin shrugged. "Someone has to remind them you’re not alone. And that screwing you over won’t do them any favors. We have more leverage than they think."

Mirae grinned. "God, I love it when you go full ice queen."

Harin rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Try not to break anything while I’m gone."

She swept out, already on the phone with her assistant, voice cool and sharp as a blade.

As soon as the door closed, Mirae pulled out her phone, waving it at Ji-hye. "I’m making a post," she announced. "If I don’t, our fandom will riot."

Ji-hye panicked, reaching for her wrist. "Don’t drag me into a flame war, Mirae."

Mirae just winked. "Don’t worry, I’m not naming names. But you deserve a little love right now." She snapped a selfie with Ji-hye, both of them beaming, cheeks pressed together. Then she typed quickly, thumbs flying.

"No matter how hard it gets, LUNE stands with our own. If you need proof that loyalty beats noise—just look at our family. #StandWithJiHye #NeverAlone"

She posted it and grinned, eyes glued to the screen as the likes and retweets piled up, comments exploding with purple hearts and messages of support.

"See?" Mirae said softly. "You’re not alone, Ji-hye. Not ever."

Ji-hye tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but the knot in her chest eased a little as the notifications flooded in.

Meanwhile, Yura finished cleaning up, patting Ji-hye’s hand. "If you want to rest, the guest room’s all yours. Or you can hang with me while I bake. Either way, you’re not escaping without dessert."

Ji-hye smiled, the warmth settling in her bones. "I’ll stay with you."

Downstairs, Harin’s meeting was all sharp edges and cold calculation. She sat across from Ji-hye’s club director and PR manager in a glass conference room, LUNE’s head of comms by her side. She wore her best professional mask, voice calm, smile razor-thin.

"We’re offering our support," she said, sliding a folder across the table. "You’re hemorrhaging public goodwill. Our team can help manage the narrative—put out statements, organize interviews, bring the fans back onside."

The director fidgeted, sweating. "We... appreciate the offer, but—"

"But you’re afraid of more backlash if you’re seen as covering something up," Harin finished for him. "You think throwing Ji-hye under the bus will make the sponsors happy."

He winced. "That’s not fair—"

"It’s reality," she snapped. "But here’s another reality: you’re losing. The fans are furious. The sponsors are nervous. You need us more than we need you. And if you keep letting a bitter ex-boyfriend dictate your lineup, you’re going to lose the whole damn season."

The PR manager shifted, glancing at Harin’s folder. "What exactly are you offering?"

"Full access to our PR crisis team. Social strategy. And..." She leaned in, voice dropping. "We have proof the ex is lying. DMs, past behavior, character witnesses. All off the record, for now."

There was a long pause. The director licked his lips, glancing at his phone, as if waiting for permission from higher up.

"We’ll... consider it," he managed.

"Do more than consider it," Harin said, already standing. "We’re not the enemy. But we’re not letting Ji-hye go down for someone else’s grudge."

She left without another word, heels echoing down the corridor, pulse pounding with adrenaline. She didn’t wait for the elevator—she wanted to move, to act.

Meanwhile, Mirae’s post had detonated across social media. Fans rushed in—posting art, stories, messages of love and outrage. #StandWithJiHye trended by noon, and even a handful of minor celebrities reposted Mirae’s message, adding their voices. Sponsors, seeing the tide turn, started making careful statements—some neutral, some suddenly very interested in "collaborative PR initiatives" with LUNE.

Ji-hye scrolled through it all, awed and a little overwhelmed. She let herself smile for the first time in what felt like forever, holding her phone to her chest.

As the day unfolded, Harin moved again, this time to a quiet café across town. She met with a trusted sports reporter—one who’d always seemed fair, never bit on cheap rumors.

Over coffee, she laid it out: the ex’s history, the evidence, the manipulation. She let the reporter see DMs and timelines, let her draw her own conclusions.

"Off the record?" the reporter asked.

"For now," Harin agreed. "But if you want to set the story straight—when the time is right, you’ll have my call."

The reporter nodded, already typing notes. "I want to help. She doesn’t deserve this."

Harin smiled, tight and tired. "None of them ever do."

As the sun set, momentum shifted. Ji-hye’s club director called her, voice careful. "We’re... discussing bringing you back on the roster. Nothing official yet, but—things are changing."

Ji-hye hung up, heart pounding. She wandered back into the kitchen, where Mirae and Yura were making a mess with cake batter. Yura’s face was smudged with flour, Mirae wielded a whisk like a weapon.

"Good news?" Mirae asked, eyes hopeful.

Ji-hye nodded, grinning. "Maybe. Nothing certain. But maybe."

The three of them hugged, squeezing tight, sticky hands and all.

That evening, the girls gathered in the living room. Harin returned, exhausted but triumphant, collapsing onto the couch beside Ji-hye.

"We’re winning," she murmured, eyes closing.

Yura brought out the cake, Mirae poured tea, and the four of them sat in the golden lamplight, laughter mixing with old stories and quiet plans.

Ji-hye curled up on the sofa, head in Yura’s lap, Mirae rubbing her feet, Harin flicking through her phone for updates. They teased, bickered, plotted, loved each other fiercely.

For the first time in weeks, Ji-hye felt herself healing—not just from the outside pressure, but from the inside out. The bruises and aches meant something different now. They were reminders: of being wanted, of being fought for, of not having to stand alone.

Tomorrow, the fight would go on. But tonight, the girls were together, united. LUNE was more than a name—it was a shield, a sword, a family.

And as the city’s lights blinked on one by one, Ji-hye drifted off in the warmth of her sisters, safe at last in the only home she’d ever really needed.