˗ˏˋ just us; lee haechan [6] ☆
── .✦ written part below ˎˊ˗
The air in the bar smelled like citrus and spilled beer. Not particularly romantic. The lighting was soft enough to pretend everyone looked better than they did. Haechan was leaning on the counter, reading the drink menu the way people read safety instructions they don’t plan to follow.
“Do you have anything that tastes like alcohol but also like juice? Not too sweet, not too bitter. Just… normal.” He said to the bartender.
The bartender blinked, possibly regretting his career. Or trying to figure out what he said in the mixture of his accent and the loud noise from the bar. “I can make a mojito?”
“Sure. No plants sticking out of it.”
The bartender nodded, resigned. Someone slid into the space beside him.
“You still order cocktails like that?”
He turned. It was Dilly. Daisy's personal assistant. He knew this was coming.
Haechan lowered his shoulders, somewhat slightlyrelieved it wasn’t Daisy. “I’m trying to be specific.”
“You’re trying to be controlling,” Dilly said, amused.
“I guess that’s my brand.”
They looked at each other. There was something naturally familiar about Dilly. Someone you once did school projects with at 2 a.m. and could still talk to without pretending you were cooler than you were.
“Congratulations on not becoming an accountant,” Dilly said.
“Congratulations on becoming Daisy Moon’s personal assistant.”
“She’s amazing unlike some people,” she snorted. “Besides, she barely lets me support her emotions. It’s her 12am cravings of chocolate wafers that I need to think of.”
Haechan grinned then stopped immediately once he realized what he was doing. They talked about small things Festival logistics, the Jakarta heat, how good the coffee in the artist lounge was. Nothing dramatic. It felt almost easy. Right as Dilly said something about the camera crew losing a memory card, Mark and Jeno materialized beside them like people arriving to prevent a forest fire.
“Hey!” Mark's voice joined in. “What’s up!”
“Oh wow, Mark Lee." Dilly lit up. "You’re like... still the same, aren’t you?”
Mark scratched the back of his head. “I try.”
Jeno waved politely. “Hey, Dilly! You were in… music department, right?”
“Correct,” Dilly said. “I was the girl who forged hall passes and let everyone cheat off my trig homework.”
Jeno nodded like that clarified something about his adolescence.
“Do you wanna sit? Everyone’s kind of here." Mark gestured toward their booth. "It feels less weird than standing at the bar pretending we all don’t remember each other.”
Dilly looked around. “Yeah, let’s sit. Daisy should be back from the restroom soon.”
At Daisy’s name, Haechan visibly straightened. Not like excitement. Mark felt the change in energy and immediately stepped between them as they walked. They reached the booth: Dream members on one side, Daisy’s team filling the opposite half. Staff swapped names, job titles, inside jokes about festival tech nightmares. It was social without being intimate, the way strangers bond when they’re all equally tired.
Then Daisy finally returned.
She appeared from behind a pillar, drying her wet hands on the back of her jeans, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy from humidity. She was talking to one of her stylists before she even saw the table. When she did, her eyes landed briefly on Haechan. Involuntarily, like a reflex. Her expression flattened.
Haechan answered without inflection. “Hey.”
No hug. No handshake. Not even that polite, shallow wave people do when they’re pretending. Mark stepped forward like he was trying to dissolve the awkwardness by eyesight itself.
“Daisy,” Mark said warmly, “Don’t know if you remember me. I was a year above you guys but I’m Mark. We crossed paths backstage yesterday. Your set today was honestly really cool.”
“Hi! Yes, of course I remember you! And thank you.” Daisy replied.
"I'm chenle!" Chenle added, “The way you arranged that second song was crazy. I watched from stage left.”
“Hi!” Daisy offered a small smile. “Thank you so much!”
Conversation resumed, now bigger, louder, more overlapping. Daisy sat beside Dilly, diagonally across from Haechan. Not far enough to ignore him entirely, but far enough that neither would need to make small talk. The two of them didn’t speak, but Haechan kept reacting to Daisy unconsciously. A slight eyebrow raise, or a frown, or staring at her drink like it offended him.
Dilly caught it. Then Mark. Then Jaemin, who always noticed things he shouldn’t.
At one point Daisy was telling Dream’s choreographer about festival catering and Haechan muttered, barely audible, “That’s dramatic.”
Daisy paused mid-sentence and looked at him. “What?”
“What.” Haechan said, sipping his drink.
“Well, I didn't say anything important.”
“Right,” Daisy replied, tone clipped. “When have you ever.”
The table shifted its attention away like polite bystanders.
Later, the topic turned vaguely nostalgic. Someone from Daisy’s crew recognized Dream’s camera director from a Seoul studio internship years ago. It spiraled into old school memories: hall festivals, cheap cafeteria dumplings, choir rehearsals, the basketball court that flooded whenever it rained.
Jaemin, delighted, leaned back. “Jeno, Daisy, Haechan, and I actually went to school together."
"The same school?” Kenji, one of Daisy's manager asked.
Jeno nodded. “Same school.”
“Wow,” Kenji said, eyes wide. “That’s adorable. Imagine all the weird teenage drama there.”
“Please don’t.” Daisy said, trying to keep a normal face.
Jaemin ignored her. “I remember Daisy used to play guitar on the stair landing and Haechan would sit next to her and harmonize."
Haechan made a face as Daisy stared into him. Clearly, she was the only one trying to be civil.
“He just had no indoor voice and couldn’t sit alone quietly.” Daisy said plainly.
“It sounded cute in my head,” Jaemin said.
“It wasn’t.” Daisy replied.
“Your chord progressions were predictably sad." Haechan set down his glass. "I was trying to make them less depressing.”
“You were writing songs that sounded like rainy weather warnings.”
“I was fifteen and writing about feelings." Daisy inhaled once. "Sorry I wasn’t composing for a nightclub.”
“You didn’t have feelings, you were a child.” Haechan said.
Mark kicked Haechan’s ankle under the table. Haechan winced, annoyed. Daisy stared at Haechan like she had a thousand things she could say and was selecting one very sharp one.
“You cried when the choir teacher told you someone else got the solo.” Daisy let out.
The whole table reacted. A mix of gasps, laughs, shocked coughing.
“That’s—" Haechan’s head snapped toward her. "Not true and that’s dramatic.”
“I was there,” Daisy said calmly. “You cried in the hallway and said nobody understood your artistic direction.”
Mark quietly whispered “oh my God” into his hands. Jaemin pointed at Haechan’s face. But the room around them, the staffs, stylists, managers, techs, kept talking, laughing, bonding, comparing flight schedules, complaining about traffic.
Only Daisy and Haechan sat with their spines too straight. Every so often their eyes met accidentally: They didn’t hate each other in the dramatic way strangers imagine.
They hated how well they could still read each other.
SIX. mlist | previous | next
pairing—idol!haechan x singer fem!oc
summary—they used to be different, the singer and the idol. donghyuck used to walk daisy home after school. they used to share the same tangled earphones on the way to their favorite bookstore. the sang, they danced, they laughed. keyword, used to.
[taglist. @qpollos @loveholicness @kualdie @myfavoritedelusion @markleesleftpinky @awktwurtle @notmastyle @izanacult @nineooooo @strawbabyz @leep0ems @kodasity @dinonuguaegi @20sdiary @yipyipmorals @hyucksdelicate ]
