Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg-Chapter 282 - 283: On Set, Again

The city was still half-asleep when Joon-ho shouldered his duffel bag and stepped out into the cold morning air. The sky above Seoul was ink-blue, bruised at the edges with the faintest blush of dawn, streetlights casting golden halos over wet asphalt. He sipped his coffee—lukewarm already, bitterness lingering on his tongue—and waited.

A silver minivan nosed up to the curb, headlights dimming as Hye-jin rolled down the window. She wore her usual armor: oversized blazer, phone pressed between shoulder and ear, eyes sharp even at this hour. "Get in, we’re running late," she said, voice all business, then barked something to a production assistant through her AirPods.

He climbed into the passenger seat, slinging his bag at his feet. In the back, Mirae was a mess of tangled hair and silk pajamas, curled up with her knees tucked under her chin and a pink sleep mask perched crookedly on her forehead. She mumbled, "Morning," barely coherent, then fished around blindly for the travel mug Hye-jin thrust into her hands.

"You really can’t function before sunrise, can you?" Joon-ho teased, glancing at Mirae in the rearview mirror. She flipped him off without opening her eyes, then managed a sleepy half-smile.

Hye-jin handed over another coffee—his, blessedly black. "You two are impossible. Remind me why I agreed to be your manager again?"

Mirae stirred, peeling off her mask, eyes puffy. "Because you love us. And also because you’d be bored out of your mind managing someone normal."

"I must have lost a bet," Hye-jin muttered, shifting the van into gear and pulling away from the curb. "Scripts are in the glovebox. You both have new pages for today. Don’t embarrass me."

Joon-ho fished out the binder and flipped it open, squinting at his character’s name on the cast list. He scanned down, finding his part bigger than he remembered—lines highlighted, blocking notes scrawled in the margins, even a couple of extra scenes.

He turned, brow raised. "So... I’m actually in this? Not just a cameo?"

Mirae smirked, awake now, tucking her legs under herself on the seat. "Surprise. You’re the hot new supporting role, oppa."

Joon-ho shot her a look. "You told me I was just doing a walk-on."

Mirae’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Technically, you’re walking on. And then staying. You should thank Harin—she practically strong-armed the studio for you."

Almost on cue, the car’s speakers chimed with an incoming call. Harin’s voice came through, bright and smug, filling the cab. "Good morning, stars. Ready for your big day?"

"Morning, CEO," Hye-jin said dryly.

Joon-ho leaned closer to the mic. "You want to explain why I’m suddenly part of the cast? And not just in the background?"

Harin’s laugh was low, a little dangerous. "You’re not just anyone anymore, Joon-ho. After the last project, the streaming numbers spiked every time you and Mirae shared a scene. Fans are obsessed. You’re leverage, darling."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, half annoyed, half amused. "Since when am I anyone’s bargaining chip?"

"You should see your Coffee Prince page," Mirae chimed in, turning her phone so he could glimpse a scrolling feed—hundreds of comments, memes, fanart, speculation threads, all clamoring for updates on his life. "People keep asking about you. Some are weirdly invested in what you eat for breakfast."

Joon-ho groaned, sinking deeper into his seat. "I’d rather keep my life private, especially now. Last thing I need is photos of me buying diapers going viral."

Mirae softened, glancing at him. "I get it. Honestly, I envy you sometimes. Having something real, outside of all this."

He hesitated, then smiled. "Yura’s doing better. She’s got Min-kyung helping out now—our savior. Means I actually get to sleep. Sometimes I wake up and it’s like... the world’s quieter."

Mirae hugged her knees, eyes distant. "I wonder if I’ll ever have that. Balance, you know?"

Hye-jin snorted. "Not if you keep dragging me onto sets before dawn."

The van sped along the highway, city giving way to long stretches of neon signs and shuttered shops. Mirae pressed her forehead to the window, letting the condensation fog the glass, watching the world blur by—late-night convenience stores glowing under the rain, clusters of students huddled under awnings, the endless pulse of headlights streaming in both directions. She felt the vibration of the engine in her bones, the comfortable ache of anticipation humming in her veins.

Inside, the air was heavy with the familiar scent of strong coffee and dry script pages. The road’s rhythm seemed to hush everyone. Mirae, Joon-ho, and Hye-jin each retreated to their own thoughts for a while, sharing the kind of silence that only comes from hours on the road and too many early mornings together. Every so often, a page rustled as Mirae flipped through her script, highlighter poised but mostly unused, her mind racing ahead to the set, to the table read, to the first impression they’d have to nail—again.

It was Mirae who finally broke the lull, her energy bubbling up as always. She sat up straight, twisted around to face Joon-ho, a wicked little grin on her lips. "So, Mr. Hotshot, you nervous?"

Joon-ho let his script fall into his lap, rolling his shoulders back with a mock casualness that fooled no one. "Maybe. It’s been a while since I acted for real. Massage tables are easier than memorizing lines, trust me."

Mirae laughed, a quick, bright sound that seemed to fill the cramped van. "You’ll be fine. Worst case, just flash that smile. The crew will forgive anything as long as you keep those dimples on standby."

He smirked, reaching for an empty coffee cup and crumpling it in one hand. "You say that like you’ve never had to re-shoot a scene five times because you couldn’t stop giggling."

"That was your fault, not mine!" Mirae protested, grinning as she tossed a pen at his knee. "You kept making that stupid face."

He retaliated with the balled-up napkin, bouncing it off her shoulder. "You’re incorrigible."

"And you’re domesticated," she shot back, batting her lashes with exaggerated innocence and making a little pawing gesture in his direction. "Our ajusshi. Tamed by the morning laundry and the lure of homemade soup."

Hye-jin, who’d been quietly gripping the wheel, swerved gently for effect, making everyone slide a little in their seats. "Can we focus, please?" she cut in, not unkindly. "There’s a new director, and the studio’s expecting fireworks. I’d rather not get yelled at before sunrise."

Mirae put a hand to her heart in mock offense. "Hye-jin, I’m always focused! Especially when it comes to fireworks. Besides, you know the director’s a total softie under all that glare."

"Rumor is she made a rookie cry yesterday," Hye-jin said, eyes fixed on the road but lips twitching with the start of a smile. "And don’t forget, this is your first time back in months, Joon-ho. They’re expecting...something special."

Joon-ho leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Great. No pressure."

Mirae nudged his knee with hers, her tone gentler. "Seriously, you’ll be fine. You remember your first day on a set?"

He grinned, embarrassment flickering in his eyes. "Yeah. I tried to open a fake door and ended up pulling the whole wall down. I thought I was going to get fired before I even started."

"Classic," Mirae said, laughter warming her voice. "At least you didn’t forget your own name in front of the director."

"Or call the assistant director ’mom’ by accident," Hye-jin added, glancing at Mirae through the rearview mirror.

Mirae groaned, covering her face. "That was one time! And I was sleep-deprived."

Joon-ho smiled at them both, nerves easing, the energy between the three of them sparking brighter as the van turned off the highway, headlights sweeping over the looming silhouette of the studio complex. The banter faded into a charged, hopeful quiet as the building drew near—a sense that, together, they could handle whatever awaited on the other side of those glass doors.

They pulled into the lot—a swarm of vehicles and bustling crew, grip trucks lined up, lights already flaring in the early gray. A production assistant jogged up, breathless, clipboard in hand. "You’re LUNE’s people, right? Trailer’s this way. We’ve got badges, call sheet, breakfast menu, whatever you need."

Inside, the trailer was surprisingly nice—leather sofa, racks of clothes, a little fridge stocked with water and energy drinks. Mirae flopped down, stretching luxuriously. "Now this is more like it."

Joon-ho set his bag on the floor, looking around, still a little shell-shocked. "This is... a step up. Not bad for a minor celebrity."

Hye-jin started unpacking wardrobe, sorting through accessories, already in full manager mode. "Harin said the director is running tight. We have a read-through in thirty minutes."

Mirae glanced at the call sheet, then at Joon-ho. "You ready? Or do you need a massage to calm your nerves?"

He snorted, settling onto the opposite end of the sofa. "I’d rather not start a scandal on day one, thanks."

She grinned, but there was a flicker of real warmth in her eyes—a silent message: you’re not alone. "Seriously, though. You’ll kill it. People love you, whether you admit it or not."

Joon-ho flipped through the script again, feeling that old rush—the strange, electric anxiety of performing, of stepping into the spotlight after months behind closed doors. He looked up at Mirae, suddenly grateful she was here. Even if she’d railroaded him into the gig.

"Try not to blow your lines," she teased.

He arched a brow. "Don’t make me carry you through every scene." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

"If either of you blows a line, you’re both buying dinner," Hye-jin cut in, glancing at them over her glasses. "And drinks."

Joon-ho grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "Deal. But Mirae’s paying for dessert."

They heard voices outside—the heavy tread of boots, the scrape of a dolly against concrete, the rising hum of a set coming alive. A knock at the trailer door.

Production assistant again, smiling nervously. "Director’s here. First cast call in ten minutes."

Joon-ho took a breath, bracing himself. He poked his head out the door—caught sight of the lead actor, a towering figure in sunglasses and a camel coat, already surrounded by staff. A rival actress, famous for her ice queen persona, was stepping out of her own trailer, eyes sharp as she sized up the competition. There was a charge in the air—expectation, nerves, ambition.

Mirae straightened, rolling her shoulders, the hint of nerves replaced by pure professional poise. Hye-jin scanned the call sheet one last time, her phone buzzing nonstop as Harin fired off last-minute instructions.

Joon-ho lingered on the threshold for a second, looking back at Mirae. She caught his eye, gave a tiny nod. Whatever happened today, they’d face it together.

He stepped out into the chilly morning, script in hand, jaw set and heart pounding. The set was awake now, alive with the energy of a new beginning. And for the first time in months, he let himself feel it—the thrill, the uncertainty, the promise of being seen. Not just as a celebrity or a father or a therapist, but as himself.

Behind him, Mirae’s laughter chased him down the steps, bright and reckless. "Don’t trip, ajusshi!"

He grinned and walked forward, ready for whatever came next.