October 23, 2022
Seoul, South Korea
The roar of tens of thousands of fans inside the Jamsil Olympic Stadium was thunderous—an electric sea of neon green light sticks that pulsed like a living heartbeat. The words "Thank you, Seoul! We're NCT 127!" echoed from the stage, followed by final bows, bright confetti, and heartfelt fan chants. The concert was ending, but for Lexie Jung, it felt like something else was just beginning.
She never imagined herself standing backstage at an NCT 127 concert in Seoul. Just a month ago, she had been busking one random afternoon in Hongdae, her headphones on and heart racing as she mixed beats live for the small crowd that gathered. It was there she'd met Junny—who'd recognized her name from her low-key DJ sets—and Hyungwon, who happened to be tagging along. One conversation led to another, and soon they were messaging, sharing music, and inviting her out.
When Junny mentioned he'd be watching the NEO CITY : SEOUL – THE LINK concert with Hyungwon, Lexie never dreamed she'd actually end up there too. She thought it would be in the audience, maybe far from the stage, just enjoying the show. Yes, she was a fan—but never did she ever imagine she'd actually end up backstage. Yet plans shifted: Junny and Hyungwon had also invited Johnny and Taeyong to one of Lexie's DJ gigs the night before, and somehow, as if pulled by an invisible thread, she found herself behind the curtain, heart pounding as she watched the last moments of the final set unfold.
Lexie's pulse quickened as she scanned the stage. The members' faces were bright with sweat and relief, their eyes shining with adrenaline and exhaustion. And then... there was him.
Mark Lee.
She hadn't seen Mark since he left without a word—and she, too, had left Vancouver soon after, going back to her hometown in Cebu, chasing a life built around architecture and burying her love for music behind blueprints and deadlines. They had been something and nothing at the same time: almost, maybe, could-have-beens. A quiet warmth and a shared look that never fully turned into words.
Tonight, though, standing under the soft backstage lights, Mark looked almost the same—and yet entirely different. Hair damp and pushed back, his mic still in hand, a black in-ear dangling from his neck. He was smiling at his members, thanking staff, sweat running down his jawline. And then, as if drawn by instinct, his eyes drifted away from the stage—landing directly on her.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to slow. The sound of fans faded, the echo of chants distant, and Lexie felt every second stretch into forever. Mark's gaze held hers, a flicker of disbelief flashing in his expression before it softened into something unmistakably familiar.
"Lex?" His voice was barely audible over the chaos, but she saw it on his lips.
She opened her mouth, words caught in her throat, and instead offered a hesitant smile. "Hey, Mark."
Junny nudged her, whispering, "You good?" while Hyungwon, tall enough to see over the staff, raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk.
Mark took a slow step closer, mic lowered now, sweat-soaked shirt clinging to him. The last time they were this close, there had been no crowds, no roaring lights—only quiet nights, shared playlists, and almost-confessions.
"It's been a while," he said, voice low and breathless from the stage.
Lexie nodded, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing at her chest. "Yeah... a long while."
They stood there, surrounded by staff bustling around, the noise of fans chanting outside. But in that small corner backstage, it felt as though it was just the two of them, caught between past and present.
Mark's gaze softened, something unspoken dancing in his eyes. "Didn't think I'd see you... here."
Lexie exhaled, her pulse still racing. "Yeah," she whispered back, her voice almost lost under the stadium lights. "Neither did I."
In that fleeting moment, surrounded by cables, staff, and echoes of the final chorus, something dormant stirred between them again. A memory, a possibility, a quiet, trembling spark.
It wasn't a grand confession, nor a perfect reunion. But backstage—behind the music, behind the spotlight—the first note of something new began to play.
Backstage love, Lexie thought, almost to herself. Maybe that was where their story was always meant to start.
But almost as quickly, Lexie felt the words catch in her chest. Backstage love sounded romantic—until she remembered who Mark was now: an idol, always in the spotlight, while she had quietly stepped into the shadows. Maybe love like that was never meant for someone like her.
✦ ✦ ✦
The final chorus still echoed in Mark Lee's chest like a second heartbeat. Breathless, sweat running down his jaw, he bowed with his members under a storm of confetti, the neon green ocean of light sticks flickering like a living sky. "Thank you, Seoul! We're NCT 127!"
His voice felt raw, but alive. The rush of the stage was something Mark never quite got used to—and maybe never wanted to. The roar of tens of thousands of fans, the confetti swirling in the air, the pulse of the bass under his skin: it made every exhausting hour worth it.
But as they turned to leave the stage, Mark's gaze drifted instinctively past the stage lights—backstage, to where staff bustled around and a few familiar faces stood watching.
And that's when he saw her.
For a split second, Mark thought he was imagining it: the familiar curve of her face, hair tucked behind her ear, a quiet tension in her posture he'd memorized years ago. Lexie Jung. The same Lexie whose laughter once filled late-night walks through quiet Vancouver streets, whose quiet gaze said things neither of them ever dared speak aloud.
He blinked, the noise of the crowd blurring at the edges. Lex? It had been years—years since Vancouver, since late-night playlist swaps, quiet moments that had almost meant something. Years since she'd slipped out of his life as quickly as she'd stepped into it.
Mark's heart stumbled painfully in his chest. The last time he'd seen Lexie, neither of them had said goodbye properly. He'd left without a word, pulled back to Seoul by a schedule that had swallowed him whole. And she... she'd left Vancouver too, returning to her hometown—he had heard, once, in passing. It felt like they'd both turned away at the same time, but neither had looked back. That had been the end of it. Or so he'd thought.
And now, here she was, standing backstage at his concert in Seoul.
He took a shaky breath, sweat still clinging to his hair. Lexie stood between Junny and Hyungwon—faces Mark vaguely recognized—but all he really saw was her: hair a bit longer, posture a little stiffer, but still Lexie. The same eyes, the same softness around the edges.
"Lex?" His voice barely made it past his lips, nearly lost to the pulse of fans still chanting outside. But she heard—he saw it in the way her eyes widened, then softened.
She opened her mouth, hesitating, before offering a small, familiar smile. "Hey, Mark."
Memories crashed in on him like waves: shared playlists, the warmth of her shoulder brushing his on sleepover nights. The unspoken maybe that had always hovered between them.
Junny leaned in, whispering something to her. Hyungwon just watched, unreadable but knowing. Mark felt the stage heat cooling against his skin, his adrenaline giving way to something far older and rawer.
"It's been a while," he finally managed, voice low and rough with too many unsaid words.
Lexie nodded, and in that tiny movement, Mark caught a flash of everything she'd carried alone: time, distance, choices. "Yeah... a long while."
Around them, staff rushed with cables and earpieces, the hum of post-concert chaos filling the air. But for a brief, impossible moment, Mark only saw her.
"Didn't think I'd see you... here," he said, more a confession than greeting.
Lexie's breath caught, her pulse visible in the delicate hollow of her throat. "Yeah," she whispered back. "Neither did I."
His mind flashed back to Vancouver nights—the two of them at either of each other's room, trading half-finished lyrics and late-night coffee, always almost saying what they felt. The memory stung: how easy it had been to let her slip away, how cowardly it had felt even then.
Now, standing backstage, the words trembled on his tongue: Why didn't we try? Where did you go? Do you ever think of me? But the moment was too fragile, and the questions too heavy for a stage still echoing with fans' love.
Mark caught something else in her eyes, too—a flicker of doubt, a quiet retreat. And suddenly, he remembered who he was now: Mark Lee of NCT 127, forever on the move, forever under the spotlight. And Lexie... she had always belonged to the quieter corners, the places where music wasn't shouted but felt.
Backstage love, he thought, the phrase turning over in his mind. It sounded like something beautiful—but it felt impossible. Maybe love like that wasn't meant for someone whose life was lived in the glare of cameras and stadium lights.
Yet even as the staff pulled him away, his body still buzzing with leftover adrenaline, Mark couldn't shake the thought:
Maybe it isn't too late. Maybe there's still something waiting behind the curtain—just for us.