𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 • 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

8; mutual understanding

1 week later

"seokmin—you need to speak louder!"

"just knock!"

wonwoo sighed, hearing two nosey mouses yelling at each other in front of the room where he was teaching minghao. "minghao, open the door."

minghao places his palette and his paintbrush down, and nods at wonwoo. "as you wish, sir."

minghao walks over to the door, and a rowdy pair of artists greeted him. seokmin and seungkwan. "hello, minghao! it's lunch, you and wonwoo hyung wanna join?!"

"woohoo." wonwoo chuckled sarcastically, approaching the three as well. "you're being kind because you all know my backstory now, huh?!" the oldest artist slides past minghao, to headlock seungkwan and seokmin at the same time.

minghao was surprised, but understood that they weren't fighting. he learned that people playfully hit each other when they are friends, when yesterday, seungcheol had to explain and break him away from jeonghan when the artist punched seungcheol on his arm; minghao mistook it for a hostile action.

but, anyway, minghao is happy that all the artists can joke around with wonwoo now. his teacher deserved much more than being the talk of the town—without fully understanding him and his story.

"no—! well, yes, we were scared of you so much before we knew that you were actually a good guy!" seokmin struggled to get out of wonwoo's grip, which made seungkwan laugh. "we're more scared of minghao now though!"

"oh, me?" minghao repeats, which seokmin nodded at. "i understand, but i won't hurt you."

"yeah, he's saying that in case he messes up," seungkwan added, which made seokmin gnarl at him. "what?! it's true! you're hanging around with jeonghan hyung too much!"

wonwoo decided that it was enough banter, so he breaks up the two and leads them to the commonplace for the artists.

seungcheol had bought them sets of food, which all of them were delighted about. mingyu was worried about the paint getting on the food, but minghao shared that he ate gunpowder once. that led to seungcheol telling all of them to wash hands before resuming to eat lunch.

"right!" mingyu exclaims, standing up from his seat to sit beside minghao instead. "how's your training with wonwoo hyung?"

"so far, so good. i try to impress him."

"but he yells at you, right?" joshua adds, sticking a fork into his mouth. "i can hear it from here."

"it's my way of teaching," wonwoo replied, busy tidying up the utensils he used. "it's working, anyway. if i'd been kind, he would've ended up like mingyu."

"hey!" mingyu quips, standing up from his seat. minghao slightly smiled and looked up at him. "at least i'm not the one getting high because of solvent!"

joshua huffed arrogantly, pointing his fork at mingyu. "you all are just jealous because i'm the only one who uses oil. at least i'm not like seungkwan who uses poster paint."

"I DON'T USE POSTER PA—"

"enough!" their tired president says, which eventually made everyone shut their mouths. seungcheol massaged his temples in an attempt to relieve his stress, and jeonghan could be heard giggling. "after lunch, you all go back to work. minghao, you're going with me. i've got a new job for you."

mingyu was the first one to react; grabbing minghao's hand in his, shouting at his own boss. "what?! he isn't going to be an artist anymore?! but what about his—"

"calm down," seungcheol sighed, halting mingyu. "i'm just making him familiar with the different departments, and different kinds of work here. okay, mingyu?"

"hehe.. okay." mingyu then sits down, and refuses to let go of minghao's hand.

mingyu's hand was warm.

minghao knew that there are far warmer things than the colorful artist's pair of creative hands, like the coffee that was spilt on him a week ago, or being close to an explosion. but this kind of warm; it was different.

it warms minghao not only on the outside, but inside as well. it was a comfortable warmth, and it was one that minghao would like to bask in for the rest of his life.

"mingyu is so suspicious," seokmin comments. "you're having your first crush, aren't you?"

mingyu then lights up like a bright bulb in the night, saying, "what?! that's a stupid claim!"

what seokmin was claiming, is something that minghao couldn't understand anymore. so, he brushes it off.

seungcheol and minghao stood in front of a car owned by the company, and the driver jumps out of it almost immediately after it arrived.

"hello, boss!" he enthusiastically exclaimed, saluting with two fingers. he wore a messenger bag, and a pair of trousers that ended before his ankles. he had brown hair. not the brown hair that was as astonishing as seokmin's, though, but still brown.

"lee chan, this is xu minghao. xu minghao, lee chan." seungcheol introduces the both of them to each other, and minghao curtly bowed. chan waved at him in return. "minghao's a new worker, and i'd like to show him how you work. can you take him to deliver with you today?"

"of course, boss!" he enthusiastically replied, placing his hands on his waist. "i'll get him back before shift ends. you can count on me!"

"alright." seungcheol waved at the both of them. "i'll be leaving now. best of luck."

as the mutual hyung left them, chan started explaining to minghao.

"eh.. hello, again! i'm one of the delivery boys working for this company!" says he. "i deliver the paintings to the clients who are unable to pick it up from the office! i have to be extra careful when driving, too! so, can we get going now?"

"i understand." minghao nods. "may i ask one question?"

chan chuckled. "ask away!"

"why did you choose this job?" minghao innocently asked, placing his hands together politely. "is there something you look forward to in your line of work?"

now, of course, they would run late if minghao continued to ask these questions—but minghao was trying to make an effort to understand people better. new people are, of course, on top of his list to understand. (second to seungcheol.)

chan chuckled. he answered: "i don't really have a particular reason as to why i do this, unlike artists who have beautiful meanings behind their chosen line of work. or anyone else privileged, actually."

"so, you did not choose this job? the job chose you?" minghao followed up.

"not exactly," chan sighed, with what seemed to be an unerasable smile. "it was my only choice. i'm... well—i'm orphaned and poor. this is the best my life has even been, since i was born."

today, minghao was given the chance to meet someone akin to him for the first time.