The early light streamed through the sheer curtains of Lexie's bedroom, painting the walls with a soft, golden hue. Outside, the sounds of Seoul waking up filtered in—a distant honk, the hum of an early train, the city stretching into another day.
Inside the room, it was still. Quiet.
Ethan stirred first, his little hand blindly reaching for the plush dinosaur he always clutched in his sleep. He found it, nuzzled it, then turned toward Lexie's side. Still asleep.
But it wasn't just her.
On the other side of her, Mark lay still, one arm draped protectively over Lexie's waist as if it had simply fallen there in the middle of the night. His face was peaceful—softened in sleep, dark lashes brushing against his cheek. For someone constantly in motion on stage and screen, there was a rare stillness to him now, like this was the only place time slowed down.
Lexie blinked awake, adjusting slowly to the brightness. Her body was warm—too warm—and it took her a few seconds to realize why.
Mark.
His hand, his breath near her nape, his legs tangled slightly with the blanket and hers. Ethan, curled at her other side, oblivious.
She didn't move. Not yet. She didn't want to.
There was a fleeting second where everything felt suspended. Her son beside her. The boy she once loved—and still did—beside her. Like a family.
Eventually, it was Ethan's voice that broke the spell.
"Mama?" he mumbled, still half-asleep, face buried into her side.
"Hmm?" Lexie answered, brushing his hair softly.
"I'm hungry."
She smiled. "Of course you are."
Mark stirred next, his voice husky with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Around seven," she said, already shifting to sit up. "You have a ten o'clock call, right?"
"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "But this... I could get used to this."
Lexie rolled her eyes affectionately, but the corners of her lips twitched upward. "You mean being a sleepy log in the middle of my bed?"
"No," Mark said, voice softer. "I mean this. Waking up like this."
She didn't reply. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Ethan's head. "Come on. Let's start the day."
✦ ✦ ✦
Mark's POV
Mark followed the two into the kitchen in a quiet daze, still ruffling his hair, his steps slower than usual. The warmth of Lexie's home—soft with early sunlight and the faint scent of lavender detergent—felt different than the fluorescent chill of backstage dressing rooms or dormitories filled with schedules and stress. This space had life.
Lexie was already in motion. She wore a loose cardigan over a tank top and shorts, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows as she moved with gentle purpose—pulling plates, boiling water, and whisking eggs in a ceramic bowl like she'd done it a thousand times. Maybe she had.
Ethan scrambled up onto a stool at the counter, legs swinging with energy despite the early hour. He was still in his dinosaur-print pajamas, a blanket trailing off one shoulder as he chattered on about a drawing he wanted to finish before his class started.
"And I'm gonna make it blue, because the sky rocket has to match the galaxy one from last time, right, Mama?"
Lexie gave a distracted but warm hum, glancing at the stove to swirl butter in the pan. "Only if it doesn't crash into the moon you drew last week," she replied, lips quirking.
Mark leaned against the doorway, muggy with sleep but mesmerized.
He'd seen Lexie in boardrooms, behind control panels, and deep in the chaos of comeback prep. But this version of her—barefoot, humming faintly to a song on the radio, flipping eggs while balancing breakfast and mothering—was something else entirely. She didn't just manage life. She wove it.
There were no stylists. No scripts. Just her. And Ethan. And the kind of warmth that made him forget about the ticking clock of his schedule.
Ethan stuck his tongue out dramatically, wiping jelly from his cheek with a napkin too late.
"You got it on your ear," Mark said, pointing, and Ethan gasped in mock offense.
"Where?!" He turned to Lexie, who didn't miss a beat, reaching over to gently clean it off with the edge of her sleeve.
"Got it," she said softly, and Ethan beamed.
Mark's gaze lingered on the exchange—the unspoken rhythm of their morning. The way Ethan knew where the spoons were. The way Lexie poured just enough milk into her tea to change its color without tasting. The way they occupied the space together, no need for pretense or permission.
Lexie noticed him watching.
"You want coffee?" she asked, sliding two plates onto the table.
He blinked, then nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
Without asking how he liked it, she poured a mug, added a splash of oat milk, and handed it over. Their fingers brushed briefly. Mark felt it.
"Thanks," he murmured again, but this time quieter. He took a sip, then leaned down and stole a bite of toast from Ethan's plate.
"Hey!" Ethan gasped, scandalized. "That's mine!"
Mark grinned, chewing unapologetically. "Sharing is caring."
"Not when it's my breakfast!"
Lexie laughed under her breath. "Finish your eggs first before you declare toast ownership, love."
The banter felt easy. Familiar. And for a moment, Mark forgot the weight of cameras and rehearsal deadlines. He simply existed—surrounded by the soft clatter of plates, the smell of eggs and jam, and the quiet hum of a life he never realized he missed.
Mark had just sat down with his coffee when the calm of the morning shifted—like a peaceful track scratching into an upbeat mess of overlapping rhythms.
"Ethan, I said change first, then cartoons!" Lexie called out as she opened the fridge with one hand and reached for a sponge with the other. A puddle of spilled juice from Ethan's earlier attempt at pouring water sat glaring on the counter, right beside a butter knife stuck to a glob of strawberry jam.
Ethan, still on the living room rug, shouted back, "But I can't find my socks!"
"They're in your drawer, second one from the top!"
Mark took another sip of coffee. A beat later, he heard the little boy yell again, "There's only one! It's the left one!" Now he was stomping back into the kitchen, sock in hand, still very much in his pajamas.
Lexie muttered under her breath as she tried to screw the cap on a water bottle with wet fingers. "Oh my god, I haven't even brushed my teeth—Ethan, please, just go finish changing. You'll be late."
"I can't go with one sock!" Ethan whined.
"Then wear mismatched ones! It's a thing now!"
Mark blinked. This was... more than he was used to before 9 a.m.
Lexie grabbed a dish towel and quickly wiped down the counter with one hand while grabbing a protein bar and her work laptop bag with the other. "I still have to email Hyungsoo the new draft before noon—oh my god, what's that smell—did you leave cheese in your lunch bag again?! Ethan!"
"Maybe..." the boy said guiltily, peeking from the hallway, one sock on, the other foot still bare, holding his crumpled school uniform shirt like a defeated flag.
"Okay—" Lexie pressed her fingers to her temples. "This is not the morning for this."
Mark finally stood from his stool and gently placed his mug down. "Tag me in."
Lexie blinked at him. "What?"
"I'll get him ready," Mark said simply, already walking over and crouching in front of Ethan. "You go. Get dressed, do your eyeliner magic, whatever. I got this."
Lexie hesitated. Her instinct was to decline. She always handled things herself. But she looked at Ethan—pouting, shirt half-buttoned, still barefoot—and then at the clock. She had twenty-five minutes to be out the door.
"...You sure?"
Mark gave her a crooked smile.
Lexie let out a breathy laugh. "Okay. If he fights you on the toothpaste, good luck."
"Noted."
She gave Ethan a look before disappearing into her room. "No lightsabers. No dinosaur reenactments. Just brush, dress, shoes."
"Okayyyyyy," Ethan groaned.
Mark crouched again and held out the school uniform. "Alright, buddy. I'll help if you promise not to spit toothpaste."
Ethan giggled. "Deal."
✦ ✦ ✦
While Lexie got ready—taming her hair into a neat twist, brushing on concealer in five seconds flat, and pulling on a black jumpsuit—she could hear them from the hallway. Mark was making spaceship noises while buttoning Ethan's shirt, turning sock-hunting into a "super stealth spy mission," and somehow convincing the little boy to hold still long enough to tie his shoes.
When she reentered the kitchen, they were both crouched by the shoe rack. Mark was double-knotting Ethan's sneakers while the boy babbled about a classmate who brought a hermit crab to school once.
Lexie paused, watching them.
Her son. Her old friend. Side by side on the floor, like this had always been normal.
Mark looked up, catching her gaze.
"All dressed. No injuries. Mission accomplished."
Ethan popped up and did a little spin. "And my socks don't match! But it's cool!"
Lexie chuckled and tossed him his backpack. "Let's go, trendsetter."
* * *
Just after lunch, Lexie checked her phone and saw a message from Matthew.
Matt: I'll pick up the little guy after academy. I want to spoil the kiddo. It's been a while.
Matt: Also, don't rush. Take a break before work swallows you whole again.Told the kid he's with the cooler hyung now. Don't disappoint us. 😎
Lexie smiled at her screen. Matthew the Mind Reader.
With Ethan taken care of, she turned to Mark who was slouched in the corner of the studio couch, eyes closed, headphones on. Lexie walked over and placed a warm paper cup of honey citron tea in his hands.
He peeked one eye open. "Am I dreaming?"
"Just accepting my love language is food," she smirked.
Mark took the cup and sipped. "So this is a date?"
"It's ten minutes before your schedule."
"Ten perfect minutes," he said with a soft smile.
They shared the time in quiet comfort. Her head resting lightly on his shoulder, his thumb brushing her knuckles.
When it was time, he stood and adjusted his cap, then leaned in. Not a kiss. But close. His forehead lightly pressed against hers.
"Thanks for this."
Lexie only nodded, heart echoing louder than her words could manage.
* * *
That night, Lexie returned to the company later than planned—nearly 7:40 p.m.—her arms full and her pace unhurried despite the weight. In one hand, she balanced four plastic bags of food takeouts. In the other, a shopping paper bag stuffed with clean towels and two plain shirts. It wasn't much, but after seeing how hard the boys had pushed themselves the night before, she couldn't not.
She paused outside the rehearsal room door, peeking through the narrow glass panel. Inside, the energy buzzed like static. NCT Dream were scattered across the room—sweaty, breathless, sprawled out or bouncing back between run-throughs. Mark was crouched by the wall, gulping down water, his bangs damp and clinging to his forehead, his shirt nearly soaked through.
Lexie raised both hands—bags dangling from each wrist like an offering—and waved.
Haechan, who had flopped dramatically near the door, was the first to spot her. He popped up instantly, eyes lighting up like a kid spotting dessert.
"Yah, Lexieeeee!" he cried, throwing the door open. "Are you feeding us again?!"
She stepped in with a grin. "Only if you promise to behave."
"Define behave," Jaemin chimed in, jogging over with a towel slung around his neck. He sniffed the air dramatically. "No way. Another real food? You're the best. Seriously."
Mark turned his head at the commotion—and the fatigue that clouded his features evaporated the second he saw her.
"You came back?" he asked, eyes soft with surprise.
Lexie lifted the bag a little higher, smiling at the sweat on his neck and the obvious hunger in his eyes. "I figured you'd forget to eat. Again."
His gaze dropped to the duffel. "And you brought... shirts?"
"You were disgusting last night."
Mark laughed, and without hesitation, stepped closer and pressed a brief kiss to her temple—a quiet, grateful gesture that somehow felt louder than any shout.
Behind them, Renjun let out a low whistle. "Ohoho! Domestic."
Haechan clutched his chest like he'd been shot. "Wow. Our leader's officially whipped. What is this? A drama?"
"Shut up," Mark muttered with no real venom, tossing a towel square at Haechan's face.
Lexie was already unzipping the duffel and unloading food onto the table—metal chopsticks, paper napkins, pre-packed drinks, and banchan in tiny plastic cups.
"You're spoiling us too much," Chenle said from a corner, stretching his arms above his head as he approached. "You keep this up, and we'll never let Mark marry anyone else."
"Who said anything about marriage?" Mark deadpanned, but his eyes flitted to Lexie with a hint of mischief.
Lexie rolled her eyes as she tucked the shirts neatly onto a bench nearby. "You're all hopeless."
When the team scrambled toward the food, she took a step back, watching the chaos unfold with quiet fondness. Then she turned toward the door—ready to slip out unnoticed—but Mark was faster.
His fingers brushed against hers under the edge of the table, warm and gentle, like a secret message in motion.
She looked up. He didn't say anything, just offered the smallest smile—sincere and tired.
That was enough.
Lexie left the studio with an empty bag and a full heart.
~~ 끝 ~~