Lexie had always loved the hush of post-Christmas.
Indeed, Christmas had passed. The wrapping paper had been cleared. The leftovers were tucked neatly into the fridge. In Gapyeong, the snow hadn't melted yet, but the air felt softer—like winter itself had taken a breath.
And in her room, it looked as if Mark had quietly moved in.
Not officially. Not out loud. But his charger now lived on her nightstand. His hoodie hung off the back of her desk chair. His cologne lingered in the bathroom, subtle and warm. The futon on the floor—where he'd insisted on sleeping "just in case Ethan woke up and needed space"—hadn't been used once.
They'd all just... adjusted.
She pulled on her coat slowly, hands lingering on the sleeves. The long, charcoal gray wool fell neatly over her turtleneck dress, and the soft blush scarf was a last-minute grab from the coat rack. She hadn't planned to look this put-together—especially not for a casual drive to Seoul and a post-holiday dinner with friends—but everything fell into place effortlessly.
Her hair tucked neatly into the scarf. Her makeup, minimal but fresh. Her boots matched without trying.
She didn't notice it. But someone else did.
"Whoa," Ethan breathed from the doorway, eyes wide. "Mama."
Lexie turned, smiling. "What?"
"You look like the queen in that snow princess movie," he declared. "But better. You're like... the sparkly version."
She laughed, crouching to zip up his puffy jacket. "Well, thank you, sir. That's a pretty big compliment."
From the hallway, Mark's voice followed. "He's not wrong."
Lexie glanced up. Mark stood there, half-ready with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder, beanie in hand, sweater rumpled. He looked like he hadn't fully woken up—but his gaze was clear.
She rolled her eyes lightly. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying, if I were your manager, I'd make you late to your schedule on purpose. You look..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
Lexie stood, adjusting her coat. "We'll take my car. No need to bother your manager hyung. You're already crashing here instead of at your own place. The least I can do is give you a ride back to the city."
Mark gave her a lopsided smile. "You sure? Don't you have plans tonight?"
"Yeah. Dinner with Junny, Eunjae unnie, Hyungwon, and Soo-a. But it's in Seoul anyway. I can drop you off first."
"Cool," he said, but his voice had softened.
Maybe because she said it like it was natural. Like it was normal. Like they were a family now—just casually dropping someone off before dinner.
* * *
Ethan insisted on walking them to the car, scarf wrapped around his entire head like a noodle.
"Daddy, you're coming back for New Year, right?" he asked, tugging Mark's sleeve with his mittened hands.
Mark crouched to his level, the snow crunching beneath his boots. "Of course I am."
"You better," Ethan said seriously. "Mama said we'll do fireworks!"
Mark grinned, brushing snow from the boy's beanie. "I might not make it before midnight... but I promise I'll be here before morning."
Ethan studied him for a beat, then nodded like he was sealing a contract. "Okay. But only if you bring the big sparklers."
Mark laughed, his gaze flicking up to Lexie—who was pretending not to smile too much as she adjusted Ethan's scarf.
Then Ethan turned to her, eyes wide. "Mama, can you wear that coat again next time? You look really 'spensive."
Lexie blinked, then snorted. "Not everything that looks nice is expensive, love."
Mark added under his breath, "Some things are just priceless."
Lexie gave him a warning glance, but Ethan gave them each a tight hug—Mark got an extra-long one—then scampered back up the walkway, waving the whole time until the front door closed behind him.
Lexie sighed as she buckled her seatbelt. "He's getting too smart."
Mark looked over, eyes tracing the line of her jaw. "He's just observant. Like his mom."
* * *
The drive was quiet for the first few minutes, save for the low hum of her playlist—Elliot Smith fading into Frank Ocean. Snow blanketed the trees along the expressway, and Lexie's fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel as she drove.
Mark reached over, taking one of her gloved hands without a word. He lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles, then laced their fingers together.
Lexie glanced sideways, cheeks warming. "Aren't you supposed to be napping?"
"Too pretty to sleep," he murmured.
"You sound drunk."
"Sleep-deprived, maybe," he said. "But not wrong."
He let her drive in silence for a while, but his hand never let go of hers. Occasionally, he'd lean over to press a soft kiss to her shoulder, her temple, or the side of her neck—playful but reverent. Not rushed. Not careless.
At one point, she muttered, "I'm gonna crash if you keep distracting me."
Mark only laughed. "If we crash, at least it's with you. Wearing that coat, that dress. Looking like the ending scene of a drama."
She shoved him lightly. "You're impossible."
"I just like seeing you like this," he said after a pause. "Not at the office. Not with a headset on. Just you."
She didn't reply, but she didn't pull her hand away either.
* * *
They reached the SM building just as the sun dipped behind the skyline. Lexie double-parked beside the staff entrance. Mark lingered before getting out, twisting in his seat to face her.
"You'll call me later?"
Lexie raised a brow. "You mean like an adult in a relationship?"
He grinned. "Exactly like that."
She leaned over and kissed him once, soft and quick. "Go. Before I get scolded again by the guard."
He opened the door, then stopped. "Lex?"
"Yeah?"
Mark hesitated. "Thanks. For making this all feel... less impossible."
She smiled. "It's not impossible. Just complicated."
"Still worth it," he said. Then disappeared into the building.
Lexie stayed parked for a minute longer than she needed to, her fingers still curled around the lingering warmth of his hand.
* * *
Later that evening, Lexie met up with her friends at a cozy bistro tucked behind a quiet alley in Hannam-dong. The kind of place that didn't need signage because its regulars always found their way. The scent of soy butter, toasted sesame, and roasted garlic hung thick in the warm air, curling beneath the low amber lights and soft jazz leaking from the ceiling speakers.
The windows fogged gently from the indoor heat, blurring the world outside into a watercolor.
Junny was already there, hunched over a steaming bowl of clam pasta, earbuds in and humming to a melody only he knew. He spotted her through the haze, jumped up theatrically, and struck a faux runway pose.
"Oh my God," he gasped, dragging out each word. "Did Gapyeong turn you into a K-drama star? Look at you. You have a 'mysterious healing arc' written all over your face."
Lexie laughed as she unwound her scarf. "Please. My mysterious healing arc involved face masks, naps, and my kid eating too much tteokbokki."
Junny blinked. "You let him eat tteokbokki? The spicy kind? Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm evolving," she deadpanned.
"Or regressing."
They both turned as Eunjae strolled in next, hair piled into a bun, cheeks still flushed from a late-night schedule. Behind her was Soo-a, in a long caramel coat, and Hyungwon bringing up the rear, balancing a six-pack of fancy Korean soda and a tray of castella cake like a peace offering.
"You're late," Junny said.
"We brought sugar," Soo-a responded. "So technically, we're forgiven."
Eunjae slid into the seat beside Lexie and nudged her shoulder. "You look good," she said quietly, smiling. "Guess the holidays suit you."
"You look... less haunted," Soo-a added, sipping from her wine glass without blinking.
Lexie narrowed her eyes. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"It's probably the wine."
Dinner settled into a warm, noisy rhythm. The server brought round after round of shared plates—grilled mackerel, kimchi pajeon, soy-marinated eggs, sizzling pork belly—and the table was alive with overlapping stories, unsolicited advice, and exaggerated complaints about work.
"So let me get this straight," Hyungwon said between bites, "your new trainee said he wanted to 'channel EXO energy' and ended up body-rolling into the drum kit?"
Soo-a groaned. "I almost quit on the spot."
"I would have," Junny said. "But also, can we give him points for the ambition?"
"No," Soo-a replied flatly. "That drum kit was borrowed."
Lexie grinned, but her laughter was quieter. She was watching her friends more than she was speaking. Taking them in. The easy way Junny flopped his wrist when he talked. Eunjae's silent strength tucked beneath all her tired. Soo-a's sharp wit that softened when she thought no one was looking. Hyungwon's deadpan delivery that always, somehow, made people laugh the loudest.
She didn't realize how much she'd missed this—until she was in the middle of it again.
After dinner, they migrated to Eunjae's apartment a few blocks away. It was dim and cozy, cluttered in a lived-in way—scarves on chairs, half-burned candles on the sill, and an old vinyl record humming somewhere from the corner speaker.
Lexie sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in a fleece blanket, clutching a warm mug of barley tea.
Hyungwon had claimed the recliner. Soo-a was sprawled on the carpet with a lip mask on. Junny had made a nest out of throw pillows, head tipped back, one arm flung over his eyes.
Eunjae turned down the lights before joining them, a bowl of matcha almonds in one hand.
"This is nice," she murmured.
"Too nice," Junny said, voice muffled. "Anyone else feel like this is the last calm weekend of our lives?"
Hyungwon snorted. "You say that every year."
"Yeah, but this year feels different," Junny replied, peeling the arm off his face. "I don't know. Like the air's too still. Like something's coming."
Soo-a raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Vague dread. How original."
"Okay, philosopher. I'm just saying." He turned toward Lexie, eyes half-lidded. "You feel it, right? That weird...pressure in the air? Like we're in a movie and the sad montage music just started playing but nobody noticed yet?"
Lexie didn't answer at first.
She tilted her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. The record crackled softly as it changed tracks. Her fingers rested over her phone on the floor beside her, though she hadn't touched it in over an hour.
A strange tightness pressed behind her ribs.
Just a vague knowledge. Like something was balancing at the edge of a ledge, waiting to fall.
She exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," she said finally, voice soft. "I feel it."
Soo-a glanced at her. "Work stuff?"
Lexie shook her head once. "Not exactly."
She didn't elaborate, and none of them pressed. That was the thing about long friendships—some truths didn't need to be dragged out loud. Some could just live quietly in the shared silence.
Instead, Eunjae tossed a marshmallow at Junny's forehead, and the group dissolved into laughter again. Someone queued a playlist. Someone else brought out face masks. And slowly, the vague ache in Lexie's chest dulled into something manageable. Not gone—but distant enough for now.
~~ 끝 ~~