Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 243: Barcelona’s Night
The bouncer gave them a once-over—Olympic lanyards, too-clean faces, the nervous energy of a team high on victory and possibility—then waved them past the velvet rope. Inside, the club was a living thing: lights sliced through haze and heat, the air throbbed with music so loud it pulsed in Ji-hye’s ribs, and everywhere, bodies moved in a wild, joyous swarm. The place was packed—athletes still in their team jackets or country colors, celebrities clustered in VIP corners, beautiful people from every country, every sport, all blurring into one massive, glittering celebration.
Ji-hye stuck close to her teammates as they navigated the crowd, the captain leading the way through a crush of dancers and toward the edge of the main floor. They finally found a spot at a lounge tucked beside the DJ booth—a curved velvet sofa, mirrored table already littered with empty glasses, a thin rope separating them from the sea of dancers. The team settled in, wide-eyed and a little overwhelmed, clutching menus and trading nervous glances. The captain flagged a waiter, ordering a round of cocktails and water, her leadership never flagging even here.
The music was relentless—Latin pop bleeding into dance anthems, the DJ egging the crowd on in a mix of English, Spanish, and something that sounded like pure adrenaline. Across the club, Ji-hye could spot a Chinese gymnast laughing in a cluster of friends, a pair of German swimmers grinding in the corner, a Brazilian soccer player making out with a famous actress under a shower of blue light. Barcelona, it seemed, was the capital of possibility.
Their drinks arrived—sweet, cold, topped with extravagant slices of fruit. The girls sipped and watched, still shy, still holding tight to the comfort of their corner. A few more teams filtered past, waving or shouting greetings—Korea, Korea!—then vanished into the press of bodies.
Ji-hye leaned close to the libero, shouting over the music, "Are we going to just sit here all night?"
The libero grinned, her cheeks already flushed from one drink. "I’m not drunk enough to dance with Olympians!"
The captain barked a laugh. "Give it time."
The mood was giddy but uncertain, like the first moments of a school dance before anyone’s brave enough to move. A group of guys in soccer jerseys drifted by—tall, tan, gleaming with sweat and confidence. One leaned over the rope, grinning at the table. "Ladies, can we buy you a drink?"
Ji-hye froze, but the captain shook her head politely. "No, thanks, we’re good."
The boys persisted, making jokes in English and Spanish, waving for the waiter, trying to catch the girls’ eyes. The libero shrank behind Ji-hye, the setter rolled hers, and the captain started to frown.
Then Joon-ho stood up. He stepped between the table and the guys, smile polite but cold. "They said no, thanks," he said in flawless, level English. "Let them celebrate with their friends."
The soccer player shrugged, turning away with a smirk, muttering something Ji-hye didn’t catch. The team breathed out together, relief breaking into giggles.
The captain raised her glass to Joon-ho. "Hero off the court too, huh?"
He shrugged, sliding back onto the sofa, feigning innocence. "You’d all get into trouble without me."
For a little while, the team just drank and watched, soaking in the madness. The music built and built, lights spinning, the club’s population shifting every few minutes as new clusters arrived. Ji-hye felt the tension start to bleed out of her shoulders. The libero and setter started snapping selfies, the captain nursed her cocktail with the steady air of someone who could handle her liquor, and Joon-ho leaned back, head tipped up, eyes closed, as if he could shut out the chaos and just listen to the music.
Suddenly, Ji-hye felt the sofa shift. Someone slid behind Joon-ho, and before anyone could react, a pair of soft, ample breasts pressed up against his head from behind, arms winding around his shoulders. "Guess who," came a voice—throaty, laughing, unmistakably foreign.
Joon-ho froze, then blinked, trying to crane his neck without dislodging whoever was practically in his lap. The girls erupted into laughter as the figure slid around to perch beside him, tossing a mane of platinum hair over her shoulder.
"Alina?" Joon-ho blurted, surprise and confusion warring on his face.
Alina grinned, pale and luminous even in the flickering club lights. "Da, you remember! I find you everywhere, Doctor Kim." She leaned in, pressing a dramatic kiss to his cheek, her accent syrupy-thick.
Behind her, a tall, elegant woman in stilettos and a razor-sharp bob picked her way through the crowd, blowing kisses at Ji-hye. "You’re all hiding back here!" Min-kyung sang, voice rising above the music. "I thought this was a party, not a funeral."
Ji-hye shot to her feet, pulling Min-kyung in for a hug. "Unnie! What are you doing here?"
Min-kyung spun her around, laughing. "Just finished Paris—three shows in two days. I needed a real vacation, and Alina knows all the best clubs. Plus, I heard Korea was making Barcelona cry."
Alina shimmied closer to Joon-ho, one arm still draped around his neck. "You are always working, always so serious," she teased, poking his cheek. "Tonight, you must relax! I insist."
The whole group seemed to brighten with the new arrivals. Min-kyung hugged her way around the sofa, the girls shrieking at her stories from Paris—runways, celebrities, a disastrous afterparty with a Dutch supermodel. Alina ordered a round of expensive drinks, charming the waiter with bad Spanish and winking at everyone who glanced their way.
Min-kyung perched on the arm of the sofa, looping her arm around Ji-hye. "Where’s Yura? Tell me she’s not stuck in some boring hotel."
"She’s resting, seven months now," Ji-hye replied, grinning. "You should come visit—she’d love to see you."
"Of course!" Min-kyung promised. "I brought her baby gifts from Paris. And something for you too, if you win gold."
Ji-hye rolled her eyes, hugging her. "You’re just here for the afterparty."
Min-kyung winked, eyes darting to Joon-ho, who was trying and failing to wriggle out of Alina’s grasp. "You keep him out of trouble, yes?"
Alina pouted, but only for a second before switching targets, cozying up to the captain. "So beautiful, your team! In Russia, all the girls want to meet you. I will introduce you to the best vodka."
The drinks flowed faster now—shots, champagne, cocktails with flames licking at the rim. Min-kyung produced a phone, making everyone pose for selfies. Alina snapped photos with half the club, tagging them all on SNS. "Barcelona must know the stars have arrived!" she declared, giggling as the captain tried to hide behind Ji-hye.
The lounge was soon noisy with laughter, stories flying in every direction. Min-kyung regaled the libero with Paris gossip, the setter tried to convince Alina to teach her Russian, and the captain found herself locked in an impromptu arm-wrestling match with a Dutch hurdler who’d wandered over to join.
Ji-hye watched it all with a kind of heady disbelief, drink in hand, letting the foreignness of the night wash over her. For the first time since arriving, she felt like she belonged here—not just as an athlete, but as a woman, a friend, a little wild, a little reckless.
The club around them heaved and pulsed, but their lounge was its own island—safe, glittering, full of promise. Every few minutes, a new athlete wandered by: a Spanish sprinter who tried to charm Min-kyung (and failed), a Nigerian basketball player who recognized Alina from a campaign, a South Korean swimmer who sheepishly asked for a selfie with the whole group.
Through it all, Joon-ho played the role of amused chaperone, dodging Alina’s advances, mixing drinks for the girls, running interference whenever a group of overeager boys edged too close. He found himself pressed into service as translator more than once, negotiating a peace treaty between a drunken Canadian and the Brazilian table.
At one point, Min-kyung leaned in, voice pitched for Ji-hye’s ear alone. "You’re glowing. The court’s not the only place you shine, you know."
Ji-hye flushed, not sure if it was the compliment, the champagne, or the fact that Joon-ho’s eyes kept finding hers through the swirling noise.
The night blurred, laughter rising, the girls finding their courage. Min-kyung dragged Ji-hye and the libero to the edge of the dance floor, Alina leading a conga line of volleyball players and models. Joon-ho stayed back, arms folded, watching fondly as Ji-hye let herself be spun and dipped under the lights, free and electric.
Eventually, the captain glanced at her phone, eyes widening. "Curfew!" she yelped. "If we’re not back in twenty minutes, Coach Min will make us run laps till we puke!"
Groans and protest rippled through the group, but most of the team started collecting their things, shepherded by the captain’s iron will. Min-kyung and Alina, unbothered, waved them off, insisting the night was still young.
"Stay with us," Alina purred, looping her arm through Ji-hye’s. "You need more fun. Tonight, you are not athlete, you are star." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚
Min-kyung grinned, tugging Ji-hye and the libero back onto the sofa. "We’ll make sure you get home, promise. And besides—Joon-ho’s here. What could possibly go wrong?"
Ji-hye shot a look at Joon-ho, who raised his glass in salute. The captain rolled her eyes but didn’t protest, knowing there was no point arguing with Min-kyung and Alina once they got going.
The rest of the team slipped away, the club already filling with a new rush of partiers, the music shifting into a dirtier, deeper groove. Ji-hye settled back between her glamorous friends, the world spinning just a little, heart thumping with the promise of more. Alina pressed a drink into her hand, Min-kyung draped herself over the sofa, and Joon-ho sat at the edge of it all—smiling, watching, ready to keep her safe.
Barcelona’s night stretched out before them—dangerous, wild, and theirs.
