The storm had passed, but the quiet hadn't.
They didn't rush to leave the café. Outside, the world pressed forward — rain-drizzled taxis, umbrellas in motion, studio call times ticking closer — but inside, it felt like time had suspended.
Lexie sat with her hands wrapped around her cup, not for warmth anymore. Just to feel something anchored.
Mark's phone buzzed twice, screen lighting up with names she didn't need to read to guess — probably one of the members reminding him about rehearsal. He didn't check it.
Instead, he glanced over at her. She hadn't moved much. But something must've shown in her posture, because he looked at her longer than usual — as if noticing a shift. Maybe she felt lighter. Still tired. Still cautious. But she wasn't holding her breath anymore.
"Don't you have to go?" she asked, eyes fixed on her cup.
He leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "I do."
One beat passed before he added, "But I'm not."
Lexie's lips twitched — just barely. It wasn't quite a smile. Amusement, maybe. Or disbelief. "You're skipping practice?"
He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Let's call it a late arrival."
She reached for her bag, muttering, "That's bold of you."
"You just told me you became a mom overnight and your ex bailed," he said, voice softer now. "Letting Renjun side-eye me for showing up late doesn't feel that scary in comparison."
That earned him a small smile. Faint. But real.
They left the café without saying much else, walking quietly through the SM building's side corridor — the one that led behind studios and unused dressing rooms. Lexie tucked her badge back inside her hoodie. Mark's steps slowed beside hers, his pace matching hers automatically.
The silence didn't feel awkward now. It felt necessary. Like that moment after a song ends and the room holds its breath, still echoing with the last note.
At the elevator, she paused. She didn't press the button yet.
Instead, she turned to him.
"You asked me once," she said, her voice calm but weighted, "if I ever felt the same."
Mark blinked, startled. "Oh, that."
"That same bench near the park," she said.
He exhaled slowly. "How could I forget that?"
"I lied."
She let the word hang, not sharp, not defensive — just bare.
Mark didn't speak, but something in him tensed. His throat bobbed.
"I was scared," she admitted. "You were everything familiar and safe, and I was already losing so much."
The silence between them wasn't empty. It pulsed — thick with the weight of everything they hadn't touched back then.
"I think part of me wanted you to call me out," she added. "To ask again. To not let me walk away so easily."
His voice came soft, hoarse. "I almost did."
She nodded, eyes fixed on the elevator. "Yeah. I know."
"I never got to say goodbye."
That halted her breath. She didn't look at him, but her voice softened.
"I know that too," she said. "And I think... I told myself lying would make it easier for you to move on. But it didn't. Not for either of us."
She pressed the button.
The elevator dinged open.
Empty.
They both stood there for a moment, not moving.
"I think we both thought we were doing the right thing by disappearing," she said. "Trying to protect each other. Trying not to be the weight."
Mark nodded, slow. "But silence has a weight too."
"Yeah," she whispered. "Heavier than we thought."
They stepped inside.
Inside the elevator, the soft fluorescent lights buzzed quietly. Lexie leaned against the side rail. Mark stood near the buttons but didn't press anything right away.
She spoke again — not looking at him, just watching the floor number flicker faintly above the door.
"But things are different now."
Mark turned slightly toward her. "How?"
She took a breath. "I'm not that girl anymore — the one who ran before anything could matter too much."
She looked at him then, her eyes steadier than he remembered. "I don't lie about how I feel anymore."
He didn't move, but she could feel the shift in him.
"Good," he said after a beat, his voice quiet. "Because I think I've been waiting a long time to hear that."
She didn't answer. Not directly.
He glanced sideways at her. "You okay?"
She nodded. "I will be."
Another pause stretched between them.
"You don't have to be okay all the time," he said, still not looking at her directly.
Lexie blinked. She didn't respond right away. "I know."
He turned then, resting the back of his head against the wall, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.
"It's just... you always look like you're five seconds away from sprinting."
That made her scoff, quiet and half-hearted. "We both work in entertainment. If you're not moving, you're buried."
Mark tilted his head slightly. "You know that's not true anymore. You're not just surviving."
She met his gaze, and something in her chest flinched.
"I don't know what I'm doing half the time," she said. "Balancing flights, bills, Ethan, visa issues. Trying to act like I've got it together when I'm just patching everything with duct tape and luck."
"You've been doing it alone for too long."
Lexie didn't push back. Didn't argue. Instead, she asked, "Why are you saying this now?"
His jaw tightened. Not in defensiveness. Just... something honest. Something hard.
"Because I think," he said slowly, "if I wait again, I'll lose the right to say anything at all."
She didn't respond right away. When the elevator doors finally opened to the staff floor, she didn't move at first.
Then she stepped out.
Mark followed.
They didn't say goodbye. Didn't make plans. But he didn't head toward the practice rooms, either. Not immediately.
She heard his steps behind her — not close enough to crowd, but not far enough to forget.
Still there.
And somehow, she knew: That mattered.
~~ 끝 ~~