The rooftop fog hadn't cleared by morning—inside or out.
Lexie stepped out of Studio B that afternoon, demo notes looping through her head, but her focus trailed. The weight of everything from the day before still lingered in her shoulders—equal parts relief and reflection.
She had survived the headlines.
She had found her ground again.
But sometimes, surviving made you more aware of the cracks in others.
The hallway lights flickered softly above, casting long shadows across the quiet corridors of SM's main building. Outside, the clouds hung low, thick with the promise of November rain.
Her phone buzzed.
GROUP: 127 PROJECT
Johnny: Mark's voice is gone.
Doyoung: Literally croaked through his line.
Taeyong: Need help. He's spiraling.
Lexie paused mid-step. Then exhaled.
Yesterday, they lifted her up. Today, it was her turn.
By the time she stepped into the studio, the temperature had shifted—subtle, but heavy. Mark sat hunched in a swivel chair, hoodie drawn up, swallowed by the fabric. A tumbler of tea sat beside him, untouched. The others had cleared out, apparently sensing what she now saw: the tension behind Mark's stillness.
His head lifted when the door opened, eyes bleary, brows knitting faintly in surprise.
Lexie crossed her arms and leaned against the console. "You look like someone just ran over your favorite lyric book."
Mark attempted a smile, then winced. "Can't even fake it," he croaked.
"You shouldn't be talking," she said, softer now. "Did you see a doctor yet?"
He nodded, pulling a prescription bottle from his hoodie pocket.
Lexie took it, scanned the label, and handed it back. "Rest. Warm liquids. No speaking unless absolutely necessary."
He pouted dramatically, then mouthed: You count as necessary?
She cracked a smile. "I'll allow it."
Mark tapped his fingers on his knee, gaze dropping to the floor.
"Are you worried about the recording?" she asked, her tone quieter.
He nodded. Then gave a small shrug.
"It's okay to miss a session," she offered.
He shook his head, more firmly this time.
"You're not rehearsing today," Lexie said, more decisive now. "Doctor's orders," she added. "Ani igoseun—producer's orders."
A faint smile ghosted across his lips. He nodded.
She reached out and flicked off the desk lamp. "No light warm-ups. No humming. Not even breathing exercises. Your voice needs complete rest. And you—" she narrowed her eyes "—need to learn when to pause."
Mark tilted his head slightly, caught off guard.
"So… we just sit here?" he rasped.
"Yes," she replied, already pulling out her laptop. "You sit. You hydrate. I'll work—but quietly."
She made her way to the couch and dropped into the cushions beside him, crossing one leg over the other as her screen powered up. Mark hesitated for a moment before following her, settling with a sigh. His head leaned back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed for a second. He still held the tumbler, fingers curled around it like an anchor.
Lexie glanced at him as she adjusted the screen brightness. "Comfortable?"
He gave a tiny nod.
"Good. Try not to talk."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—just soft. Lived-in. Her fingers moved across the keyboard in rhythm with the blinking cursor. When Mark shifted slightly, his arm brushed hers. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned a bit closer, letting herself settle against his shoulder. Her laptop still balanced across on her lap.
Mark stilled.
She didn't say anything. Neither did he.
"Sometimes I miss this kind of quiet," she murmured, more to herself than anyone.
Mark let out a soft hum—low, breathy, and effortless.
Lexie kept typing. Notes, edits, console patches. But every now and then, her eyes flicked toward his profile—brow no longer furrowed, features relaxed for the first time all day.
She glanced sideways again. "What's on your mind?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he scribbled something onto the back of a lyric sheet and passed it over.
What if I'm only good when I'm loud?
Lexie stared at the paper, then at him.
"Then it's a good thing you're not just loud," she said. "You're intentional. That matters more."
He tilted his head, not quite convinced.
"You think being quiet means being less?" she asked.
He didn't respond.
Lexie leaned back slightly against the wall. "There's not just one Mark Lee. There's the rapper and songwriter. The SM's all-rounder and ace idol. The guy who rants about theology at 2 a.m. The one who teases Haechan and still has his poetry journal around. You don't have to shrink into one version."
Mark gave a small shrug—resigned, but thoughtful.
"If people only want the loud parts... that's their problem," she said. "You're not a slogan."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
She nudged him gently. "You ever think maybe losing your voice is your body asking for silence?"
He gave a tiny nod.
"Then take it," she said. "Be still. Let someone else be loud for once."
Mark didn't protest. He only shifted enough for her shoulder to rest against his again. She leaned in as well, resting her head lightly against his bicep. His warmth grounded her more than the console ever could.
The laptop sat across their laps, her fingers typing, his hand holding the edge steady.
They didn't talk. They didn't need to.
Outside, the rain picked up, drumming steadily against the glass panes. Inside, the studio lights dimmed to a soft glow, and the console's LED display blinked in muted rhythm.
Lexie didn't move.
Her breathing slowed. Her pulse softened. This moment, this silence—it felt like something earned.
Her file finished exporting. She hit save.
She could've moved then, but she didn't.
Instead, she looked at him—eyes closed, lashes long, jaw slack with rest. A warmth bloomed in her chest that had nothing to do with proximity.
"You're allowed to rest," she whispered, unsure if he heard.
But the way his fingers brushed lightly against hers said he did.
* * *
The rain had eased by the time they left the studio.
Mark stayed quiet in the passenger seat. Not tense—just quiet. Lexie didn't press. The lo-fi hum from the car speakers filled the space between them as the city lights blurred past the windows.
When she turned the car off the usual route toward the group's apartment, he finally glanced at her.
"The dorm?" he asked, voice still scratchy.
Lexie nodded without looking away from the road. "You'll sleep better there. The members will keep you grounded."
He didn't argue.
By the time she parked in front of the familiar gray building, the sky had faded from black to navy. A light glowed on the fourth floor.
Mark made no move to unbuckle.
"I'll walk you up," Lexie said.
He looked at her, brow creased. "You've got a flight tomorrow afternoon."
"Still hours away," she said. "And I'm not boarding that plane knowing you'll scroll in bed until 4:00am overthinking how it's a waste to miss a session."
He let out a hoarse huff. "You know me too well."
"Unfortunately," she teased, stepping out.
Upstairs, the dorm was unusually quiet—most of the members either asleep or out. Mark headed toward the couch, but Lexie caught his wrist gently.
"Go take a warm bath," she said, her tone firm but kind. "Your voice will thank you for it."
He raised an eyebrow, already toeing off his sneakers. "You sure you don't want me to just knock out and leave you in peace?"
She half-smiled. "Go. I'll be in the kitchen."
He nodded, shuffling toward the bathroom.
Lexie made her way into the small kitchen. The light buzzed faintly overhead. She rummaged through the fridge and pantry, hands moving with the ease of someone who'd done this before.
She found a small pot, set water to boil, and added rice, a cracked egg, and a pinch of salt. Simple. Familiar. Not fancy, but warm.
The porridge simmered as she leaned on the counter, arms crossed, listening to the distant sound of running water. The smell of sesame oil and scallions filled the space—comfort in a bowl.
Fifteen minutes later, Mark returned—hair damp, hoodie traded for a loose tee. His voice was still rough, but his eyes had cleared a little.
Lexie placed the bowl on the coffee table. "Eat first."
He blinked. "You cooked?"
"More like I reheated it," she said. "Eat."
Mark sat slowly, blowing on the spoon before taking a bite. "This tastes like... home."
Lexie's lips twitched. "Must be the MSG."
He laughed. It cracked in his throat, but it was real.
"Thanks," he said softly. It meant more than just the food.
Mark's empty bowl sat on the table when Lexie nudged him toward his room.
"No more talking," she said, flicking off the lamp. "Your voice needs rest."
Mark didn't argue. He collapsed onto the bed like usual—but tonight, Lexie followed.
She didn't say anything. Just sat beside him, laptop balanced on her knees, fingers moving through console updates. The glow from the screen lit her face as she leaned lightly into his shoulder.
Mark leaned his head back, eyes closed. "You staying?"
"Just until you sleep," she murmured without looking up.
"Even though you're flying tomorrow?"
She smiled faintly. "I've pulled worse all-nighters."
Eventually, he lay down. Lexie shifted closer, folding her legs on the bed as she kept working.
When she looked over again, he was fast asleep.
She hadn't meant to stay longer. But the stillness of the room—the sound of his even breathing—kept her rooted.
She closed her eyes. Just for a moment.
The door creaked open and close again.
Lexie stirred, blinking herself awake. The lamp was still on. Her laptop had slipped to the side. Mark hadn't moved—still curled on his side, breathing deep and slow.
She moved carefully, slipping off the bed and reaching for her phone and keys on the desk. Padding toward the living room, she froze.
It was already late morning, most of 127 were already up.
Jaehyun. Jungwoo. Doyoung. And Haechan—stood blinking back at her in synchronized shock.
"Ohhh," Haechan said, voice hoarse with glee. "Isn't it a little too late for breakfast in bed? Or are we calling it a graveyard cuddle?"
Lexie blinked. "Shut up, Hyuck."
Jaehyun tried not to laugh. Doyoung turned away like he wanted to retreat. Jungwoo gave an awkward wave.
Lexie tucked a loose strand behind her ear, mortified. "I just—waited until he fell asleep. His voice—"
"Oh, we know," Haechan grinned. "He hasn't slept like that in weeks. You showed up like melatonin in human form."
"I should go. I have to pack."
"You're leaving already?" Jungwoo asked.
"I have a flight this afternoon. Please don't wake him up yet unless he gets scheduled. He really needs the rest."
"I'll walk you down," Haechan said too cheerfully, already slipping on his slides.
The hallway air was cooler—thankfully. The elevator ride was quiet until he finally said:
"You know… that was the deepest sleep I've seen him in all year."
Lexie didn't respond.
"It's like having you around gave him permission to stop. Just stop."
She unlocked her car. "That's dramatic."
"Mark is dramatic," Haechan said, shrugging. "But he's exhausted when he's trying too hard to be everything to everyone."
Lexie didn't argue.
"He won't ask you to stay," Haechan added. "But he'll think about it the second you leave."
Lexie opened the door. "Thanks for the walk, Hyuck."
He grinned and teasingly winked. "Anytime, Lex aka Mark's personal melatonin."
She laughed. "Gosh Hyuck, please stop the teasing."
~~ 끝 ~~